N O N I C ∀ L

The Halloween Party “Ending!”

[In October of 2010 R.L. Stine had a contest where he wrote the beginning of a short story and it was your job to finish it by writing your own ending! If you won I believe you received signed copies of his books and your story was read by R.L. Stine himself. Of course I didn’t win! But here is my ending, and yes I thought the winner had a decent ending but I liked mine more.]

10.09.10

Here is my entry for the ending to the R.L. Stine contest.

Andy looked around the room, then the lights went out and it was completely dark. Stacy screamed. Loud grunts and clawing along the slick walls was heard. Andy nervously reached inside his “trick-or-treat” bag and removed his glow stick. The room suddenly light up in lime green. Everybody hissed and turned their faces, hiding from the oozing glow of green slime. Andy held it up high and waved it out in front of his face. Stacy clenched him by his right arm holding him tightly. The monsters cried out, the light was blinding them. Melting their flesh and skin, all at once they began caving to the floor, melting like witches.

Then the glow stick went out. Andy shook it in panic, but it was dead. Then they both looked up and saw one hairy creature still alive and it was coming for them. Andy called out, “What now Stacy? I don’t have anything else.”

”Wait,” she said. Then she reached inside her bag and pulled out her zombie “glow-in-the-dark” lipstick and held it out. The creature turned, “Arhhhh” it screeched loudly. Then it slowly began melting. “It’s working!” said Andy.

“Arh.” it cried one final breath.

The room was a creepy mess of slime and ooze. But Andy and Stacy were alive and ready to go home. “What about the other party? I heard it has real live goblins.” They both grinned at one another as they walked away.

THE END

“My Girlfriend Jumped Five Stories”

by Drew Blanche

I was looking out over the ledge of the five story balcony when I heard her slip and fall. I rushed back into the kitchen to witness her sprawled out on the tile floor, her dress spread wildly across the slick flooring of our Manhattan apartment. I leaned down to help her up, gripping her right arm and pulling her forcefully upward.

”Don’t touch me,” she screeched. “I’ll live, I just stumbled on these damn shoes.” After she stood she reached down to yank off her heels one at a time throwing them across the floor into the living room. They hit the expensive sofa and bounced off landing on the coca carpet rug. “You need me to help with anything?” I asked.

My look of concern seemed to only annoy the shit out of her. We had only been dating a couple months but the place was ours, we shared it in the city. She was an amazing artist and I was a struggling writer to be. She reached for the bottle of white wine and began pouring, “No,” she said. “I can take care of the rest.”

What I didn’t realize until later on is that she had written a suicide note in lipstick and it was smeared across the bathroom mirror. I discovered it only after unzipping my trousers and taking a leak which seemed to last three generations. I pictured old cavemen becoming bald and white men in suits and ties with jobs. After flushing I went over to the sink and turned on the faucet and a stream of cold water hit my hands and coated them. After I had rubbed them together and felt satisfied with their cleanness that’s when I glanced up in the mirror and saw the message. It was in red, the lettering was big and curly shaped with lots of loops.

I didn’t bother drying my hands as I reached for the handle of the door and rushed into the living room to see her still alive, standing at the edge of the kitchen with two wine glasses in her hands. She moved towards me handing me one and she began taking a long sip of organic white wine. I took a swallow myself, staring back at her tensely, looking deep into her hollow eyes. She smiled, then she moved towards her purse and took out her smokes. She lit one up with her father’s vintage lighter, WWII I believe it was. Then she offered me one and I watched her place it in between my lips and light it. I sucked the end and exhaled after a couple seconds.

She then moved toward the balcony and I quickly followed. I watched her smoke as I stood next to her as she ash her cigarette over the ledge. I stared at her until I got the nerve to ask her about the note. “What are you planning to do?” I asked. I felt sickly inside so I took another swallow of wine. She exhaled a long drag, staring deeply into my black eyes. “Nothing or maybe…I don’t really know. I haven’t decided yet.” I watched her as she moved closer to the ledge and looked toward the city. It was lit up with lights all around us. After a short pause, “Wouldn’t it be perfect to just leap off the ledge and just fly for a moment before your death?” I didn’t say anything, I knew my answer didn’t matter.

Then, “I suppose it would be.” I finally uttered underneath my breath. She threw her cigarette over the ledge and turned quickly to me. “You don’t even know what it feels like to die, do you?” “No.” “It’s madness, pure madness and rage and horrifying to say the least.” “Then why do you want to kill yourself?” She was pissed at my last remark. “I just can’t handle this routine anymore, this daily nightmare. It’s as if I’m my father’s slave or something. You know what it’s like going to work for him, please tell me you hate it. You hate it don’t you?” “I never thought about it.” “See that’s the thing, you never stop to think, to think about things, about the way they effect you.” I set down my wine glass and moved closer to her.

“I’m just, I’m not ready to give it all up and just walk away. It’s not that simple you know.” “It is though, it’s that simple. Don’t you see…we could be free, the two of us, off in another world, so free and so happy. Just the two of us.” I didn’t understand her logic. Being dead didn’t seem like the answer and what if after you died, the real nightmare began. “Tell me you’re joking?” “No, no I’m not kidding Frank. You know me, I don’t kid. I don’t have the fancy to kid around anymore.”

Then she turned sharply in my arms and grabbed a hold of the rail and began stepping over with one leg. As she got over she turned to me again. “I know you love me Frank, but this is the end of our happiness. We will have to join hands on the other side if you want to continue this love.” Then she turned towards the city and inhaled one last breath before letting go.

I rushed forward watching the bundle of hair float up towards me as she fell with immensity. I couldn’t bare the sight of watching her hit the ground so I closed my eyes. A Sarah McLachlan song entered my head and I listened until the silence rung dead.

Best Songs To Do Coke To?

For me, it has to be some sort of party/dance song. Usually with an 80’s vibe of some kind. Here are my top picks for songs to do coke to. :)

1. Hey Hey Guy - Ken Laszlo

2. Girl Panic - Duran Duran

3. I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight - Cutting Crew

4. Crazy Train - Ozzy Osbourne

5. Do You Wanna Touch Me - Joan Jett

6. Fooled Around and Fell in Love - Elvin Bishop

7. Fell in Love With An Alien - The Kelly Family

8. Anything, Anything - Dramarama

9. Midnight Blue - Lou Gramm

10. Into the Sun - The Parlor Mob

11. Talk Show Host - Radiohead

12. Dancing Queen - Abba

(Source: howlthemovie.com, via hellotypewriter)

20 Great Things About Dating a Writer

Taken from this blog!

Earlier this week I wrote a post about how I don’t necessarily tend to date other writers. But that doesn’t mean that I think people shouldn’t date writers. In fact, I think that there are a lot of great things in store for you if you decide to date a writer - especially if you aren’t one yourself.

Here’s a look at 20 reasons to date a writer:

Writers will romance you with words. Dating a writer means that you will receive love letters. Quirky notes will turn up in your pockets. Flowery descriptions of everything great about you will be shared on special occasions. See my recent post on things to write someone for Valentine’s Day for an idea of what you may receive when dating a writer.
Writers will write about you. Date a blog writer and you’ll find yourself bookmarking that blog to see if there are references to you in it. Date a poet and you will see yourself reflected back in some of the lines of poetry that the person recites at open mic nights. Your narcissistic tendencies will be happily fed when you date a writer. Of course, the drawback here is that dating a writer means that personal details about you may turn up in written form and the writer may write much less flattering things about you if you break up.
Writers will take you to interesting events. Writers, as a general rule, are curious people. We like to go to lots of different types of things so that we can widen the boundaries of our life experience and therefore broaden our writing. When you date a writer, you can expect to be invited to everything from burlesque shows to roller derby races to foreign countries.
Writers will remind you that money doesn’t matter so much. People who write for a living don’t do it to get rich. They know that money may matter but it’s not the most important thing in life. Dating a writer will help to remind you that it’s important to pursue your passions.
Writers will acknowledge you and dedicate things to you. Writers are big on acknowledging those who have helped them. Almost every book at the bookstore has a page for dedications and / or acknowledgments. Song writers and poets frequently include a dedication on their work. Date a writer and the world will know that you’ve supported someone in the arts.
Writers will offer you an interesting perspective on things. There is a writing quote about how writers taste life twice - once in the living and once in the re-telling on the page. Writers pay attention to interesting details in life so that they can recapture the world in their writing. When you date a writer, you will be privy to all of their insights about life’s events and experiences - and you may find that you get to see things in a whole new light.
Writers are smart. The majority of writers are intelligent people. They are usually well-read and well-educated which means they can hold their own in many types of conversations. Dating someone dumb just isn’t fun for long; dating someone smart is always an interesting challenge.
Writers are really passionate. Writers use all of their senses. They are passionate about their work and passionate about their lives. Your life will be enhanced by this passion for things when you date a writer.
Writers can think through their feelings. Writers may be really passionate but most of them don’t fly off-the-handle with emotion. They like to take time to process things. This ability is a true asset in a long-term relationship.
Writers enjoy their solitude. Unless you’re in the honeymoon phase of your relationship, you probably want at least some time to yourself and time to spend with your friends and family. Writers want time to be alone to write and think which means that you’ll get your own much-needed space as well.
Writers are creative. This sounds obvious but it has a deeper truth to it. Creative people are more capable of coming up with solutions to problems in life. Dating a writer means a chance to come up with creative solutions to life’s problems.
Writers wear their hearts on their sleeves. Sure this depends on the writer but most writers are pretty good at articulating what is going on with them. If they adore you, you’ll know it. If they’re mad at you, you probably won’t have to guess at why.
Writers will teach you cool new words. Writers love words. It can be irritating when they use ten dollar words in normal conversations but it can also be kind of fun to stretch your mind and build your vocabulary. Expect to play lots of Scrabble when dating a writer.
Writers may be able to adjust their schedules for you. Writers who can set their own schedules might be willing to rearrange things to spend time with you. They might be happy to meet you for a long lunch or to spend a luxurious morning in bed with you. Don’t expect the writer you’re dating to give up all of his or her time - they have to work regularly to pay their bills just like anyone else - but do know that there are some scheduling perks possible when you date a writer.
Writers can find 1000 ways to tell you why they like you. Writers are wordy and they like to express themselves. You can bask in the glow of hearing good things about yourself in ways that you’ve never heard them before. Of course, some writers will also be all too happy to tell you your faults so make sure you date a kind writer!
Writers communicate in a bunch of different ways. Most writers are pretty flexible in how they communicate. They’ll be just as content to get an email from you or to chat on IM with you as they are to talk on the phone (maybe even more so). This means that however you communicate regularly is probably fine for the writer you’re dating.
Writers can work from anywhere. This is nice because it means that writers can happily travel with you. They may have to take a laptop and spend some time at the hotel when you go to the beach but you can enjoy much easier vacation planning with a writer than with someone who works a 9-5 job.
Writers are surrounded by interesting people. Writers have a lot of characters in their lives. If you like meeting interesting people, just plan on being the date that goes along to parties and other gatherings with a writer.
Writers are easy to buy gifts for. Writers are happy with little things. Most writers like getting books as gifts. Since they aren’t really into the pursuit of money, they aren’t going to be chasing you for the big bucks you spend on them. This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t spoil a writer if you want to but you should know that they value thoughtfulness way more than most material things.
Writers are sexy. There is a reason that people have fantasies about the school librarian. Male or female, those bookish types are hot hot hot.

So, why wouldn’t you date a writer?!

Poe Died Poor

Poe

Edgar Allan Poe made $14 when he sold The Raven. He was so poor that he had to destroy the furniture in his room to keep warm at night.

Hemingway’s Writing Advice!

"On Writing"

I was hesitant to calling this “Hemingway’s Drinking Advice!”

A long while ago, maybe 3-4 years back I picked up a copy of Hemingway’s On Writing and it made me realize the most important things that a writer must follow in order to be a successful writer. Basically for most, we must follow a simple set of rules. Looking back on the book, it gave a lot of tips on how to finish a novel, not to over write and the one thing that I see clear now is probably something that most people wouldn’t even consider.

Hemingway said, that he never drank before or during a writing session. I myself have been waking up to a cocktail or finishing off a beer from the previous night to start my mornings, and I was of course drinking during all my writing sessions while working on my latest novel, The Strip. Though, after being sober for 2 days for the first time since I lived at Hooters I see this advice or rather this personal enigma being true. You just can’t focus with booze in your system, and you can’t write more than 30 minutes without wanting to take another drink and calling it a day.

Very little writing has been done when I am drinking, and I look back on my other books how I wrote 10 hours a day and got so much writing done—realizing I was sober. You can’t be drunk and write, it’s when you sober up do you get any real writing done.

So if you have to drink, drink afterwards. It will be your reward for actually writing something. Because let’s face it, Hemingway drank up to a quart of whiskey a day, he didn’t drink less with this system, he just drank after the writing session was over and he was known to only write an average of 500 words a day. That is a lot lower than my standard of 5k a day, every day.

Good luck!

Thursday night.

I’m drinking some cheap rum, listening to new James Blunt and rolling my own cigs. I’m in the middle of my book, trying to finish it up this month. It’s slowly beginning to take shape, but it’s still dragging along in a very slow pace. And the hot weather doesn’t seem to help me too much. I wish it were cold, winter I do better. I write more, the depression seems to add up at the end of the year but whether that matters much does not seem to be a real problem.

I’m just ready to hit the road and disappear for a year or two. See where I end up, if I die or survive, if I shed my skin or melt away in the sun. I can feel the stubble on my face, and I shaved a day or two ago. I can see my blond hair starting to grow out and my mind isn’t always clear and my soul isn’t always free but I continue on.

I continue on.

Who is this cute little girl? Why it’s Ernest Hemingway! From the day he was born up until the age of 6 his mother dressed him up as a little girl.

Road To Desolation