Job Stress and Hope for the Future

I’ve been under a lot of stress recently.  It’s mostly the usual stuff, bills, jobs, not eating right or sleeping enough.  However, my job has been increasing my stress level a lot recently.

I work in a call center.  For the most part I have a pretty easy job and it’s a fairly relaxed environment.  Back in March I changed positions, I went from a role dealing with general public customers to a role dealing with agents who sell the product.  I was getting extremely burnt out on dealing with the customers.  It was a lot of factors that lead me to look for new opportunities and openings, and I jumped at the chance to switch departments.

I was pretty happy with the change for a while, until I got asked if I wanted to take customer calls part time as part of a new cross training program.  I really wanted to say no, but I have a work ethic that got drilled into me early.  Also, in this current climate it’s helpful to be the guy who has multiple talents so they are less likely to downsize you.  Full disclosure, I had agreed to be a part of this cross training program back before I had actually switched departments.  I was burned out and wanted something new.

That’s where I am now.  Taking calls that I want to take part of the day, and then halfway through my day switching and taking calls that I was trying to get away from.  It’s pushing my already high stress levels through the roof.  I’m now at the point where I will do almost anything to not go to work.  Everyday going into work just seems to be difficult.  I try to take my mind off of work as often as I can, between calls I read twitter, facebook or read a book.  I can actually feel my emotions swing downwards when the phone beeps.

This is not a healthy way to live.

I really want to get out of this role I’m in, but I kind of feel trapped.  While I was one of the guinea pigs for the new program, they are now pushing everyone to go through it.  My former teammates on the customer side are learning about agents, and my new teammates get to learn about dealing with the customers.

For quite a while I’ve had this feeling when I go to work, that I don’t belong there.  I’m used to not feeling like I belong.  I’ve lived most of my life as an awkward outsider looking in.  I’ve started looking for new jobs, but most of the “normal jobs” in the area are just different variations on what I’m doing now.

That brings us to the point of all this.  This is one part a way for me to vent off some of my frustration and negativity that doesn’t burden my poor wife with more of my emotional baggage.  At the same time I’m hoping that by putting my thoughts, feelings and wants down and sending them out, it will solidify the message and spark a response from the universe.

I’m not a religious or highly spiritual person, but I do believe that what you put out will come back to you.

What do I want?

I want a job more in line with my interests.  I love geeky things, so getting paid to talk, write and discuss movies, comics, games and the latest geek news would be perfect.  But that’s not all I enjoy.

I don’t want to be rich.  What I do want is the freedom from living paycheck to paycheck.  Enough money to pay my bills and have some left over.

That’s what I want.

Now, I’m not expecting the perfect job to just land in my lap.  I am taking steps to help make this happen.  I’m taking my writing more seriously.  I’m trying to get posts up on a regular schedule over at http://www.FanboysTalking.com and I have a novel that I am going to finish.

That’s where I am now.  Just getting all of this out has made me feel better already.  It’s a start.

Thoughts on Writing… pt. 2 – Giving Myself a Pep Talk

tumblr_static_writing450A wise man once said that if you want to be a writer then you need to act and think like a writer.  So the first step for me is to start writing more.  Even bullshit blogs full of grammar and spelling errors counts in my eyes.  There is a reason that I named this “First Draft Thoughts.”  Not a lot of editing going on here.

Every year there is this community event called NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month http://www.nanowrimo.org/ .  It’s one month out of the year where they encourage everyone to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days.  I have mixed feelings on this.  On the surface I think it’s a really cool idea to encourage people to write more and express their creativity.  However, what ends up happening is I get a facebook/twitter feed full of “Wrote 350 words today…”  That’s the part that I seem to have the biggest issue with.

Word count is important and I understand that you need to do it or it’s never going to happen.  It’s something I’m kicking myself on a nearly daily basis about.  But, I have to wonder about the numbers.  It seems that more people are obsessed with the numbers than they are with the content.  I could be (and most likely am) completely wrong about this, and that’s just how I see it on the surface, but it does get me thinking.

Is it better to write 500 so/so words or write 50 great words.

My problem is that I want to edit as I go and I want it to be perfect the first time.  I do a lot of editing in my head when inspiration strikes.  I spend a lot of time thinking about the idea before actually putting the pen to paper.  (Yes, that is a nice of way justifying my not actually writing any ideas down.)

In other aspects of my life I have accepted my flaws and limitations.  I play guitar, but I also understand that I was not meant to be a lead guitarist, I’m much happier just banging away on chords and let someone else play the crazy leads.  With a lot of what I do Good Enough simply is good enough.  But with the writing it’s different.  It has to be perfect, maybe it’s a more personal thing, it’s more of my heart and soul being poured out.  I get discouraged if I sit there and write out those 500 words and they aren’t the perfect words.

nanowrimoI still have my goal for 2013.  My goal for 2013 is to actually write and complete a story.  Preferably it’s a story that is longer than 5 pages.  I’m not trying to set the world on fire with my amazing prose or skill, but I would like to do it for myself to prove that I can do it.  Like most things, once you have that first one out of the way, you’ve done it.  I will have conquered the first hurdle.  Everything else will be easier, because I’ve already done it.

I need to start thinking like a writer.  If this was my job, I’d have fired me by now.  If I want to be a writer, then guess what I need to do.  I need to write.  Or else I’m just a ~er and not a writer.

So there we have it, just giving myself a pep talk and getting out of my brain and out into the ether.  Because once it’s on the internet it never really goes away, it’s even more permanent than being carved in stone.  Hold me to it Internet.  I need someone to keep me on track.

Maybe I need to actually do the NaNoWriMo thing, but I need it before November.

No-Cola: The Beginning

tumblr_lqrcu01ajM1r036oao1_r1_400I don’t have many vices.  I don’t smoke.  I barely drink.  However, my biggest vice is junk food.  If it’s horrible for me, I probably love it.

Over the last few years I have tried to get myself into better shape.  Frankly, it started because I saw a picture of myself and I did not like how I looked.  You’d be amazed at how much armor can tell you about your body shape.

In about 2009 I did an event and I saw myself in the pictures and I just hated what I saw.  To make it worse I had a pair of pants that were no longer fit and another pair were getting tight.  I decided it was time to make some changes.

I’ve tried a few different exercises, mostly things I can do around the house.  Because, like most people I am scared of the gym.  I don’t know how to use half of the items in there and I don’t want to look like that flabby out of shape idiot who is sitting on the machine wrong.  Pushups, situps and other exercises you can do around the house have really helped and made me feel like I’m burning more calories than simply sitting there watching TV.

I know the big thing I need to do if I was really really serious about getting into better shape, running.  I just can’t seem to get myself to do that.  I guess it’s partially the socially awkward part of me and it’s simply a matter of finding time and commitment to do it.  My schedule is pretty full already most days.

One thing I knew I had to cut down on was the soda.  At my worst, I was drinking about 4 cans of soda a day and I’d usually have a 32 oz fountain soda with lunch.  It was really bad.  And this was not any kind of diet soda, this was normal Coca-Cola.  So yes a disgusting and disturbing amount of soda.  I decided to start cutting down.  I discovered that the fountains at work also had Iced Tea that wasn’t half bad.

Quick sidenote about Iced Tea and me.  Since I live in the South, everywhere I go is Sweet Tea.  Now since I’m not only weird but was raised in California (Sweet Tea does not exist there in case you’ve never been there), I don’t like Sweet Tea.  It’s just too sweet, it’s like drinking sugar water.  Which I guess is basically what it is.  So me ordering Iced Tea in any place in the South is pretty much a crap shoot for how long my unsweetened Iced Tea becomes Sweet Tea by mistake.  Add to this the fact that I don’t like lemon in my tea or the crime against humanity that is the Passion fruit flavored tea, and you begin to see my dilemma with Tea.

The lunch time drink is taken care of with Iced Tea, and at home I made a conscious effort to cut down on how much I soda I drank.  I worked my way down to 1 can per day.  Usually having it with dinner.  Having a Brita water pitcher has been a great investment.  Our tap water isn’t bad, but I like my water ice cold.  Bottled water was okey, but keeping it stocked in the fridge was a bit of a pain and I started to feel bad about the amount of bottles being thrown away.  So we bought a pitcher and haven’t looked back.  I love it.

Recently I’ve started to think about dropping soda’s 100%.  It was a mixture of running out and not being able to make it to the store.  It just got me thinking about finally taking the plunge.  So this past weekend I finally decided to do it.

Of course, wouldn’t you know that Jenn and I went to the movies on Saturday and of course bought a Large Coke for us to split.  So I would say Sunday was the first day without any.

Sunday night was not a good night for me.  It may have been a bit of caffeine withdrawal mixed with drama earlier in the day to just make me feel extra shitty by the time I dragged my sorry butt into bed.

Now it’s Monday night and I feel okey.  It felt a little weird to not have a drink with dinner but after a few bites of dinner I was no longer thinking about it.

One thing I have noticed since I cut down is that I can’t drink very much soda anymore.  I could barely finish a 20 oz bottle and if I ever opened a second drink within a short time of the first one I would just feel gross.  It felt extra syrupy and sugary, it really helps you to realize how awful this stuff is for you.

I don’t know if I’ll ever truly pull the caffeine monkey off my back, but I’m hoping to make him a heck of a lot smaller and with any luck my waistline will follow as well.

Thoughts on writing…

writing1I’ve tried to become a bit more serious about my writing.  I’ve even set myself a goal to have some piece of finished work, strongly preferred to be longer than 5 pages, finished by the end of 2013.

So far, I’m not doing so well on completing that goal.

My biggest problem comes from lack of motivation.  As someone once said, you need to treat it like it’s the most important thing in the world.  I’m not doing that.  I’m easily distracted by games, TV, real life.  I come home from work tired, hungry and all I want to do is sit down and veg in front of the TV for a little while and then before I know it’s time to go to bed.  It’s not the best attitude to have when you are trying to be creative.

I’m not even talking about actually making this a full time paying gig, I’m talking about just sitting down and actually doing something.  Finishing something… hell, starting something.  Taking it beyond just a few notes scribbled onto a page.

I find myself easily frustrated too.  When I get an idea, I try to jot it down in notes so that I can at least find it again.  There is always an idea popping up at times when I can’t write it down.  So I try to keep a notebook on me at all times.  However when it comes to actually taking that idea and forming and shaping it is when I get frustrated.  I want it to be perfect the first time.writing

I understand the concept of drafts and refinement.  How things slowly take shape over weeks, months or even years.  But my brain doesn’t seem to grasp that concept.  It wants it to be perfect right the first time through with only minimal editing.  So when I can’t get an idea to work in a few minutes, I get frustrated.  Frustration leads to me putting the pen down and walking away.  It’s not a healthy or inspiring way to look at things.

Where does that leave me now?  I’ve been kicking my own butt for months now, but that doesn’t get rid of the exhaustion, busy schedules or distractions.  Like anything else, if it’s truly important to me I make the time.  I guess that means the first step is making the time.  I’ve made time to write this up, so I guess that’s something.

I need to make a schedule.  I need to focus.  I need to get to work.

Stuff I’ve Written – “Blackout”

This is another story I wrote years ago.  This is just the intro, but I think it’s a fun start.  I really like the idea and I think I’m going to try and figure out where I was going with the story.  As always, remember these are in their very beginning, rough draft stages.

 

“Blackout”

 

Hello there. How are you feeling? Good, I hope. Not too disorientated by the trip? Good, because it’s a doozy from here. This rabbit hole is deep and wide too. I’ll try and prepare you as best as I can, but there is shit out there that even I don’t know about. Here’s hoping we don’t find those, it could cause problems.

My first piece of advise is forget everything. Everything that you think you knew about the world or what is in it, because it’s all wrong. Everything you ever laughed or scoffed at being too ridiculous is real and boy can some of those things be mean….

——

I’m alive. That much I know to be true. I’ll worry about the rest of the story later. The rest will come in time, it always does. Sometimes all at once, and sometimes a piece at a time.

There is always an easy way to tell if I have survived my previous endeavors. There is no way that death could hurt this much. It really is that simple, if you’re dead, you don’t have to feel this much pain. At least I hope, because that is my goal.

I had a name, but that was another place and time. After last night I can no longer be sure of anything. Was it even one night or has this time gone on even longer? The only things I can be sure or are the pain in my head, and that awful smell.

No sense in rushing this, it’s not like I have anywhere to be. This is most definately a new record. Maybe I have finally gone and done it, maybe I have finally pushed myself out past the safety and the current is just going to pull me away, into the abyss. Wish it would hurry up, my head is pounding.

My name, in what now feels like a different lifetime, had been David. Now that we are both getting cozy with each other, I should warn you. I’m not a nice man, and yes, I am trying to kill myself. I have done things. Things that could keep you up at night, things that keep me up at night.

Even before this self destructive turn, my life had hardly been easy or attractive to even the lowliest of creatures. I had been a man of many titles. Started out as an honest, straight arrow cop. But, that was before the darkness came up and swallowed me whole. No chewing, no mashing. One day I’m there, the next day I’m in so deep, I wonder if I’ll ever see the light again.

I’ve had jobs that run the gamut from garbage man to prize winning investigative journalist. It has been a heck of a ride to lead you here to me, face down in the mud and struggling to remember where I am.

If you’ve never woken up face down in the mud, you don’t know the right way to do it. Most people get up too quickly, and make that biggest mistake of all: they open their eyes. You don’t want to move, especially if you don’t have to. Never, under any circumstances open your eyes until you are ready to face what you will see.

That’s the predicament I find myself in right now. I don’t know what is hurting more, my head or that awful stench burning my nose. It is simply not a smell that a human nose should ever have to endure. Worst of all, I think I’m the cause of it.

While we are having this nice chat, I’m running my checklist. I have a way of doing these things and an order to do them in. Don’t be too obvious about it, you never know who is watching you. Move slowly, get yourself together.

“Hey Jackass, I know you can hear me. Nap time is over”

He’s yelling, he thinks that will hurt. He’s right, but I’m no rookie, I know how to handle a hangover headache and no dipshit yelling in my ear is going to force me to tip my hand.

Deep breath, tense the muscles, get them limbered up. Ready for anything.

“Fuckwad! I said nap time is over.. wakey, wakey, hands off snakey!”

A cold explosion goes off on my head and then goes down my entire body. Wear the hell did this guy get a bucket of ice cold water? Alright, enough of this. He knows I’m awake, and it’s time for me to face what’s in front of me.

“Jesus fucking christ! Did you have to dump the whole bucket on me? You knew I was awake” I mumble angrily a few more choice words under my breath, but I got my point across.

“What a perfectly fitting choice of words. Actually the water was the hardest thing to come by, but you are surprisingly close to what is actually going on. Although you always did aim too high.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” I’ve actually begun to slowly open my eyes now. I think you can see the redness from space today. Opening my eyes was no help, all I can see is a big bright blur.

“Once again, you are surprisingly on target. Now, I can’t explain everything right away. That would take away all my fun. I’m going to let you dangle for a few more minutes.”

His breath, which is what I now believe to be the source of the smell, is making my eyes water worse than the sun. I find my sunglasses, and the whole world starts to take shape. We are definitely not in Kansas.

“Absolutely right, we are not in Kansas. South Dakota actually to be more precise, but it’s very much on the road to hell. Your own personal road no less”

With the shades on, the world is a much more tolerable place, and I take my first look at my good friend here, and I’m nearly out for the count again. It’s not the skin, I’ve seen some weird ethnic mixtures, so deep red skin tone is not that unusual. It’s the horns, they are just the right size and shape to not look Hollywood and fake, they actually looked closer to large fingernails than anything.

“Sorry for the dramatics, but I don’t like to play around too much. I really do need to get to the point and rather quickly. I do have other appointments today. Yes, I am the Devil, Lucifer, whatever you want to call me, it’s right and I’ll always know when you are talking to me.”

“So, you’re the Devil, and we are in South Dakota. Obviously I’m not dead, because I would like to think that Hell would be more interesting than South Dakota and my head hurts way too much to be dead.”

“Yes, you are right on all counts. We are on your personal road to Hell. Notice the sign up there ‘St. Clair Ave’ David St. Clair? And, about 2 miles down this road is Hell, or so the National Enquirer would have us believe.”

His comments are really getting on my nerves. There needs to be a point and soon.

“Your Devil-ness? Is there a point anywhere in our near future, because if there isn’t I’d like to find a nice dive place to get some greasy bacon and eggs and wash it all down with a nice morning cocktail, so unless you really want to get to the fucking meat of the story and tell me what the fuck it is you want, I’m just going to get going now. I’ve had enough of the cryptic bullshit for one morning and my mouth is watering for a bloody mary and some eggs.”

It didn’t work, he didn’t get to the point, just stood there for a few seconds with that ultimate shit eating grin, and then he just turned and started to walk away.

He turns around real quick and tells me “Such an attitude, I normally like people who don’t just cower in fear, but I think it would be more fun to see how much of this you can figure out on your own. So, I’m going to leave you with a nice parting gift and the promise that we will be in touch soon. Have fun and enjoy your eggs, I know you will.”

With that, he has walked off and left me in the middle of nowhere, apparently somewhere in South Dakota. My watch says it’s the 15th. That is the one thing I always make sure is working. If you’re prone to blackouts, you want to know how much time you lost. Apparently I’ve lost 3 days and about 2000 miles. I had been working my way across the Florida panhandle. Must’ve been one helluva party.

First order of business now, ignore the cryptic “Devil” and find breakfast.

Stuff I’ve written – “All You Need is an Idea”

All You Need is an Idea

He was plagued with ideas. The man always found himself thinking. He was always having some thought brewing in the back of his mind. Good ideas, bad ideas, ideas on how to improve the world, ideas on how to destroy the world. Ideas woke with him like a partner to greet the morning, or waited for him in the bed like a lover. He was a man consumed by ideas.

A wise man once said “Build a better mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door.” This was like a mantra to him. Whether he chose to acknowledge it or not. His life was governed by the pursuit of the next big thing. His vice was not drinking, nor smoking, or even gambling. His was a life of thoughts, images floating in the ether of his mind.

Almost none of these would ever come to fruition. It was because of this that people called him a lazy daydreamer. They would look at him and think to themselves. There is a man just wasting his life away, staring at the clouds. When in reality his thoughts were consumed, this was hardly a leisurely distraction for him. Far from it, this was an obsession.

He had tried to rid himself of the thoughts, the ideas. He had tried drugs, prescription and non-prescription, home remedies, illegal homebrews. Nothing could quiet his mind. The drugs just provided stranger and stranger ideas. Instead of being simple thoughts about daily life they would take a strange, darker more sinister turn.

The man knew however that his salvation and freedom from life’s daily grind lay in these thoughts. How was a man to be obsessed with examining all of the different perspectives of life, if not for a purpose, for a way to better the world, or at least better his place in it. He wouldn’t admit it in polite company, if he ever entertained guests, but he was not above simply coming up with a way to either beat the system or bend the system to his will.

This however would be his problem. He could look at a wristwatch and think of a thousand and one ways to possibly make the watch work smoother, but he couldn’t think of a single way to put these ideas into reality. Many sleepless nights were spent focusing all of his mental efforts onto a way of turning all his ideas into a reality. When it came to this, he would draw a blank.

He complained of this openly to his family and friends, this was at a point where they would still return his phone calls. They all told him different ways to get a grasp on his “wandering mind” as his mother so politely put it. Keep a notepad by the table, he kept one on his person at all times. Try a simple voice recorder. He had 5 of them, one in each room of his small apartment, and one in the car. This was to be the root of his true problems.

He would focus so much on holding onto one idea, one thought that it would become an obsession of his. He would try to meticuliously write it down, so nothing was lost in the translation from mental to physical. He would then take his notes and show them around. No one could ever make sense out of what he had drawn or explained. He would focus so hard on holding onto the idea that the root of it, the true essence would be lost. It was like seeing a face in the smoke of a flame, and then trying to pull the face out and hold it and examine it. As soon as his mind moved on, the idea would be lost.

The man, had had some good fortune in his life, he managed to pull enough out of a few ideas to have some small inventions made and he had several patents. It was enough to keep him afloat, after he lost his job. His bosses had always told him to stop daydreaming. He had had loves in his life, a few had even managed to stay with him for a while. They always left complaining he couldn’t focus on them long enough to have more than a simple conversation. Talk would turn to the weather, and then out would come the notebook and he would try to franticlly jot down ideas about a new weather satellite, or once he had even tried to come up with a weather control system.

Once he had gone to see a psychiatrist. He was trying to get the doctor to write him a prescription for something, but to no avail. The psychiatrist had actually wanted to talk to him and see what the root cause of his unhappiness was. After several appointments in, the man realized he was not going to get his prescription and told the doctor he would no longer be coming in. The psychiatrist tried to warn him about looking to the future, the horizon, your happiness doesn’t come from what is to be, but what is happening now. The man simply said thank you and left. The psychiatrist called a few friends of his who the man might try to go to for prescriptions and warned them of him. That was the end of the man’s quest for prescriptions to quiet his mind.

The man one day had decided he was tired of being “crazy” and decided that if he couldn’t do anything about the thoughts plaguing his mind that he was going to kill himself. Sadly, he was too distracted about all the possiblities of knot tying that he tied the noose incorrectly and just ended up with a damaged vertebrae and was in the hospital for several weeks.

The hospital proved to be a safe haven and a new level of hell. Because of the pain in his neck, they had him on a high does painkiller and sedation. For the briefest of times he was able to enjoy the silence without thinking of new ways to improve accoustics in his house or soundproof the walls, or how to make the neighbors timing belt run smoother. However, when he was pulled out of these states for talks to the doctors or therapy, he would enter an all new area of pain and discomfort. Not only did he have the physical pain of his bodies recouperation to deal with, but he also had a whole new world of devices and practices for his mind to work on. He saw the EKG machine in the next bed over of his shared room and thought of ways to make it more efficient or how to improve nurse response time. He was finally discharged when he was told his therapy was complete and there was nothing more the hospital could do for him.

The man tried to take solace in the lack of physical pain in his life, but that would eventually lead him to find new ways of thinking up preventive care medicine practices, and his whole cycle would begin again.

The man had finally reached the end. He could take no more, he thought about suicide again, but considering how the last attempt came out, he went against that. He sank deeper and deeper into a depression. He ceased going outside, he ceased bathing, he ceased doing much more than existing. He slept, he ate, he used the bathroom. His mind had broken, he was hardly aware of the passage of time anymore.

After some unmeasurable amount of time, the man finally passed away. His body was discovered after the neighbors in his apartment complex could no longer tolerate the smell. He was identified and his family gave him a simple service and burial.

One man came to the service who did not look like everyone else. He had the look of one who has truly lost something important. The family thought that the man was clearly in the wrong room, he looked like he had just lost his best friend, not some man whose mind had finally snapped, who had died with no friends or loved ones. This stranger gave his respects to all those present. He saw the hastily thrown together funeral with the few pictures of the deceased spread around the room. At long last the service began and the preacher asked if there was anyone who would like to say a few words about the deceased. The family all sat there quietly, they had barely knew him and had nothing to say.

The stranger stood up and walked to the podium. “I have something I would like to say” he announced.

“This man is your flesh and blood, but you hardly knew him.” He said looking to the small contigent of family. “This man was a genius and a tortured soul. He spent his entire life looking ahead, constantly trying to figure out the best way to get to that greener grass on the other side of the fence. I knew him, but for a few weeks, and I was amazed at the intellectual power this man had, but he thought of it as a curse. He was insulted when I refused to simply medicate his mind into a stupour. The last words I ever spoke to him was both advice and a warning. I told him to stop looking to the future for his happiness. For it is not the future of promised riches that makes a man wealthy today, it is not the hope of future loves that makes a man loved today, it is not the promise of a home that keeps a man from sleeping in the streets today. It is for today that one must live and love. Hope and dream for the future, but do not be consumed by it. We all today are gathered to pay our respects to a man that was consumed and obsessed by the promise of a better tomorrow. We must all remember that a better tomorrow begins today and that it is the bonds we share, the bonds we make and the bonds that break that define how our life is. Not the material wealth. We take what we are given. This man was blessed with an infinite curiousity matched only by that of a child. A gift that many of us fail to appreciate just how special it is. A remarkable man has been lost to us, but let us gain strength from the many ideas that he has passed on to us and left for us.”

The psychiatrist stepped down from the podium and took his seat again in the church. He could see that his words had some affect, the pastor was wiping his eyes as he retook the podium and finished the service.

After the funeral, the man’s mother approached the psychiatrist and offered him everything that had belonged to the man. “He was virtually a stranger to us, you seemed to know him better than his own family, this is a tragedy that we must deal with.”

It’s been a while….

So it’s been a while since I posted anything on here.  It happens when you get busy with a million other things, hit up FanboysTalking.com to see a big chunk of what I’ve been up to.  Yes I know I’m completely shameless in my plugs.

I had an idea the other night that I thought I would post some old writings that I dug up in an untouched folder on the computer.  I thought I would post up the information here so that I didn’t clutter up the other posts.

Basically, all of these stories are in their VERY rough draft state.  I’m just looking for any kind of feedback on them.  Think they are good? Let me know, think they suck? Share your criticisms with me.