More Short Story!

My short story is really starting to come together! I would say I am about half done, so is another preview.

Davis awakens to the sound of the wind, but it is unlike any wind that he has ever before. The bedroom is full of an eerie, pale blue light. The light seemed to emanate from his bedroom window, bright enough to shine through the large specks of dust and dirt. What the hell is Johnson doing now? Davis thinks to himself as he stomps towards the window. As he draws closer to the window, he begins to feel warmer, almost exponentially, by the time he is at the window he feels warmer and more comfortable than he had ever felt before.
Then he saw her.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair was long and golden; it was so bright and vivid that it almost hurt his eyes to look at. Her skin was very pale, and it almost blended with the snow on the ground, but it looked smooth, he wanted nothing more to touch it, to feel her warmth. She was wearing long white robes, it did not occur to him that this would be an odd thing to wear, but he was too distracted by her beauty to notice. After staring at her for a few minutes, he suddenly realized that something was terribly wrong.
The blue light that had first drawn his attention seemed to be originating from the beautiful woman. The wind he had heard was not wind at all, but it was the beautiful woman singing. He couldn’t make out the words, but it was the most prepossessing song he had every heard, unlike anything he had ever heard before. The woman frightened him, but he was enamored as well. He knew that he had to talk to her, touch her, love her. He had never been in love before, let alone love at first sight, but he knew that was what he was feeling.
He ran down the stairs, nervous and anxious at the same time to meet to woman, to hold her in his arms, to love her. He rushed out his back door, with the gusto of a man 30 years his junior, towards the woman. She turned to him, and smiled at him with more warmth than he had ever deserved. And just like that, she disappeared, and he was left alone, in the dark, wearing only his pajamas. He was suddenly very cold, but he was too confused to move. Who was she? Where did she go? Why was she here?

Short Story Goodness

I have written some more of my short story, and I have a title - "Lonely Spirits." I have yet to get into the actual main part of the story, but I have it all in my head. Without further ado, part 2:

The street is busy, as always. Cars fly by, usually speeding, on any given day, one could lose control, hit Davis, it might even be easier that way. There is about 6 inches of snow on the ground. It feels cold through the holes in the bottom of his shoes. He needs new shoes. But those kids in the store whisper and make fun of him. It’s not worth it.
As Davis walks home, he does not notice how the people he passes look at him. He doesn’t want to notice. He knows he disgusts them, but he doesn’t want to see the disgust on their faces. He reaches the alley. He doesn’t walk down that alley. It would be an extra 20 minutes out of the way if he walked around, but he does anyways. Those kids are always hanging around in that alley. They’re dangerous.
Johnson is outside when he arrives home; Johnson is always nagging him to mow his lawn, complaining about the smells in his back yard, the bushes never being trimmed. Davis rushes inside, pretending he doesn’t see that pretentious bastard. Johnson hasn’t noticed him yet. Three more steps. Almost there.
“Mr. Davis, excuse me, do you have a second.”
Go fuck yourself Johnson. “What do you want Johnson.”
“I was just wondering if you needed me to mow your lawn, you see, the wife’s parents are coming this weekend, and I don’t mind doing it...”
The fucking nerve of that asshole, trying to tell me how to live my life.
“Do whatever you want Johnson, I’m busy.”
“Okay Mr. Davis, I’ll be out here if you need anything.”
Davis hates Johnson, always lording his wealth, his youth, his beautiful family over him. Davis, enters his house, seething. His living room floor is covered in old newspapers; his wallpaper is peeling around the corners. The house reeks of cat urine, even though Davis has never owned any pets. Davis retreats upstairs, he is so tired, the walk always wears him out so much, but that damn judge took his license away. He’s been driving since before that asshole judge was able to wipe his own ass, what the hell does he know.
His bedroom makes his living room look like a paradise. Dirty clothes, pizza boxes and beer bottles cover every part of the room. As he lays on his blood and urine stained mattress, he thinks of better days, when he was young, when he was strong. He imagines himself still young, still strong, as he drifts to sleep…

Sunday Sunday Sunday

Sunday's are boring. I hate it. They don't even give us good TV shows on Sunday. I am so bored that I am watching the Dog Whisperer right now, what a dreadful, horrible show. But wait, there is a show on about the guy who committed the real life Amityville Horror killings. This is much more interesting. The day is saved!
This guy looks nothing like Ryan Reynolds, at all, but Ryan Reynolds hair and beard in the movie is clearly based off him. It is so weird how nonchalantly is talking about killing his parents. He's kinda like "Woh, i did that, weird."

What a waste of a week

So, I did nothing all week. I almost wish now that Reading Week never happened, because at least I could have gone to work this week and made money, but, logically so, the Owl is closed during Reading Week, so I did nothing. I did not get any homework done, I did virtually no reading, complete waste of time. I am also noticing that hardly anybody goes on vacation during actual Reading Week, what's up with that? I don't understand why people need this week off so bad when they generally just take another week off anyways. You people are greedy.

A Super Special Valentine's Entry

So, I am making a conscious decision to not say "Happy Valentine's Day" a single time, in context. I just don't care about the day at all, and am fairly annoyed about how it's the milestone day marking the beginning of Reading Week. We all know at this point the ludicrousness of the holiday, just another day invented by the candy and greeting card industries to make people buy things without any practical use. The only plus side is that it is only mere hours from ending, and I will not have to hear people talk about it anymore. On a sort of plus side, instead of any sort of heart themed celebrations, I just watched a shitload of 30 Rock. Tracy Morgan is hilarious, specifically the episode where he is just dancing by himself to "We didn't start the fire" by Billy Joel.

One Week Without A Blog Entry

I just got my journal back from my Expository and Persuasive writing prof, and he said "Good to see cheerful writing in these entries. I like to see writing so at home with itself." This means only one thing; that I am better than you puny mortals. Bow before the power of "cheerful writing" and being "so at home with itself." I expect everybody who reads this to give be $5, preferably two twoonies and a loonie.

I have been busy all week studying for midterms—surprising, right?—and have had little time to make any entries. Maybe things will change when my spring breaks starts at roughly 8:21 tonight, after my last midterm till after the break. While all of you are off having great adventures in babysitting, I will be looking for twenty bucks or deconstructing harry. When you are leaving las vegas, i will be trying to get back to the future, part 2 or 3. While you are having a cocktail, I will be contemplating blind justice.

The Joel Knows Regina is Better Than Saskatoon

Just for shits-and-giggles, I am going to list a bunch of reasons why:

• Regina doesn't force semi's to drive throught the heart of the city, causing many different traffic problems.
• Wascana Park is one of the largest urban parks in North America, bigger than the famous Central Park in New York. It was also designed by the same guy that designed the World Trade Center.
• Regina is named after Queen Victoria, while Saskatoon was named after the Cree name for some gross berry, a berry that is nowhere as good as real berries like Blue berries and Raspberries.
• The people designing the U of R campus actually took the time to choose good locations for our buildings, while the U of S just randomly threw them around, causing much confusion.
• The Riders are in Regina, enough said
• Regina has a wealth of history, and was originally the headquarters of the North West Territories, until Saskatchewan and Alberta became provinces.

I could go on and on forever about this, but I think I have proven my point. But buck up Saskatoon, at least you have Fuddruckers.

The Joel Only Writes When He Has Something To Say

I would like to formally apologize that I do not make blog updates every day, to you, Phil Smith, and only you. I did not realize your hardcore dedication to my spoken word. I only prefer to write when I have something witty or interesting to say. Do give you something to do, I am going to post a sample of what I am currently working on, which is going to be part of my short story for the short story contest. Let me know what you think.

There is a table sitting in the corner of the restaurant, perpetually in solitude. Nobody notices it, not even the servers. At it sits a sad little man, not much taller than your average 12-year-old. Davis Coltrain has been coming to Andrew's Place for six years now—ever since it opened—yet not a single person knows his name. When, after twenty minutes, one of the younger waitresses makes her way over, he finally gets to order the exact same thing he always orders. Steak sandwich with a side of rice, the soup of the day to start. The waitress will fake a smile, take his order, the return to the other waitresses. They think he can't hear them making fun of his horrid smell, dirty clothes, and greasy hair: he can. He eats his overcooked meal in silence, leaves a twenty on the table, and quietly leaves, like he was never there at all.