Does there have to be a title?

            Nathan may very well be dead. As much as I hate to leave the story in its current position, unfinished and uninteresting, I just can’t bring myself to write about him and his problems. To be honest, my reason for writing the story in the first place was to try to write something “normal” and not too grandiose. I appreciate the feedback I’ve gotten on the short amount I wrote, and I am glad to see that some of you enjoyed it. As appreciative as I am, however, I am not completely proud of where it’s going.

            “Normal” may actually be the wrong word. I don’t want people to think I only want to write genre fiction (sci-fi/fantasy and the like). What I mean is I want normal characters to do extraordinary things, regardless of the setting. It may be in space, underground, in the past, in the future, or in the very world we live in. As long as I am enjoying what I’m writing, it really just doesn’t matter. Nathan’s story may have lead in a direction I would eventually like, but for now, his story seems uninspired.

            The issue with his story is more of a personal one dealing with my own inability to write “normal” stuff. I’m the kind of person who is typically into plots with extremely high stakes and often world-wide implications. It’s hard for me to write about things that don’t seem so “epic.” It’s a result of twenty-two years spent reading stories, watching movies, and playing video games dealing with these “epic” implications.

            With this in mind, I’m definitely going to try to keep Nathan’s story going, but don’t be surprised if the next post has nothing to do with him.

And here we go...

Alright dudes, dudettes, dogs, cats, martians, and other members of the Milky Way galaxy, here we go.  I've decided to write sort of an episodic short-ish story and post each section onto the blog as the words come to mind and slip onto my trusty Microsoft Word (shout out to my homies over at Bill Gates-land).

Each section will be however long it can be, depending on time and how much creative juice I have in my system (read: coffee).  I hope you enjoy it, and I hope I enjoy it, too.

DISCLAIMER:  I am doing this for my own benefit.  If you find that my story sucks, then I probably agree with you.  But we all have to start somewhere, right?  I'm going to write it as it comes to me, and that may cause some jumbled up ridiculousness to find its way onto your fancy Mac screen.  And I just realized I indirectly pitted Microsoft against Apple in this post, so I do suggest you ignore that.

DISCLAIMER #2:  If I stop writing this story, and you're curious as to what happens, by all means, let me know.  I'd like to know how interested people are.  If you're not curious, then I'm not doing something right, and I should move on to another "creative piece."

And without further ado...

            

             The female seagull circled the sky, keeping its eye on the helpless male minnow flopping around on the shore.  Her laughter taunted the poor minnow, and he knew his seconds were numbered.  Such is the life of a lowly minnow.

“Could it not have been a more attractive bird?” he thought.  “Like a herring?  Surely that would make my death more meaningful.”

Anticipation of escape became overwhelming as the waves inched closer and closer with each break, almost taking him away from his certain doom.  Just as the water teased the minnow with its salty notions of escape, the seagull dove down and—

“Nathan?  Did you hear me?”

He was daydreaming again… daydreaming in the middle of a meeting with his lovely Topics in American Culture professor, Dr. Sunshine.  Her oily, thinning hair hung loosely over her pale, plump cheeks.  Her glasses sat crooked atop her pig-like nose.  As she waved her hand in the air to get Nathan’s attention, the milky white underside of her arm, normally reserved for triceps, swung gently back and forth.

Nathan blinked his eyes a few times, forcing the image of the seagull and minnow out of his mind, as well as the image of his professor’s pseudo-wings.  “I’m sorry.  I got it.  Less analysis of blackface, more research into female oppression.”

“Exactly,” she said.  “Remember, this class doubles as an English class and a Women’s Studies class.  Sure, we covered blackface very briefly, but we really want to look into the more important issues in society.  What you have written here is not at all what this class is about.  You have a week to rewrite it, so I think you should get to work.”

He wanted to tell her how he never saw that part of the description for the class.  He wanted to say that he thought she was an overbearing feminist bitch.  He wanted to tell her that the implications of blackface are still prevalent today.  That not allowing a paper to be written on racial tensions in the United States for a class called “American Culture” was completely absurd. 

Instead, Nathan replied with an exasperated “Yes ma’am,” and he went home to “get to work,” as she so delicately put it.