I’ve seen a look in dogs’ eyes,
a quickly vanishing look of amazed contempt,
and I am convinced that basically
dogs think humans are nuts.
~John Steinbeck

 

For those of you interested, I’m inspired for my summer writing. While for the third straight year I am going to claim and attempt to write the Ayn Rand Foundation essay competition (after year in and out of reading the winning essays and being thoroughly unimpressed), once more I doubt that will happen since my connection with Atlas Shrugged is not nearly as personal as it is with The Fountainhead, and frankly—

I don’t know. All signs point to me writing an essay about a book I love and have read time and again, but I never can put myself to do it.Soissons France

However, inspired by the feedback and general energy I get from the readers of this blog, I came across an interesting story. While not quite a novel (who knows? It might be when I’m finished), I am going to try my first go at historical fiction. This summer I plan to write the story that takes place in the frozen winter of France, 1765. This picture is a clue where… 

Make it a contest! What is happening worth writing about? A hint: Louis XV of France paid a sweet reward to the main I’m going to base my protagonist off of.

 

 

 

 

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Adam Camp, photographer and musician, recently took me up on an offer to design a banner. As my oldest, worst, most untrustworthy SOB that I’ve come to cherish as a best friend— I’m going to showcase him as I should’ve a while ago.

Crossing around the world much like I have, Adam has always held onto his passion for music. Currently situated out in sunny San Diego, he recently released a acoustic collection: a one man gig with a studio in his room, he’s doing what most aspiring musicians do when they first start out:

Whatever he can.

If you’re digging a indie groove along the likes of The Academy Is… and other acoustic guitar wielding bards, give his music a shot. I was pleasantly surprised at the genuine honesty he brings to music, a kind of roughness and human edge lost in studio music.

So drop him a line, he’s always open to feedback and who knows?

Maybe he’ll be up for a request.

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T.W.R. IV

Untitled.

It was quiet in the way most things are loud, unnoticeably and everywhere. From my window I saw the light beyond the benches, and in my mind’s eye I traced the steps down the lawn, across the street, and up the hills on which those empty benches sat—

But no more. Because from where I sat, that’s the most I ever saw and the farthest I ever got. Tonight that would change. The house was empty. I wouldn’t be missed.

Or would I? There was so much to do. I wasn’t a kid anymore, I couldn’t just drop everything and chase the stars.

No, tonight would be like every other night. The coffee would warm me, the music would lull me to sleep, and the window would remain clo— why was the window open?

A cool breeze came into the room, and shivering I latched the window shut. The wind had brought in the faint smell of flowers into the room. I paused. It was cold outside.

I grabbed my jacket and the night greeted me as my footsteps echoed, the thud of the rubber against the gravel as I crossed the street and made my way up the hill.

The golden walls of the manor glowed like all the riches of the world as she stumbled out of the party. I was a little buzzed from the five glasses of Gray Goose I had drank just hours earlier, so everything looked as if they were shining like the stars in the sky. Walking out to a bench beyond the manor— I took to staring at the sky. The moon seemed to smile and winked at me. Even the moon noticed my presence here, despite how insignificant I was feeling at that moment.

Why was there a party, I didn’t know. To me, it was just a gathering of somewhat known…  strangers… looking for an excuse to dance and be merry. Walking out of the party helped me realize perhaps we were all nothing more than a string of words, phrases, and skin tied together to make a human being trying to find our place in this world like everyone else.

Is this what life had come to?

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The second paragraph was written by Dorothy Garcia in response to my first, with minor edits. I had to maintain the point of view so I changed she to I, and other pronouns wherever appropriate.

I enjoyed it. Already we’re expanding the story beyond the scope of just a walk in the park— we’ve reached the change of scenery…

But Sam/Alejandro has yet to arrive into the picture.

I won’t take the next step because I’m eager to see who will. This is a critical point in determining who he is, and what interpretation will you take from the photograph.

I’m interested to see where we go from here.

But I’ll do my part in keeping the wheels moving. Rather than a photograph, I’ve struggled to find a new medium to draw inspiration from. So…

Let’s get some dialogue going in the next addition, eh?

Find away to incorporate this:

“… and I’m sorry, but those words were the last thing on my mind and the first that left my tongue.”

“Is that an apology… or an introduction?”

 

 

 

Keep the pens moving, or the fingers typing. Its the only way a thought becomes a phrase shared between you and the world.

Cheers.

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ALSO: The first new fan-based created banner available for distribution, courtesy of Adam Camp.

 CODE FOR BANNER: COPY AND PASTE

<a href=”http://www.terencesanders.com” target=”_blank”>
<img src=”http://i301.photobucket.com/albums/nn57/adamcampphoto/tspbctg/coloringthegray.gif” 
alt=”I support my favorite starving author, Terence Sanders.”></a>

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