A novel in two parts

Simply it is about two personas who have their own stories but, actually it is the same stories seen though two eyes. It explores the spirit of a person, what if two spirits shared one body, this will ne two stories in one book. and at the end the two figure out what really is, and it is something that can hardly be comprehended it seems so "out there" impossible. All along the two created explanations for things that could be understood no other way.

I was thinking this, and my microwave broke.

Ok, this is a pure piece of Fantasy. If it becomes a book I will just call it Alvin.

There was a young woman who was betrothed to a man she did not love, I know that much sounds typical. That is her reason (not being a coward) for not ever telling Alvin that she loved him, although, she pretty much knew that he loved her though he would never dare to say such. Then, as fate had it, the day of her wedding He died, Wait, Who is he? Surely, you didn't kill the husband on his wedding, that would be too cruel! No, Alvin died of little to no consequence to anyone.

So, the impediment to her happiness was gone, hahaha, unless I brought Alvin back as a ghost or zombie! No, he is dead, though not really finished living. His dreams were so strong his will sort of survives still today. Cue the heroine of my story. She is a college girl named Rebecca Rose Bishop who attends Dartmouth College, she is a descendent of the original young woman.

The Story follows the life and happenings of Rebecca as followed curiously by Alvin, unbeknownst to our heroine.

Scrap paper

Go animate or play dough.

Dolls or cars, tell the story.

A love story that seems ill fated and it ends up that everyone, is forced to course correct. They ought to end up happily with the wrong person. And it seems to foreshadow a pairing time and time again and the audience expects that a certain two will end up together because they seem like they cannot. And they don't (like Matthew and Mary in Downton Abbey). Eventually, we learn...

Somehow work in a situation where it seems,like the heroine is a fool because she is oblivious to the fact that the miracles are actually being performed by a hero who secretly is in love with her, sometimes. But, actually, he is just the wizard behind the curtain who's strings are being pulled by the same unknown utility that she believes is responsible for things in the first place. It is the same idea as the way lucifer is hoping to deceive Eve. And thinks that he won, when all along it was intended. Or the abrigement of the plates that Martin Harris lost. People try to frustrate and it has all been accounted for so although as far as can be comprehended by the thwarted, they have succeeded in winning a war when it was only a battle.

But, away from the bigger thematic ideas, the plot still requires  much work, which will turn out best if left to stew in my brain for a long time, sorta like a slow cooker. As each sub plot presents itself, I will jot it down until I can work them all into one over arching plot and call it a novel, uh, maybe a serial novel, like all of the episodic scripts and soap operas I wrote in high school and college.

Waiting

I sit in the closed room in the middle of spring but do not feel shut out because the painted murals inspire that same otherwise dormant emotion when a brick crashes through the stained glass that gilded my prison with it's verigated, now shattered glass, I see a heap of sparkle that was a bird in flight, no longer able to imagine the world as it might be reality floods my senses shouting "mourn not, for this bird never flew, never knew of the bright sun or rain."
But, I will not forgive the hand that tossed the brick as I weep over hope now lost. Sunshine breaks through the now broken art revealing a world of science and swirling gases it is called the sun a voice informs me as I wonder at what is, not sure how this all effects me. And who is the father? for all things beget and all must have somehow been conceived. No. Sun, not son, and no one quite knows how it came to be.  And the only pushy force now is my own curiosity. Trying to make it's way to my lips to ask...

True stories

Quite often great story tellers publicly recognize that true stories are much better than the mythical universes created by their mind, that makes a lot of sense actually, but I started to think about how hard it would be to live a story worthy life. Personally, the reason I prefer true stories is that I can trust the ending which I already professed that the good guy always wins, but just maybe the story we want to tell hasn't ended yet, they all end positively.

But, back to the speculative part. I was noticing how most of my favorite true stories are both positive and full of very difficult trials. It occurred to me that I might be living as are we all, one of the best stories ever and so I want to start telling my story, which will be true except for the fictional ending, not to say the actual ending will not be as uplifting, but I hope to finish the story before my life.

Time to write a book

I need to write about my Christmas so that others can know and feel the joy.

Happiness of Christmas is not something we trade our money for. It seems that the things that make us happy come from money, but that is because we have seen things mainly from a man's perspective, and they trade their work for money, so in a sense they use their money to purchase happiness.

Around Christmas 2013, just now published...

Kids always nag their parents for things and it so happens that my daughter always asks for the most expensive things, I want to write a poem that uses imagery to compare her requests to me to my request to God, only difference is that he has the power to grant it, and I do not give a deadline. Still the main focus needs to be the most precious and expensive things are wanted and I am no different than her in what I want. At least I am able to admit that I want it now.I see no reason why it will not be mine, someday. unles I need to set a deadline incase I ought to move on. I do not want to become a waiter (one who waits) or put my eggs in one basket. I did that before, and counted on one things entirely, but it was not the best thing, nor the thing that would help me reach my potential.