Writing Practice 1/6/2019

[author’s note: sometimes I write something during this writing practice and I think, “Man, what would it be like if I actually came back and edited this and re-wrote it?” Generally that’s because it’s kind of wanders a bit before settling down to get to the point, and I feel like it could be much more focused and make a greater impact if I took out that rambling and lack of focus. This is one of those exercises. What do you think – agree or disagree?]

Describe the most boring day of your life, but do it as an action movie trailer voice-over…

In a world where everything is always as it seems… one day … NOTHING WAS RIGHT.

Well, not exactly true. SJ woke up one morning with a pounding headache. Thinking this might be the result of a terrible party the night before, he checked his clothing … No bloodstains. He checked his bed … no strangers. He checked his car, parked where it normally would be, right in the garage – no marks or tickets plastered to it. He checked his phone – no outgoing drunk-dials at two in the morning.

Damn, this must have been not the result of a party. Just a regular, boring old headache.


SJ stared at himself in the mirror. “Maybe a tumor.” He thought to himself. “Maybe a blood clot. Should I take something?”

He did. Two Tylenol, straight from the bottle. Didn’t even wash them down with a swig of water or anything. Boom! Instant relief.

Well … not instant. It would take a while, and SJ knew it. So he decided to lay back down. He got in his bed, pulled the covers up to his chin, and prepared for the worst …



Tremors? Who knows what he might do with such powerful drugs coursing through his system? He thought of writing a note before he fell asleep, to explain his profound sorrow at all the destruction he would soon wreak on the unsuspecting citizens.

But then he thought, “Nah, this is pretty comfortable, and maybe I really just need some more sleep. Besides, the notebook and pen are all the way in the other rom. So I guess I really don’t want to get up. I’m probably good, anyway.”

Turns out …

He was right.

SJ slept the rest of the morning. When he woke up at half past noon, he peed, took two more Tylenol. For his headache was gone, but he figured, it had helped him sleep so well before, why not?

Why not, indeed?

Little did SJ know that behind the scenes, while he slept, his body was plotting against him.

Sabotage –

Mutiny –


Call it what you wish; in the end, it would be the untimely action of SJ that would determine all their fates.

Not only him, but his silent assassins lurking within. Who will win? SJ? Or the microbe population that was now running rampant with the superpowers brought on by the Tylenol?



To find out.

Coming soon to a theater near you.

You won’t BELIEVE how this one turns out.

Writing Practice – 11/16/2018

Winter Wonderland

Is the name of an old, abandoned theme park in southern Mexico. When you walk in, all you see is rust. Orange, crumbling dust particles, eating away at the edges of the rails, at the supports to the roller coasters strut, turning the insides of the buildings, which once housed happy families, laughter and a population of teenagers to staff the place, into the outside.

The rust has come on gradually, over the years, eroding the color of the paint on the walls, and in partnership with the creeping vines and roots of the invading trees, the place now has a falling-over-from-three-too-many-beers look.

It used to be a fun place. It opened over forty years ago to much acclaim, fanfare, parties, raucous celebrations nearly every weekend; the place was a blast. Families loved coming throughout the summer, because southern Mexico is, how shall I say this delicately, beastly hot even on a good day. The place had backers willing to pay ungodly sums of money to create snow in summer, so this thing was a cultural marvel. An attraction that brought tens of thousands to its door every morning, waiting for the chance to go sledding down a hill, to dive into the Polar Plunge with the Polar Bear (not a real bear, just a big fat guy with white body paint), and throw snowballs at one another and lick icicles they pulled of themselves from the special drip-factories sprinkled liberally throughout the place. And the could do it all in the comfort of their shorts and t-shirts, because these tourists were on vacation, they were having a good time, so they just wanted to go with the flow and make everything happen just right.

They enjoyed the experience. They watched the animatronic dancing penguins. They rode the Arctic Rush, the big, bad roller coaster. And, they apparently trafficked in a lot of drugs.

Because, you see, I guess fake snow looks a lot like cocaine. It was about three years into the whole thing that they (mostly just employees – mostly. There was one or two higher-ups who knew, they claimed they didn’t, but come on, with that much going on beneath you, how could you not? If you didn’t, then you should be fired for incompetence and jailed for stupidity, too) got busted, literally, for smuggling drugs through. The park was apparently a big front for a refinement center, and they used the whole “trucking in snow” idea to then “truck out snow to the regional operations centers” to move the product around.

So the cops busted them, shuttered the place, sent like eighty or more to jail, and now Winter Wonderland sits, slowly decaying , succumbing to the forces of nature – wind, rain, root, and creepy-crawly thing. Should someone ever try to revive it, it would be one hell of a job. And not likely to succeed – memories run deep around here, and to jus the people. The land remembers, too.