Ready for NaMo?

“Are you ready for NaMo?”

Are you asking me?

“Yes, you?”

I am not ready.  I am so not ready.  I have City of Zombies that I could redo and I have this novel idea from my young daughter Kortni.  We agreed to write a story about a boy in a Happy town that runs into a women that is threatening to make everyone sad… but… it’s a bit shallow.  It makes me sad.

“I’m sorry your sad.”

Yeah, it’s just one of many sad things.  Worried about my dad and my job and my family.  I have to maintain and paint new stuff.  It’s been an insanely busy year for me.  By the way… I’m wearing my new Hoodie.

“Ah, I see.  You must like your stuff.”

I do.  They are the best thing outside of the words I put on this blog.  I really love my stories and do miss writing.  Unfortunately, my words don’t make me any money.  I hate to admit that.  Such a passion but I need to make a leaving.  I’m so lucky to have my job and my art.  They both support my writing.

“So what are you going to do for NaMo or National Writing month?”

You know this is my plan.  With all the psuedo-plans I’ve tried to make… I am going to write everyday.  That is my plan.  If I write something that sticks then I’m going there.  I have a whole lot of material.  I really like the Shortz family.  I’m not sure what the details are for the world they live in.  It would be interesting.  I also want to pick up the train story again.

Lament of a SuperVillan

Freewriting lament..

Erik, the Terrible paced the grounds.  His minions, despicable characters that complimented the super villain, wandered nervously waiting for the man to make a decision.

“Every time,” Erik shouted.  “Every time I do anything this man… Super-something flies in and stops me.”

“His name is SuperAlan.”  A large man, dressed in black says as he paces alongside the supervillain.

Erik stopped, “SuperAlan?  Are you serious?  Alan?”

The large man stopped and stood.  He shook, fear erupted within him.  He took in a breath.  “I read it in the paper.  The Daily Digest.  They called him SuperAlan.”

“You can’t call him SuperAlan,” Erik advised.

“What do you want me to call him,” the man replied.

“I don’t know.  Just make something up… just not SuperAlan.”

The big man thought for several moments as Erik continued to pace.

“So to finance my new evil plan I will need to have a Nuclear submarine in my arsenal.  I can alter it to take out Super…”

“Have you came up with a name yet?”  He shouted.
The big man jumped.

“Yes, sir.  Super Pancake.”

Erik stopped walking immediately and turned on his heels.  A smile stuck on the dirty, usually sour face.

The big man returned the smile but was very cautious.  Any sort of emotional response could be interpreted badly and the man could end up at the end of a bullet.

Erik, the Terrible was the only employer in the area for a man that spend most of his youth in jail.  Assault, murder and a bunch of unsavory connections.  Those connections are what got him this job.  This job is not something you get fired from.  The smallest indication of disrespect will get you killed.

Erik, the Terrible felt the smile upon his face.  He rubbed the corners of his mouth and the muscles that pulled them upward.

Suddenly, the supervillain laughed.  He did more than that… he roared.  This roar was followed by an uneasy response by everyone in the room.  A forced reply to a presumed joke.

As spontaneously as the laughter started it stopped and everyone, outside of Erik and the big man continued working.

The big man stared at Erik as the supervillain started back.

Erik laughed again.  A short escape of glee.

“This is why I keep you around.  What’s your name again?  I can not ever remember.”

The big man began to speak… but Erik spoke over him.

“Funny, SuperPancake.. that is so funny.”

He then walked away while Patrick stood alone.