Sometimes, it can be difficult to get into the writing mode.  Lately, I've been fortunate enough to have a little bit of time, the right energy, and a good inclination toward writing to get it done.  Most of all, I've had amazing support from friends and family, especially from my wife.

In the past, I had to have a proper setting to even sit down and get my brain in the right mode to write.  Back in 2008, when I blogged every day or one year, I started out simply needing a view to the outside world.  My writing room was in a good spot for that.  Then, we moved.  The room I write in is partially underground, but I can still see things from my window without having to look up from a well.  Sometimes, all I need is some greenery to get in the mood for writing.  Lately, I haven't needed it all that much.

One thing that has definitely helped in the past has been getting away from home to someplace where I can really get away from the stress of work and the distractions of the house.  I've had a place I can go for a few years now which fits the bill.  For the most part, body willing, I can just sit down in front of a huge window and write like a madman while looking at scenery such as this:

How can you not get away from work and home when you see this through your window?

And to top it off, my wife is willing to let me write.  Right frame of mind, right scenery, right setting, time to write!

Today was a good day.

It's almost time for my third wedding anniversary.  This also marks three years since our little accident while on our honeymoon - the one where I lost control of my wife's SUV and rolled it into it's side in the ditch in the middle of US 40.  In the snow.  Yeah, that one.

After that accident, my father, brother, and I replaced a smashed-in door with one from a junk yard.  It was at that time that I first thought about fixing something that had been disfunctional on Jill's car since I'd known her - some of the dashboard switches.

After pulling off the center piece that holds in the stereo as well as several of the vehicle functions, I found that things that didn't work, such as 4-wheel drive and the rear defroster, were simply unplugged.  I fixed the 4-wheel drive, cigarette lighter, and the rear defroster, but never could get the rear window wiper to come on.

I took the thing out in hopes of finding a replacement.  I checked with the local auto parts stores, with no luck.  I checked the Internet, also without luck.  I even checked with the local Ford parts dealer, who pulled from the centralized warehouse in the state (where all the dealers pull from), and they couldn't find it.

Sadly, I gave up.

On our one-year honeymoon, the very same stretch of road where we'd flipped the year before was terribly snow-covered one night.  I drove the car around 15MPH over the 13-15 mile section between Park City, UT and Heber City, UT.  We were both mortified that we might have the same accident (but this time at night).  I drove for two hours, my knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.  Jill did similarly from the passenger seat.  While the trip was one of the most trying things I ever had to do, that incident proved to me just how much the rear window wiper is needed on the early 90s Ford Explorers.  After finally getting into town, I stopped at a gas station and scraped off about an inch of snow from the window.

So, this year, knowing that we might be in the same area, in similar weather conditions (we chose not to go last year), I decided it would be good to see if I could get it working.  So I popped off the center console (two screws and a little tugging), found the switch from it's hiding place in the armrest, twisted the stem to make sure it still turned, and plugged it in.

CLICK.  WOOSH.

Holy crap, the thing came to life.  The same part that hadn't worked about three years ago suddenly worked fine.  I was so excited I ran inside to get Jill, who thought I had seen some sort of real-life Jackalope or something by my level of excitement.  I fix things around the house all the time, the last being a garbage disposal that was leaking through the electrical portion.  But for some reason, I felt like I'd accomplished the feat of a lifetime.

The feeling was so strong that it lasted throughout the rest of the day.  I felt like I could do anything: fix the car, repair the house, put a shower in the downstairs bathroom, or even build an addition to the house.  It even went so far as to make me excited to cook dinner (which I often do, but this time I wanted to try something new) and to sit down and write.

Most of you who once read my blog are now gone.  In fact, only a few of you remain.  That is my own fault.  But you know what?  I think I needed it.  I spent almost a decade without writing, and when I went back to it I was energized - just as I was today, fixing a three-year-old problem with Jill's car.  This week, a group of writers I contributed with on a project that was known as The Sugar Beet, decided to start working on a second book (the first can be found here).  Over the last month, I've been doing some preliminary brainstorming with a friend from work on a screenplay for a TV sitcom we've talked about developing for a couple of years now.  And on top of that, I'm writing a novel in my spare time, of which I am on chapter four now.

I can't remember the last time I've been so energized.  For the first time in a long time - perhaps the first time ever - I feel as if I can take on the world.  Scratch that - not only can I take on the world, I WILL take on the world.  This is finally my time.

Sorry to say, don't expect much from me on the blog.  Maybe something here or there.  If you've followed me over the years, you know my track record.  What can I say?  In some ways, the blog is in the past.  There is much more in the future.

If friends or family are interested in reading some of my writing while it's being developed, send me an email.  You know how to reach me.

 

The Traveler walked up to Kipling, causing most of the scientists to stumble backwards.  He felt the pulse on Kipling's neck, then placed his ear to the unconscious man's chest to listen.  Standing upright, the man said something in his language.  When no one responded, he walked to a nearby wall where labcoats hung and grabbed one.  He rolled the coat as he walked back to Kipling, then raised the unconscious man's head and placed the labcoat under it.  He said something again, and when no response came from any of the scientists, he began looking around the tables.

"Does anyone know what language he's speaking?" asked Dr. Alphin.

"Not a clue," said one of the scientists.

The man began opening drawers.  Alphin noted to himself that for someone who was a couple thousand years old, he was comfortable around modern furniture.

"Ah!" the Traveler gasped, finding something in a drawer across the room.  The man quickly walked back to Kipling.  He opened a bottle - twisting the cap off with the same ease as any other person in that room would have posessed - and placed it under Kipling's nose.  The boss was suddenly awake, roused by whatever was contained in the bottle.  Kipling started coughing, and quickly moved his left hand to cover what was undoubtedly where the man had hit his head on the floor.

"What the hell happened?" he asked.

Alphin stood in wonder at the man in the white robes.  There wasn't a scientist in the room who wasn't.

"Damn it, Alphin, tell me what happened!" Kipling's scream brought Dr. Alphin back to reality.

"Sir, as I said before, the man emerged from the machine.  In fact, he seemed to walk through as if he knew where he was headed.  I'd imagine any man from the ancient world would think he was dead or posessed by walking through time, but this man... well, it seems that he expected to emerge in the future."

"I swear to God, Alphin, if this is some elaborate scheme to fool me, I will find out.  I know you haven't been here long, but you damned well know not to fuck around with me!"

"Please, Mr. Kipling, I assure you, this is no joke."

Kipling sat up.  The Traveler stepped back a little, to give the boss room.  He said something to him in the same unknown language.  When the man got no response, he said something again, but in what sounded like a different language.

"Intelligit?" he asked, looking among the scientists in the room.  "Ochi?"

Everyone looked to each other as the man walked about the room saying random words.

"Samajna?  Woe shoe nee de yoo yen ma?"

"Wait!" came a voice from behind Alphin.  "I think I know that."  Dr. Chen was emerging through the crowd.

"Nin hao," the doctor said as he stopped before the strange man.

A look of pure excitement came across the Traveler's face.  "Nee Chidah," he exclaimed.

Dr. Chen turned to Dr. Alphin and the sitting Kipling.  "Sir, I think he's speaking Chinese.  Or at least, a skewed version of it.  Not that mine's any better."

"Chen, you can translate?" asked Kipling

"Maybe, sir.  It's hard to understand him.  I didn't grow up speaking Chinese like my parents did, so I'm very rusty.  Plus, he has a strange accent."

The Traveler rattled off something that sounded Chinese to Dr. Chen.  The scientist appeared to be having trouble comprehending him.

"Mei, mei.  Wo bu mingbai," he turned away from the Traveler.  "I'm not sure what he's trying to say.  His Chinese is worse than mine."

"Perfect!" said Kipling.  "Incompetence!"

The Traveler looked at Kipling quizically.  "Maintenant?" he seemed to ask.

Alphin felt his stomach drop to his feet.  He knew that word, and new it all too well.

"Comprenez-vous?" Alphin asked.

"Oui! Oui! Oui! Oui!" the man shouted as he began to dance.

Kipling turned to Alphin.  "What the hell did you say, Alphin?"

"I asked him if he understood.  In French.  I know some French from college, sir."

"Then ask him where the hell he came from, man!"

"Oh, yes."  Dr. Alphin turned to the Traveler and cleared his throat.  The man stopped dancing to listen.  "Où êtes-vous?" Alphin asked.

The man looked quizically again.  "Du passé, bien sûr!"

Alphin groaned as he turned to Kipling.  "Well, he definiately knows he's traveled through time, sir"

"How do you know that?"

"He says he's from the past."

"Oh, of course."

Dr. Alphin turned to the man again.  "Que la terre ne venez-vous?"

The man stood upright and held his head high.  "La Grèce." he said with pride.

The scientist gasped.  "Ah, hah!"

"What was that, Alphin?  Did he say grass?"

Alphin turned to Kipling.  "No, Mr. Kipling.  Not grass.  Greece.  He's from Greece!"

Kipling looked back at the strange man.  "Well, that certainly explains the clothing, then."

"Attendez!" the man suddenly yelled, as he walked back to the table where Kipling still sat.  "Attendez.  Eh...  Un... Ahng...  ah!  Anglais?"

Alphin now felt as if he too could faint.  "Oui, Anglais.  English," he said.

Kiplin sat in silence for a moment, only to make a grunt as he stood on his own feet again.  "English?  What was that, Dr. Alphin?  You said English."

Alphin stammered for a moment, trying to find the best words without seeming entirely enthralled by the Traveler's last words.

"Alphin, answer me!"  Kipling started waving his hand before Dr. Alphin's eyes.

"Eh... stop."

Kipling wasn't sure where the voice had come from.  For half a second, he wondered who would dare to tell him to stop anything.  Then, he realized it had come from the man.

"Sorry, English still learning," said the man.

Kipling seemed befuddled.

"You understand us?"

The man thought for a moment.  "Yes.  Under... understand."  It was then that the Traveler brushed off his robes, straightened his sash, and extended his arm to Kipling.  "Please.  Good meet you.  From past, I come.  Na... na..."

Kipling raised his eyebrows, trying to understand the man while holding his hand by the wrist.

The man turned to Alphin.  "Onoma.  Isim.  Eh... nom?"

"Ah," said Dr. Alphin.  "Name.  My name is Dr. Alphin."

The man's smile returned to his face.  He let go of Kipling and extended his hand to Dr. Alphin.

"Doc... doctor.  Eh... docto, long time before.  Roman word, before.  Allo, docto Alphin.  Eh... my name is..." the Traveler said, following Dr. Alphin's lead.  "My name is... Archimedes!"

The man smiled and giggled as the startled men before him stood in disbelief.

 

This is the beginning of a story that's forming inside my mind.  This is the first part.

The Traveler

The man patted down the sides of his lab coat and took a deep breath.  Clenching his eyes shut, he reached out to the door knob with his hand and slowly turned it.  Quietly pushing the door open, he took a step into the room, his eyes still closed.  When no sound was made, he reluctantly opened them.

Inside the room, rich with stained wood and old paintings, sat a rather large desk.  The desk covered a rather old green carpet, which many of the man's coworkers knew all too well from staring at it for long periods of time.  Before the desk sat two uncomfortable old wooden chairs, which were perhaps as much as 150 years old from most estimates.  There, many an employee had sat listening to the boss' tirades, or in some cases, being fired.

Much to the scientist's surprise, the man at the desk had not noticed his entrance.  He was enthralled by some sort of report on his desk.  The surface was scattered with paper and random electronics, but this one piece of paper held more interest than any other paper, computer, book, wood grain, or man within the room.

It took every ounce of courage the scientist could muster to make a sound announcing his existence.  Mr. Kipling raised his head without moving his eyes from the paper.

"Yes, Ms. Jones?"

Kipling thought it was his secretary at the door.  It was then that Dr. Alphin realized he hadn't knocked.  He cleared his throat to speak.

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Kipling."

Kipling looked away from his paper, his brow creasing in disgust.

"Alphin.  Didn't they teach you knocking at those expensive universities you attended?  Or about making an appointment?  How dare you waltz in here like you own the place!"

"Sir, I-"

"Don't try to excuse yourself, Alphin.  What gives you the right to invade my personal work space like this?"

"Mr. Kipling-"

"Ms. Jones!  Ms. Jones, come in here at once."

"Sir, I think she's-"

"You'd better shut your mouth if you know what's good for you, Alphin.  It's not like you've been here for very long.  If you're wishing to seek opportunity elsewhere, I can definitely make that a necessity for you."

"Sir!"

"Keep talking, Doctor, and keep digging your own grave."

"Sir, if you would just stop for a moment!"

"Oh, you're definitely looking for other opportunities outside the company, aren't you?"

"PLEASE LISTEN TO ME! I'VE DONE IT!"

Dr. Alphin found himself breathing quickly.  His pulse was fast, and he could feel adrenaline coursing through his body.

"Done what, Alphin?"

"Sir, I've solved the last problem.  It's working now."

"Bullshit.  You did this?"

"Yes, sir."

"All by yourself?"

"Well, I had fifteen years of prior research to go off of, but yes, I solved the final block."

"Are you being serious, Doctor?"

"Quite, Mr. Kipling.  It works."

"Holy shit."  Kipling looked down at his desk.  The confusion on his face was quite evident.  He looked up.  "Really?"

"Yes, sir.  But there was something unexpected."

"Show me."

"Sir, you might want to know-"

"Show me right now, Dr. Alphin.  I need to see it."  Kipling stood up from his desk and briskly walked past Dr. Alphin and through the door.

Alphin whispered to himself, "It wasn't what we thought it would be..."

* * *

Kipling had left Dr. Alphin behind.  He had to see the mechanism at work, and he had no time to waste on slow walkers.

When Kipling entered the lab, he expected to see everyone fluttering about.  They did that whenever he came through the door.  If nothing else, if the mechanism was finally active after all these years, he would have expected them to be running around trying to record measurements and observations.

But none of this was happening.  All of the scientists within the lab were standing silently, facing the mechanism.

"Clear a path people!"  Kipling pushed people aside, trying to make his way through the crowd.  No one seemed to notice that the man all of them loathed was coming through.  On any other day, they would have scattered like cockroaches, but today they stood still.

Kipling was confused, to say the least.  He commanded a certain type of respect, and whatever was happening was undermining that authority.

As Kipling made it through the crowd, he noticed a man in front of the mechanism.

Emerging through the crowd, he came upon the most terrified man he'd ever seen.

Standing there, at the observation station, stood a man in loose off-white robes.  A sash of some sort separated his robes below the waist, and he stood on leather soles strapped to his feet.  His beard showed signs of graying, but enough brown remained to give him a slightly youthful appearance.  The look on his face was that of pure horror.  He seemed to feel as out of place as he looked.  He was screaming something in a language Kipling couldn't make out.

"Who is this man?" Kipling asked.  No one answered.  They all appeared to be in shock.

Turning to the man, he asked, "What is your name, and why are you dressed like that?"

The man responded with words Kipling could not understand.

"Speak English!  Who is your supervisor?"

"He won't understand you, sir," said Dr. Alphin from behind.  As Kipling turned, the scientist emerged through the crowd.

"And why is that Alphin?"

"Because, sir, he's not from here."

"That certainly seems to be the case!"

"No, sir, you don't understand.  He's not from here.  He's not from this time and place."

"What do you mean, Doctor?"

"Sir, this man came through the mechanism.  From sometime before Common Era, maybe 50BC."

"Dr. Alphin, this isn't a funny joke."

"It's no joke, sir.  It's real."

"Bullshit, Doctor.  I may not be as smart as the rest of you, but I at least know my theory.  Time travel will only be possible from the moment it's discovered and into the future.  We could never travel to the past because time travel wouldn't have existed, which is a paradox."

"Technically, you're right, Mr. Kipling."

"So why the charade, Alphin?"

"No charades, and no jokes, sir.  The man behind you comes to us from the past because we're not the first to open the gate, so to speak."

Kipling looked confused again.  "What?"

Alphin stood closer to his boss.  "Sir, as far as we can tell, time travel was invented more than two thousand years ago."

Kipling stood in silence as his face winced.  His eyes began to flutter.  Dr. Alphin moved forward, but wasn't quick enough to catch the boss as he fell.  The man slumped to the floor.  Despite the disgust most people had for him, a few people moved to pick him up.  Moments later, Kipling lay on a lab table, breathing deeply.

From Dictionary.com:

hi·a·tus

[hahy-ey-tuhs] Show IPA

noun, plural -tus·es, -tus.

1. a break or interruption in the continuity of a work, series,action, etc.

2. a missing part; gap or lacuna: Scholars attempted toaccount for the hiatus in the medieval manuscript.

3. any gap or opening.

4. Grammar, Prosody . the coming together, with or withoutbreak or slight pause, and without contraction, of twovowels in successive words or syllables, as in see easily.

5. Anatomy . a natural fissure, cleft, or foramen in a bone orother structure.

 

What is a hiatus?  A hiatus, in basic terms, is a pause in what you're doing.

Many people consider a hiatus to be a week, or a month, or even six months.

For me, it's been much longer, and so much more than a pause.  So much so, that I'm not convinced that "hiatus" describes where I've been these past few years.

The truth is, I feel the powerful need to write each and every day.  Sometimes, I feel lost without it.  But I don't.

Let's be honest - I burned out at the end of 2008 on blogging.  I blogged every day for an entire year.  By 2009, I was getting ready for a wedding, preparing to sell a house (and later buying another), and I even took a temporary promotion at work.  In 2010, I spent some of my year drugged up and sitting on the couch with little of the solitary time I needed to spin some words together.  I was more concerned with the fact that I couldn't walk than the fact that I couldn't write.  And so, 2008 may have been the last time I could have blogged every day for a year, as a full mix of family and professional life makes it seem unattainable in 2011.  Between burning out and having a full plate, I haven't blogged much in three years.  For a short while, I was at least writing outside of the blog, but that also did not last very long.

Why is it that something I feel an irresistible draw to can be so hard to attain?

The answer isn't easy.  And honestly, it does nothing to alleviate my internal sense of failure at something I absolutely love doing.  The only solution is to go forth and write.

But I keep saying that.  I keep coming on here, saying I'm going to write, and even if I stick to it for a short while, I never follow through.

I feel like I've gained some new perspective, however.  Spending eight months at home because of an injury gives you a lot of time to think.  But trying to return to the life I lived before the injury has proven to be equally epiphanic.

Work had moved on.  Friends on the fringe of my life faded away.  I found myself with a lot more gray hairs, and questions about my ability to continue my job on a long-term basis without causing myself more harm.  I came back to work with an eagerness to move forward, only to find myself light years behind and with more challenges than when I left.  So much has changed.

Now, more than ever, I'm drawn to my need to write.  I'm pulled into my desire to express myself and exercise my creativity.  If for no other reason than for my own sanity.  The world outside of my home has changed too much to accept some of it's realities, and writing allows me to escape for just a short while.

Ultimately, I'm back to saying I'm going to write more.  I can't make any promises for the blog.  I don't know that I'll write "that novel" that keeps bouncing around in my head.  But I will try to make time for writing.  I will put effort into it.  If I don't, I might as well accept the new reality of my career, physical limitations, and the world outside of my home and allow my creativity to fade away.

I'm just not willing to do that.

.

November is National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo), which is a blogging take on National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).

Some of my long-time readers will recall that I first attempted NaBloPoMo in 2006.  I missed it by one day due to a complication with Blogger, which was the catalyst for moving the blog to my own web space.

In 2008 I decided to try NaBloPoMo's yearly blog challenge.  I blogged every day for the entire year, including leap day (which was an allowed day off).  It was infinitely harder than blogging every day for a month.  After 2008, I practically stopped blogging.  I was burned out from blogging 366 days in a row.

Since then, I've ignored NaBloPoMo, both on a monthly basis as well as a yearly basis.  Not that I'm not writing.  I'm just not writing on this blog.

Well, I'm going to give it a shot this month.  We'll see how I do.