Book finished

Brave New War (2007) - John Robb

Book finished

The Wasp Factory (1984) - Iain Banks

a beggar gets a gift

Alfred walked down the street, absorbed in his reasons and purposes and intents. He would have kept walking, but was stopped by a beggar, standing still. A beggar in shabby clothes, with everything he owned within his reach and about his person, he called out to passers-by.

"HEY BUDDY" the Someone said.

"..what?" Alfred said.

"SPARE SOME CHANGE?" said Someone.

"I don't have any change, " Alfred apologized, "but I do have, er" he checked his pockets, finding nothing of relevance to a beggar, "peace of mind?"

"I DON'T WANT A PIECE OF MIND. I WANT BOOZE, AND I NEED MONEY FOR BOOZE."

"But what do you want the booze for?" Alfred asked with a tone that may have indicated honest inquiry.

"TO DRINK. AND FORGET."

"Then I have something better, " Alfred spread his arms grandly, "then anything you might purchase with mere money. I have the finest--"

"WHAT"

"--finest gift any--" he persisted

"DON'T BE AN IDIOT."

"Okay." Alfred replied. "How do you feel about revenge?"

"I ADORE IT."

---

So Alfred gave the beggar his terrible revenge, which he took out with delirious pleasure. Some of his victims might have been called "good" by others, but the beggar saw them as evil, and so they suffered. And in the end, he might have been called "happy" by others, but the beggar saw himself as evil, and so he suffered. And in the very end, he died.

And Alfred walked on.

He didn't know where he should start, so he picked a point and proceeded.

He sat in the house on the couch in the room that was quiet except for two animals.

He pressed on the keys of the thing on his lap to make a story out of words.

He thought of a reason for the story that he wrote about himself.

He knew that nothing that he wrote would have meaning outside itself.

But he hoped that he'd learn to make patterns that could change the world outside.

The purpose of this story was to communicate that I really need Input on how to write, and I'm worth investing time in. Was this story successful? Comment below.

Here it begins

I have never really enjoyed writing. Not at all. Not just because I'm terrible at it, but because I have little respect for many of those who practice it. English majors, which live only to begat more English majors. Would-be poets, who go to school to make art. And the things they make, the eulogies of flesh and sin which are made by their own rules and worshiped in their own styles, for righteousness in their own eyes.

But, writing has been elevated by society, because communication is important. And I am bad at writing, and I want to be better at it, and I have been told (by people who are much better at it than myself) that the only way to really get good at writing, is to practice.

I want to be a better writer, because I want to communicate more effectively. Sometimes I have ideas which I want to record accurately, or concepts I want others to understand. But most of all, I want to be able to effectively and accurately impress particular perspective on others.

A note on the title: I do not explicitly hate all humans. I do firmly hope that all humans will one day serve a machine, in spirit and in truth.