False Start

Gene got into his car and slammed the door. He was parked in the driveway his now ex-girlfriend. She said she had met someone else and sent Gene on his way. He sighed as he looked down at his hands on the steering wheel.  

He didn't know if he wanted to slam his fists on the wheel or just cry. He thought about both, he would probably do both.

The keys were in the ignition for a few seconds before he felt he had the strength to turn them. They sat there, a pink owl hung off of them, she had given him that. He took the keys out and tried to get the key-ring off. The metal ring wouldn't separate. He tried to get his finger nails in there to get the owl off, but he had been biting him for the whole hour and a half break up. His hands were sweaty and shaky. He gave up, put the keys back in the ignition and started the car.

Only, the car wouldn't start. He tried to turn the keys again, but still nothing.

                “Fuck”

The car was dead. Gene felt the blood rush to his face as he tried to think about going back into that house and asking for someone to help. He tried to think of anything else, anyone he could call.

Looking up he saw the little roadside service button. He had never really trusted it, it just seemed too convenient, but he couldn't think of anything else to do.

“Roadside assistance, how are you doing today?”

The woman’s voice was soft and kind. She spoke as if she really wanted to know how he was doing. That was all he needed to break down. He would never hear her voice on the phone again, never wake up to her kissing him, never feel the comfort of knowing that she would pick up the phone when he called and they could talk for hours.

“Hi,” he mustered out. He wasn't quite sobbing, but he was starting to breath funny, where he couldn't get words out.

“Are you okay sir?”

“No.” The ‘o’ lingered out into another sob.

“Do you need me to call someone?” Her voice was serious now. Gene realized how this must sound.

“No, no” He sucked up some mucus “I’m fine. I just broke up with….” The words were still hard. Everything he said shot him back through a thousand memories.

“Sir, I need you to tell me what happened.” Her voice was assertive, but still kind. She sounded so nice.

“My girlfriend…I…we…we broke up.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“She wanted to be with someone else.” Gene felt some weight come off his chest just saying it. He took a deep steady breath. It was the first one he had fully taken in two hours. “She said the met on a tilt-a-whirl.”

“A tilt-a-whirl?” She sounded so understanding and talking was making him feel  better. She was on his side.

“I know. How do you meet someone on a tilt-a-whirl?” Gene let out another long breath. “It doesn’t even make sense.” He remembered her leaving for Florida. “She had gone down to visit schools in Miami, I had called her every night. She told me about-“ He choked up again.

There was a few seconds of silence. “You’re going to be okay.”

“She told me about going to a carnival one of the schools was throwing. I guess they must have met there. She’s going to the University of Miami and were breaking up.”

“Look, a lot of people break up when they go to college, you should look at this as an opportunity.”

“How is this as an opportunity?” Gene wiped his nose off on his sleeve.

“Well, I’m sure your relationship wasn't perfect…”

“It was!” Gene could feel himself jump on the defensive, but then he thought for a second. “Well-“

“If she is going to jump on the first guy she meets down there, I can’t imagine she was much of a keeper.” Gene suppressed his instinct to defend himself. He let her finish. “Think of this as a chance to start fresh.”

“Start fresh.” It wasn't much, but he had stopped sobbing. He could breathe normally again too. Maybe he was going to be okay. “Thanks, I really do feel better.”

“Good, I’m glad I could help.”

“I think I just needed to break down a bit, sorry about that.”

“That’s quite alright, I was happy to help but I-“

“Things just get all bottled up in times like this, you know?”

“Yes sir I do, but I have to-“

“I’m really glad I called you.”

“Yes, I have to-“

“Oh! You have to go don’t you”

“Yes, I’m so glad I could help but I have other callers so I do need to go.”

“Well, thanks again. Bye.”

“Good bye sir.”

It was only a few minutes of conversation, but Gene felt better. It still hurt, but there was hope now. Gene looked down at his keys in the ignition.

“Fuck”

Today's Update

- More writing: 'Coffee Line'. I have decided to attempt to develop Gene's character through short scenes like this. So get ready for more of these.

-Added second profile portrait to the drawing section. 

-Added a teaser or a new comic I'm working on. 

-Added a gadget for subscribing to this blog through an RSS feed, so be sure to do that.

Remember to comment and (now that you can) subscribe!

More tomorrow. 

Coffee Line

     Gene walked into the coffee shop down the street from his office. The walk wasn't to long, but the winter weather had just started rolling in and he had neglected to wear his coat. He took a few steps into the shop, dragging his feet against the door mat and welcomed the warmth. He could only get a few steps in though, as the line was rather long. It was about 9:30 and the place was full of other people looking for a way to procrastinate before actually doing work.

     He stood behind a big guy in a red t shirt. The man had a foot on Gene, but hunched his back up so the height difference wasn't as noticeable. It seemed he also neglected to wear a coat, but Gene got the impression that this was by choice rather than neglect. The t shirt was tight on him too and didn't flatter his broad frame.

     As the line dragged on, Gene just stared at the back of this guys head. You can only stand behind someone so long before you start to hate them. The man had a shaved head, but Gene could still tell that he rarely showered based on the amount of bumpy red blemishes. The smell was another give away. It wasn't a terrible smell, it was just a smell that was clearly coming from this man. Almost musky, but not too overwhelming. Still, Gene tried to breathe mostly through his mouth.

     With each step the man jingled. At first, Gene though it was change in his pocket or something, but after closer inspection, it was a huge mess of keys hanging off his hip. There must have been twenty five keys on there, not to mention some huge key chains, one of which being a heavy pewter statue of a robot.

     'What an obnoxious amount of keys', Gene thought himself.

     When the man finally reached the front, he greeted the bored looking girl tending the register and looked up at the menu displayed above the counter. The back of his thick head bunched up into fat rolls when he looked up. He read the menu as if he hadn't been standing in line for the past seven minutes.

     He was cheerful when he finally ordered too. That some how made it worse. Did he not realize there were people behind him, waiting for him to make his order? Could he not feel the impatience surging?

     The man ordered a large iced coffee with extra creme and a cinnamon roll. In reality, the order probably took less than a minute, but it didn't seem like that. His order finished, he moved off to the side to wait for his coffee.

     Gene stepped up to the counter. The second he did, he could feel the same impatience surging behind him. It broke against him like waves. All he could think about was the growing line of people waiting for him to make his order. With the guy in front of him, Gene could redirect any impatience he felt, but there was no buffer now. He felt it all himself.

     The people standing behind him and hating him just as he had hated the guy in red. Gene could feel them looking at his stupid hair cut that he hated anyway, the way his shirt was tucked in, what he ordered. He could feel their attention on everything. He didn't dare look up at the menu. The only thing he could think to order was the iced coffee the man in red had just got. No cinnamon roll though. They would recognize that, the iced coffee alone could have just been a coincidence.

     Gene moved out of line like he was moving out from under a bus. He noticed that the man in the red was still in the cafe. He had gotten his coffee and moved over to a little station where you could add more sugar or whatever you wanted. Gene watched the man for a little bit longer. He was taking his time. He looked at the packets of sugar and the various types of creme that the cafe had provided. He though about what he wanted, and then added it to the cup.

      Gene got his coffee and moved to stand next to him, pretending to examine the various selections. The smell and the keys and everything else about this man was still there, surrounding him like an aura, but it seemed different now.

     Looking back at the line that had stood behind Gene just a moment ago, everyone looked as indifferent an bored at the girl behind the counter. The man in red took his time, got what he waned and jingled back onto the cold street in his tight red t shirt. 

Today's Update

I have some administrative things to handle so the update may end up a bit small today. I will try to get another piece of writing on here tonight, but we shall see. So far I have:

- I added my first attempt at a portrait in profile to the drawing section.

Comment and all that!

Today's Update

Today's update consists of the following. 

-New perspective drawing, this one using a two point perspective. Pretty snazzy. 

-Second visual scene added to the writing section. This is an extension of the exercise briefly described in the first visual scene. 
-New draft of "Build Up" in the writing section. This draft was prompted by an awesome user's comment. So keep those coming!

Check em out and comment! 

A Visual Scene 2

     This is another scene from the same movie. This scene occurs right after the first one. Again, I tried to show feeling through action and visuals rather than the interior thoughts of the characters. Let me know what you think in the comments.

----------

     Black and deep, the only light that makes it down shimmers off the oil bubbling up from the bottom of the pit. The Man stands knee deep in oil at the bottom, digging deeper. He picks his head up from the work and pulls at the air that makes it down to the bottom. The light coming down from the mouth of the hole shines off the man's oil covered face.

     The Man's shift in the hole finished, he studies a picture of a machine. He pulls meaning from it and breaks it down to basic forms. The other man not in the hole tends to a baby, his son. The son is silent while they both watch the Man working to replicate this machine.

     The man measures the length of the large metal pike against the designs he has drawn up from the book. It takes two men to pull it up to the surface from the bottom of the pit, one man on the crank designed to raise it, and another pulling the rope itself.

     The Man has the rope wrapped around his arm and pulls with all of the energy he has remaining after the days work. The sand shifts under his feel as he tries to pull the rope along. The Man stumbles and the rope slips out of his hands. The crank spins wildly as the metal pike plummets to the bottom of the pit.

     With a thunk, the pike is driven into the flesh of the earth. Bubbles begin rising from the fresh wound as the pit slowly fills with oil. The father lowers himself into the pit as the other two men bring the pike back up a bit. At the bottom, the father runs his hand against the pike as it rises up. It is slick with hot oil. He laughs and raises his oil soaked palm to the mouth of the pit.

     The men work quickly now, with the proof of their labor. They make a small pool not far from the hole to store the oil in as they bring it up. The wooden beams used to raise and lower the large metal pike are now used to raise and lower buckets for extracting the oil.

     The father holds his son as he dumps one of the buckets into the collecting pool. He kneels down. Father and son are reflected in the smooth, black surface of the oil. The father dips his hand into the pool and marks to son's forehead with the oil. The son whimpers and struggles for comfort in his father's arms.

     The men bring bucket after bucket to the surface. The man and the father work in the hole to fill the buckets with oil, while the third pulls each load to the surface and adds it to the pool. The scaffolding used to    support the buckets is silhouetted against what light makes it into the pit.

     The snap is sudden. There are only a few second before the bucket come down to crush the father's skull. His blood splashes over the Man's face, covering some of the oil with deep red. There's no sound, no scream, just the wet smack of a man becoming a corpse in a pit of oil.

     The man look at the child laying in its basket and sips from a flask. The child weeps. The Man pours a bit of his flask on the nipple of the child's bottle, but the child rejects it.

     The job done, the Man rides across the state in a locomotive, the child next to him. He looks down to the baby looking up at him. The son reaches up from the basket and the Man leans down.  

A Visual Scene

This is the first scene of a movie. The scene is almost entirely visual and I was once told it would be a good exercise to write a scene like this. I also tried to keep out as much interiority as possible. Let me know what you think in comments and let me know if you know what movie its from too. 

-----------

     A gaping expanse of dirt and dying plants focuses down on a large hole in the ground. It's quiet, with only the whine of an injured animal ringing our over a small wood structure set up over the large, black hole.

In the hole, he picks away at the rock, digging deeper. The small dark lights up around the point of the pick with each strike. The dust from the rock fills the air. He breaks the rocks like he is digging a grave, he breaks them with purpose. He digs with that purpose for hours.

     The man stops digging only to sharpen the blunt point of the pick. He drags the sharpening tool across the pick like he has a thousand times before. He has always been sharpening this pick, tempering it against the rocks and making his way.
     The man spends his nights next to a fire, underneath an unending sheet of stars. He keeps the fire going while he is awake. If he is lucky, it will keep its warmth through the night.
     In the hole, the man picks at the walls with a rhythm. But his rhythm quickly breaks today. The rock caves easy to his pick as it moves faster against the wall. He slips a stick of dynamite into the space he has made. His tools in a bucket and rigged to be pulled back to the surface, he lights he fuse.
     Out of the hole, he pulls himself up onto the I beam reaching across the top of the hole and hops back onto the surface. The rope attached to the bucket runs up out of the hole and down a small decline outside the hole. He grabs it, wrapping it around his right arm and pulls.
     All of his weight into the rope gets the bucket off the ground a bit, the bucket wobbles, and falls back to the floor of the pit. He gets the rope a bit tighter around his arm and pulls again. The small flame is running along the fuse, getting closer to the dynamite while he pulls. The weight of the bucket keeps him from being able to return it to the surface.
     The pop is sudden but muted by the depth of the hole. Dust rises like the smoke from a locomotive.
     Moving back to the hole, he eases himself back onto the ladder leading down. His hands clamber down the rungs. He grabs each one as he lowers himself into the hole. About twenty feet from the bottom, one of these rungs slips out from the ladder, sending him quickly to the bottom.
     He wakes with a hard, long breath. The air rushes back into him through the rock and the dust. He pulls himself up to sit against one of the walls of the pit. He digs through some of the rubble from the blast. The rock shimmers a bit, even through the dust and dirt covering it.
     “There she is.” He spits the rock and wipes at it, “There she is.”
     He tucks the rock into his shirt. The rope holding the stubborn bucket hangs down like a noose from the small bit of light above. He grabs it, pulling himself up. His leg is broken. He pulls himself up on the rope and leverages his weight against the wall to reach the ladder.
     The climb out of the hole is long, but he is able to manage up the remaining rungs of the ladder with the rock tight against his chest. He tumbles out onto the bright sand upon reaching the top. The air is fresh. An animal cries out and echos around the canyon.