Uncovered During Some Digital Digging

Buried in one of the many old files that have been passed down from computer to computer over the last seven years I stumbled across a small word document containing the notes for a few story ideas that I jotted down back in 2009 while riding the train to work. There are a few interesting ideas and a number of options regarding the directions that these brief glimpses can go. What I find most interesting is I can remember each building, station, and person that I passed when these ideas came to mind. However, there are also many issues and a heck of a lot of polishing that needs to be done in each instance but thought I would share because it is interesting at times to consider the raw idea…

Her neck flexed and vanes protruded as the rope swung forward and back. A dripping lead pipe kept time in the echoes of the opposite corner. In the cool cavernous corner of the basement she pursed her lips for one more breath of musty air. Her body relaxed, she struggled to caress her lungs with one more pollen laden breeze.

She found the staccato of the braided hemp stuttering as it rubbed across the wooded floor support to be soothing. The light shaking reminded her of collecting tickets for the roller coaster at the amusement park on the boardwalk. At the end of the night, with the cool ocean air swollen with the stale smells of caramel corn and hot dogs, she would take the last ride.

She knew every turn, every drop. She sat in the same seat, front right, every night.

Pressing the start button, the hydraulics would hiss, and she would run to her seat. As the car began to climb the spiraled ascent she would pull the lap bar down, cross her legs, smile, and watch as Ocean City went to sleep.

As she neared the top the clicking crescendo echoed across the now empty park. Slowly, the car would tip forward and she would close her eyes and listen for the crashing waves.

The wind filled her lungs and caressed her face as she recalled every turn and dip, side to side, front to back, until the ride was over.

***

What is written by the hand is determined by the mind. The devious script of the foreseeing mind tells all. These hands shall harm no more than paper.

He studied the hand written letters line by line, word by word, letter by letter.

“See here. He Stopped. Like he was thinking. Like he didn’t know what came next.”

“Where? I don’t see it.”

“Right here.” He pressed his calloused finger to the middle of the first sentence. “Right there, as the d trails in the word hand there is a hesitation. The ink bleeds.”

“You’re right. As if he didn’t know what to say. That might explain why it is so cryptic.”

He brushed the note with the tips of his fingers mumbling something that, by his expression, seemed to be a circle of questions.

“What is it?”

“A man who takes so much pride in his writing, in his work, but no signature.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know yet.”

***

The elderly man stared out the lower deck window of the arriving New Jersey Transit train.

“I know that walk.”

The half asleep crowd paid no attention to the hunched over man with the long white beard.

“I know that walk!”

Not a single look glanced his way as he pressed his hands against the window trying to grasp the shoes walking past.

“I know that man!”

The train hissed to a quick stop, the doors slid open, and the determined herd hurriedly pressed toward the nearest escalator.

The old man waited for the crowd to pass, slowly pressed himself to his feet, and took slow, measured steps toward the grinding paddles of the moving stairs.

As his eyes passed the horizon of the Penn Station lobby floor he saw those same salt stained brown shoes that passed by his window.

He slowly lifted his head and as his eyes met those of the owner of the brown leather shoes his brow lifted.

Both men stood in silence. They were of similar age and height. The two old me slowed their breathing. Mist pouring from the other man’s clean shaven face while the warm breath rolled from under the old man’s white beard.

The other man strained to stand strait, wincing as he pulled his chest up. In a disbelieving raspy whisper the other man said, “I thought you were dead.”

The old man responded with deliberate words, “I’m surprised you didn’t kill me.”

There may be something to the ideas above… of course, there may not be anything at all. I guess I am going to have to give them some more thought and try to find any notes or outlines that may be scribbled somewhere else. After that, it will all come down to finding the motivation to pursue the stories, develop the characters, and let everything unfold before me without over thinking the process of progression. That has always been the hardest part for me.

My Solution For Disappearing Pens

A few weeks ago I got a package left on my desk at the office. Just like every other item that I have delivered to me at work, someone inevitably asked what I had ordered. This is especially true when the items arrive from overseas and most of the writing on the envelope, with the exception of the address, is in another language. However, this time, when I responded to the query I received a somewhat blank stare followed by another question of “what is that?”

For much of my working life, I would do to the supply area and pull out a pen or two to keep at my desk… not everything is done on the computer contrary to what some people may say or the younger generation thinks. This has pretty much been a weekly routine as I would either run out of ink or, what was more common, I would leave it in the conference room where someone would inevitably pick it up and bring it back to their own office. These are just disposable pens so it was no big deal to just go get another one from the supply drawer.

However, I have always been one that enjoyed a good pen while at the same time, I don’t want to spend a lot of money on something that I could easily lose. Those aforementioned packages contained something to solve a large part of my problem of going through so many writing instruments (while also saving my hand). What I found out in those simple questions from a younger colleague was that many people are unfamiliar with fountain pens.

I have always been a proponent of fountain pens as I can write almost all day without my hand getting tired and it is easy to replace the ink cartridge in something that I have become used to. What I am finding now is that if I do leave it somewhere, it is brought right back to me. Some of those returns are because people are unfamiliar or uncomfortable using them. It is actually quite amusing when you see someone use a fountain pen for the first time… it is almost like they are learning to write for the first time.

It is a unique pen to carry these days but, for me, it is completely functional as my hands are no longer sore after a long day of taking notes or writing and I know that it will always come back to me should I leave it on the conference room table. And, frankly, I am rather surprised with the quality that I received in these shipments from China given that I spent about two or three dollars (including shipping) on each pen (under a dollar for the disposable ones)… especially when you consider that the prices for the ballpoint and rollerball pens of similar quality are about five times higher. It is nice to enjoy the practicality of the fountain pen even though many may wrongly believe that it is an absurdly outdated writing instrument.

Sunday Search: Rediscovering What Was Already Discovered

The early days... it was easy to keep organize with few files. 

My wife and I decided to dedicate this weekend to cleaning and our son finally let us get the much needed work done around the house. With the washing machine humming, sloshing, and twirling in the background, we went from room to room cleaning, organizing, sorting, and packing. It took the entire weekend to get most of the house done and by the time my wife went to bed on Sunday night the only two rooms remaining were our offices. This is a wholly different task altogether as we both have more paperwork than storage space and more books than shelves. It is going to be interesting but hugely satisfying when it is done.

With my wife and son asleep, I ventured down into the basement and began sifting through the rows upon rows of shelves. I went down there with the goal of filling one box of books that had little value to me at this moment. As someone who enjoys information and having resources readily available, this is not a very easy process… many of the books that I have collected over the years are those that contain information that has yet to be digitized. Contrary to what some people say, not everything can be found on the internet. After about 30 minutes, I actually was able to fill a box and clear a shelf for the binders of new research that was going to be added. It came down to a small sampling of books that I know I can find again when I have the space.

Once this part was done, I began flipping through the binders on the shelves and files stored in boxes. It really is amazing what you can find when you it down and sift through the boxes in your office… this is especially true when it comes to genealogy. While slowly flipping through the pages and pages of notes and photocopies, I rediscovered small details that I had written on a pieces of paper while pouring through volumes and volumes of material. They are the small details (like the fact that my great grandparents were brought together by their love of horses) that I had forgotten almost as quickly as I was able to record them.

It is the dilemma of disorganization. While many of the documents and facts have been sorted and organized for later, many of these details seem to get lost in the pages. At the same time, rediscovering these details was just as interesting as when I first read them. It was nice to feel that same way about finding ‘new’ information and it makes me wonder what other documents I have buried (most likely from a scanning / photocopying marathon). With the rest of the house in order, I am glad that I am now in a position to take on this task… at least until the files get moved again.

Back To Work

When hump day feels like Monday you know it is going to be a long week. After taking two days off to bask in the Passover holiday, it was time to go back to work and attempt to catch up on all the things that I missed in the beginning of the week. So, I rolled out of bed in the morning with eyes that refused to believe that I had not been up this early in the past four days and legs that, if they had any energy, would swing up and kick my own butt. It just goes to show that no matter how much you love your job, the people you work with, and getting back to productivity you still really don’t want to go back to the office when you know that there is days of work to get caught up on.

The morning commute seemed a little longer than usual but also not long enough as my sluggishness was not relieved by my usual cup of coffee. The really odd thing about the drive was that I didn’t dwell on what was awaiting me on my desk. What did keep interrupting my auditory perceptions was what I didn’t accomplish during the past four days. While there were plenty of things that I did, there wasn’t enough to show for it. This of course made me think about what I could have gotten done and what I plan to do in the future when the occasional day off occurs.

So, I walk into the office and the first thing I see are the papers and the notes left on my desk. While I took a quick glance at them, I pretty much knew what they said already so I pushed them aside, turned on my computer, and began the slow dig out from under the avalanche. It wasn’t that the notes didn’t contain anything important but I knew that I had to get to work as quickly as possible before the day began getting away from me. And it didn’t take long before my schedule slipped from my grasp.

By the end of the day I had barely made a dent in what needed to be done as other things came up throughout the day and I was called into several meetings which accounted for nearly four hours. In some respects I wish I had not taken so much time off but, at the same time, I am glad that I was nowhere near the office for a few days. I am sure that it will be days before I get caught up and, by then, I am going to be looking forward to the next break in the calendar. Sometimes that is just how things go and all we can do is hold on, try not to throw up, and enjoy the ride (so I used a cliché, bite me).

Random Phone Notes

I was going through my phone in an attempt to free up some space and generally delete a bunch of things that were just taking up the screen. You know, the apps that you come across every once in a while and say “why the heck do I have this on my phone?” Well, as I dug a little deeper into many of the forgotten files more and more space became available in my memory.

One of the areas that I keep overlooking is the random notes and ideas that I type into the yellow screen in the hope to not forget the thoughts. Unfortunately, I frequently forget that I recorded the ideas. It is only when I go into the application to make another note when I remember the other content that is just sitting there. Thankfully, the practice of recording my notes in my phone isn’t incredibly common.

On Friday, I had a thought and opened my notes. After recording the random clicker of quasi creative thought, I scrolled through the other notes that were sitting there. Some of the sentences were interesting and could, possibly, be fleshed out to be a somewhat interesting piece. Others, not so much (that collection of completely inconsequential randomness was quickly trashed). But, I will let you be the judge so here is what I found when I read through the forgotten lines…

11/21/11 – The road laced the nightmares of parents in the small Philadelphia suburb when their children turned 16. Every year, a new cross, a new mound of flowers, a new collage of mournful notes lay exposed to the elements. The curve itself wasn't sharp - there was nothing treacherous about its degree. It was the suddenness of the bend that robbed one of control. It was to the relief of everyone in the town when the township decided to close the road. No more nightmares. No more haunting images and nights filled with pacing. No more worrying that they wouldn't see their children graduate. No more ghosts. Years passed and the old road slowly slipped back into the winding creek beside it. However, the curve remained seemingly untouched by time. Last summer, enough time had passed and the stigma had faded to the point that a developer purchased the land at what he thought was a steal. He was looking forward to the profits the thought were sure to follow.

7/4/13 – I hear the sounds of fireworks in the distance without a splash of color to be seen. Instead I watch the fireflies pulse in the darkness to the staccato of liberty.

7/8/13 – Motors whining, suspensions creaking, gears popping, and tired what seem to be tearing and ripping at the road. Where are they going at 2am?

11/12/13 – Along the back left wall the lamp lit the desk with a light that seemed to syphon the warmth and energy from the other three corners of the room.

2/28/14 – Bobby expected things to happen for him. He believe that luck was on his side he just needed that one moment to turn things around. It was this sense of entitled hope and opportunity that kept him searching for a genie in the bottom of a bottle.

So, now that you have read through the random thoughts that have passed through my fingers over the past 2+ years, what would you like to read more about? What would you like me to attempt to develop into some sort of creative draft? Let me know what you would like to read and I will make an attempt to expand the thought into something that resembles a story, poem, article, etc. I have no idea what will come out of the exercise but I will give it a shot.