The Peculiarities Part 1

There are voices in my head. I am a writer, of course there are voices in my head! Those ideas and characters, all struggling for my attention. Sometimes they is a pain, but at other times I enjoy them. They keep me company into the long night hours. They emerge in midday as I pound away at my keyboard. I stop typing, rise, and begin to act out the scene I was writing. My roommate, a math major, has been genuinely disturbed by these voices as he plays his life-sucking Facebook games. I cannot keep them in. The creative voices must be expressed! The creative voices are the peculiarities commonly exhibited in the writer. Here are two REALLY common ones:

One: There are times that I just start talking to myself. I do it in public. I do it in private. I don't always act out the scenes I am considering, but I have talked through entire pages worth of dialogue between two or more characters while walking back from the Dining Commons. I am entirely conscious of the world around me, but I am also entirely conscious of the world in my mind. Luckily, there has only been a few times when they've clashed.

Two: I have a disorder. I call it ORAU disorder (Obsessive Random Accent Usage.) I slip into accents, commonly Scottish or Irish ones, randomly during conversation. I also use accents when answering questions. For example, the lady at the checkout asks me, "do you want a receipt?"

"Aye," I answered. My Mom had to tell the cashier that I was saying "yes" in Scottish. I mean, what has the world come to? How have we reached such a deprived stage in our existence where the cashier at Wal-Mart doesn't know what "aye" means? It's preposterous! There are times when I purposely use accents while talking. A writer friend once dared me to speak in a Scottish accent for a week. I did it. Most of the time, however, I do not intend to use an accent and I just slip into it. I have talked to some other writers and they experience generally the same thing. Some writers need a trigger (someone else speaking an accent or a thought connected with an accent), others are more like me and just slip into the accents.

And now, dear reader, you know my dark, secret disorder. Have a good week. Part 2 will be released on Friday. 

An Adventure in Class

This afternoon I attended my Expository Writing class with my awesome professor Dr. Aaron J. Housholder. In this class we were given a list of writing prompts. We could choose one or several and merge them. I chose, according to my peculiarities, two prompts. One was "confusion," the other was "the voices in my head." I flipped open my writing journal and starting scribbling along with my quickly dulling pencil. I let the prompts pull my thoughts out and unto that lined paper. We had thirty minutes to write. Thus, after a lengthy introduction, I present to you A Dream of Confusion, a short work by Joshua A. Spotts.
Disclaimer: This is not fully edited and for that I apologize.

It is the fourth year in the month of Tuesday.
So the voices tell me.

Sweat drips from my brow. It splashes off the iron face plate of my helmet. I feel the salty moisture burning my eyes, but I dare not close them. My limbs are sore. The sword in my hand trembles as I struggle to hold it out before me. The armor that rests on my shoulders drags me down. I am tired.

It is now the eight month in the year of Friday.
So the voices tell me.

My feet are like the ice all around me. The bitter wind tears at my sweet, healthy flesh. My hair is hardened by the cold and my nose hosts icicles. The sword in my hand is rigid, but my shoulders shake uncontrollably. The armor that I bear is like the surface of a frozen winter lake and I am trapped beneath. I grow weary.

It is now the day of year in the third month.
So the voices tell me.

The rain falls in torrents. The feel of those droplets on my bare arms reminds me of the waterfalls of my home. I watch as the rain dances on the shivering sword. The armor I wear restricts the pleasure of the rain. My mind is tired. My left side is numb. My right side is weary. I drop the sword and the creatures of the night come faster than the rain falls.

It is now the seventh day of the sixth month and the voices say, "wake up!"


(I plan to create my own list of prompts and then give myself thirty minutes to write up a story on one or two, just like I did for this story. I believe it will make a great exercise for quick writing. Another short story exercise can be found at www.cleverfiction.com)

I hope you enjoyed this strange story and I apologize for posting this blog so late today, but it is still Friday, is it not? 

The Wind is God's Breath

            I am fourteen days into November. It has been a busy month. I have no regrets about making it busier by dedicating myself to National Novel Writing Month, because I have gained a great novel idea. I have failed miserably at this dedication. My school work grabbed me by the throat as I already struggled to keep up with my NaNoWriMo goals and it threw me down. Last week was terrible. Assignments weighed down upon my back. One night I wandered outside, leaving my writing on my desk. My soul was weighted down by my troubles. I sought solitude and I found it, partially.

            I walked outside in my shorts and t-shirt. The wind caressed my body. The wet grass kissed my bare feet. I sat beneath a pine tree and allowed its scent to invade my nostrils. I welcomed the sweet scent. The wind continued to move around me. The trees danced in their places. I saw my breath as steam in the night air. I was alone. I had found solitude. I had also found something else.

            I found that I am never alone through the wind on that night as I sat there and cried. My tears were taken away by the wind, along with my burdens.  God is in the wind. Indeed, the wind is God’s breath for it animates all things. I can say from experience that God used the wind to animate my soul that night. The wind showed me God’s presence is everywhere. He upholds and relieves me when I am tired and weak. Praise God for His all-encompassing presence.