I'm a Writer

If you've known me for awhile, have watched my youtube videos, follow me on twitter, are friends with me on Facebook, or read any of my two current blogs, you know that I write things other than my daily happenings.
I used to put what I wrote online for whoever to see, but have taken to keeping things that I write tightly under wraps.
This isn't because I don't think I'm good any more; it's actually quite the contrary. I'm a lot better than I used to be, and have confidence that what I write is, at the very least, decent.
I've been working on a novel for a few months, and am to a point where I feel like it's okay to share a small part. I'm not going to tell you what happens before or after this part, but I will tell you that it's toward the middle of what I'm working on.

So without further adieu, here is what I'm willing to share with you.
(All opinions and constructive criticism are welcome; please be gentle with me.)

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My wife sent her son and I to the movies. We drove there in silence; we don’t talk much. Upon arriving, we went through the ritual of buying the movie tickets to a cheesy G-rated animated movie with talking dogs, a large tub of popcorn, two drinks, and some candy for the kid. We make our way to the theater, enter, and pick two seats in the middle of the auditorium, in the middle of the row; they’re my favorite seats. You can never go wrong with being in the middle of everything - you never miss a thing and are aware of any sudden changes. I suffer through this movie with this little kid that I hardly know, who seems to actually be enjoying this crap. He laughs as the dogs run around and slam into things, his smile wide and his eyes shining.
An hour and a half later, the credits roll across the screen. We stand up, grab our respective drinks and snacks, and make our way down the stairs. The kid seems to be overly fascinated with the lights in the rubber tubing that they glued to the side, which causes me to smile a little; I vaguely remember being that young and fascinated by that very same thing. We eventually make it past the shiny lights, the narrow hallway leading to the exit, out the door, through the theater, out another door, and into the parking lot. Surprisingly enough, the sun is still shining.
As we drive home the boy chatters away about the movie that we just viewed, attempting to analyze key plot points and tell me his favorite part. I nod and say “Yeah” when it seems appropriate; one movie cannot change our relationship that much. Fifteen minutes later, I park the car at the curb outside of our house and get out. The boy is hot on my heels, still talking a million miles a minute. My ears catch “and it was kind of funny when that dog sniffed the other dog’s butt to say hello, but not really. I mean, when you think about it, it can be kind of gross. I mean, why do they DO that? They could just bark” as we walk up the cement walkway toward the front door. I nod and insert the key into the lock, gaining us instant access to the Hell-hole waiting for us inside of the house.
“Mom!” he calls, running upstairs excitedly. “We’re home!”
I throw the keys carelessly onto the small table sitting in our entryway, making my way deeper into the house. I can tell something isn’t right; the house feels eerily silent. Even the boy is silent.
“Ben?” I call, turning to my left and making my way up the stairs. My voice is met with more deafening silence and I quicken my pace. “Ben!?”
I run down the hallway to the bedroom that I share with my wife and slowly walk in. I survey our room with searching eyes, looking for a key to the silence. My eyes sweep over the almost painfully neat room decorated in various shades of white and teal and land on Ben standing in the doorway to the master bathroom. His back is to me. “Ben?” I ask, too nervous to move any further into the room.
His head moves slowly to look at me, and his wide eyes finally meet mine. “Dad,” he says, making me cringe, “I think something is wrong with mom.”

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Currently Reading: I'm in between books right now. As much as I love Emily, I need something besides poetry in my life.


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