Novel: The Solutionists

So, for the first time ever, I actually got inspiration for a new book from a dream. I had an awesome dream this morning, and it gave me all these great ideas for a novel to add to my WIP list. Here's the makeshift cover and (a really long) synopsis.

For the last two thousand years, they have existed in the shadows, carefully guiding humanity in their desired direction. Using devices that defy time and space, they have weaved their designs into the leaders of human kind, using their skills and knowledge to remain only as figments of the human imagination. 

The year is 2034. With overpopulation, pollution, and greed threatening to devour the Earth, there seems to be little hope that the leaders of the world will unite to bring about change. But they deem it necessary, and thus, they will make it happen, no matter who they must bend to their wills in the process.

But when when one of their "clients" is found dead, they begin to suspect a spy has infiltrated their ranks. Calling upon their best and brightest, they create a task force bent on rooting out the corruption they fear has bloomed amongst them. 

But when they cannot trust themselves to do what is right for the Earth, how can they continue to do their duty to the planet? With war brewing on the horizon and the Earth quickly beginning to fall under the weight of the scourge that humanity has become, time is quickly running out. 

_____

Warren Devonair, a Twister with a flawless record, finds himself called before the Grand Architects and given the order to lead the Inquisition task force. Forced to work side by side with the person he hates the most and stuck at the helm of a duty he cannot fail at, Warren finds the careful facade he's worn all his life begin to fall apart. And if he can't keep it together, his job, his life, and the world may just fall with him. 

Salen Burrick, a former criminal lawyer, now lives his life in the lowest periphery of society. He hasn't shown his face to his family in years. He left his practice without even a goodbye. But what could have possibly made a successful, happy man abandon his life? They did. He's always seen them, skirting around rooms like shadows, moving more quickly than any human being should move, whispering in the ears of people that never knew they were there. But Salen knows they're there. And he also knows what they don't. That there are other things there too. Things that no one sees but him. Things that gnaw right into people's souls and eat their minds alive. Things that should not exist but do. And Salen is entirely convinced that they are the reason these things are here, the reason these things broke him into a thousand pieces. And even if it takes him a lifetime, he will destroy them like they destroyed him.

Mona Clarkson had a life one time. It consisted of a loving fiance, a full scholarship to a prestigious university, and a caring family. But after her fiance abruptly left her to pursue a "more important" political career, the rest of her life seemed to leave with him. Now working hard to make ends meet and close to failing out of school, Mona's life is further destroyed by a pregnancy of mysterious origins. On the verge of an emotional breakdown, she forces herself to leave the home she's always known in the hope of starting a new (and better) one somewhere else. 

But there are many things in life that follow you until death. And Mona, Warren, and Salen are beginning to realize that.

_____

They have stopped the world from falling apart for two thousand years. They have protected the collective knowledge of humanity for even longer. They have ended wars and created countries. They have started wars and destroyed kingdoms. And everything that they have done has saved the world.

They have always had all the answers.

They have always had all the power.

They have always been The Solutionists.

But nothing lasts forever.

Poetry: Circadian

Up at the top of the hour of the night

Lost in the movement of a thousand lights

I walked through the sands of a thousand times

Lost in the winds of the infinite rhymes

Up at the peak of the mountain of gold

Lost in the beats of the heart, thousand fold

I walked through the snow of a thousand years

Lost in the winds of the infinite fears

Up at the hills of the pastures of old

Lost in the sounds of past battles foretold

I walked though the grass of a thousand hearts

Lost in the strokes of the infinite arts

Up at the edge of the end of the Earth

Lost in the knowledge of which I searched

I walked through the waters of a thousand deaths

Lost in the echoes of the infinite jest 

Up then at the edge of the end of the Earth

Lost in the knowledge of which I searched

I could not walk further through any more death

So I un-lost myself from the infinite jest

Up at the hills of the pastures of old

Un-lost in the sounds of past battles foretold

I walked back through the grass of those thousand hearts

And I marked them with kindness of only one art

Up again at the peak of the mountain of gold

Touching only the hearts of which I could hold

I walked past the snows of just a few years

And assuaged only a few of the infinite fears

Up at the top of the hour of the night

Now seeing clearly through a thousand lights

I washed the sands with water until they were still

And wrote in them rhymes of the gentlest wills

Up now at the roof of the house where I live

Un-lost in the life to which work I now give

I walk across shingles, a hundred or so

At home in the life I have now come to know

Posted to dVerse

On Writing: Characters, or the People in my Head

Yes, I drew that.

The most integral part of any story tends to be the characters in it. Whether fate acts upon them or they upon fate, it seems unlikely that a reader would truly connect to any story line without their presence. They are the links from the real to the imaginary, the pathway by which we come to understand the wealth and feelings that exist within a realm not entirely our own.

And yet, no one can seem to agree on exactly what they are.

What is a character to you?

Poetry: The Mantelpiece

On my mantelpiece, there was a clock
It ticked, it ticked, it ticked, it tocked
I watched, I watched, I waited some
As if my clock could raise the sun
And with each tick, my clock did crack
Its face shattered into my back
And yet, not a single drop of blood
Instead, a blackness thick as mud

On my mantelpiece, there was a child
A cherub grinning at his wiles
He watched me close with a chipped white eye
And laughed at me when I passed by
And daily I passed by in deep despair
Blocking out my world without a care
But that cherub once never did cease
He would not let me die in peace

On my mantelpiece, there was a frame
And within, my world was thus contained
It held all my life's hopes, my joys
It held my heartbeat's tender noise
And once upon a lonely day
I knocked the frame from its sacred stay
It cracked my floor, it cracked its face
And with it cracked my sacred place

On my mantelpiece, there was a ring
Left floating on a lone unpolished string
It hovered so dangerously over the floor
And once, I realized it was no more
I searched, I searched, I searched and failed
My hopes were dashed, and thus, I wailed
And yet, despite my darkest cries
The world would not release my life

On my mantelpiece, there was a knife
Carved carefully with a skilled man's strife
He worked its blade to the perfect state
And its purpose was never a debate
So without my heart, my blood, my place
I took it from its sheath, it's state of grace
And with no care for the world I knew
It was my own life that I then slew

On my mantelpiece, there is a painting
It is of my face, looking oddly saintly
And I sit on my sofa, now plastic and old
Somethings have changed, and I was not told
I blink, I blink, I blink, and I cry
I cannot figure out what has passed me by
The cherub is gone, the frame, I shriek!
And yet not a soul can hear me speak

Posted to dVerse

Nick's November Giveaway

~This Is A Giveaway!~

Co-Hosted by:  Tristi Pinkston  &  I'm a Reader, Not a Writer
Other Giveaways: Linky List for the Hop!

Well, if you haven't figured it out by now, you've arrived at my November giveaway page! Yes, that's right. Nick is holding a giveaway! 

But what kind of giveaway, you ask.

Well, the anything kind of giveaway. Anything literary, that is.

You see, one lucky person is going to get any book they want as long at it fits under two conditions:

- It must be available on Amazon

- It must cost $15 or less

Unfortunately, due to shipping costs, this giveaway is only available to people in the U.S. If I had a bit more money on hand, I'd go international. Unfortunately, Nick is a poor college student, guys. Sorry.

Anyway, you're probably wondering what you have to do to enter this fancy giveaway, huh?

Rules to Enter:

- You must be a follower of my blog

- You must fill out all required fields on the form

Extra Entries:

- Tweet this contest (+1)

- Share this contest as a post on Google +  (+1)

So that equates to three entries total if you do those extra things.  Good odds, I'd say. The giveaway is only open for four days, from November 8th to the 11th, so you better get your entries in!

If you win:

- I will email you (please provide a valid email address on the form)

- You will be asked for your preferred shipping address

- You will be asked which book you'd like

- I will ship it to you via Amazon**

** If  the book you want has not been

released yet, I will pre-order it for you.

Yes, it is that simple.

___________

The Giveaway Hop Has Ended, Guys! 


I'll pick my winner sometime tomorrow, okay? =)

Poetry: The Design

Posted to dVerse

I molded them from hardened clay
And they were hardened dust
I bestowed all of my love to them
And yet, they broke my trust
Within my shape, I molded them
But they broke their chains of clay
And though I still sit above them now
I mourn them to this day

But what can the balance weigh to see
If I am wrong or they?
Was I at fault to make them so
Or them to disobey?
The fundamental arguments
Of faith or hope or light
Mean nothing in the grandest scheme
Of the true meaning of life

But what is the meaning that I seek
Or is it they that seek it thus?
Am I still searching for the answer
To why they broke my trust?
Or is it they that mourn the loss,
They wonder how the sin
Beget their wondrous fall from grace
To the current state of men?

We wonder from our vantage points,
Me above down to below
And they so staring at the sky
Wishing my blessings to bestow
But can I touch them now again
After so much time has passed?
And if I did, would once again
They wander from their path?

Do I dare demand them once again
With commandments set in stone?
Or would they just be crushed within
The rush of falsities enthroned?
Do I dare endear the holy man
Who dabbles sickly in the dark,
Who leads a horde of so-lost sheep
In the opposite way of the ark?

Do I dare entrust the preacher high
To lead them back to chains of clay?
Or would he make their chains of a
Different sort, a parody of pray?
Do I dare call out to the common man
Of angels would he sing and rant?
Would he just be thrown into the white
And never in life the knowledge grant?

Do I dare speak out to all at once,
A sphere of seven billion lives
With every single life within
Of a singular divide?
Would seven billion minds of man
Ever cease to rage and kill
Even if I spoke to them of
Grace, love, and goodwill?

I cannot imagine here today
A world of peace and pride
Of a world of man so far untouched
By the hand of meaningless divide
I can imagine only what I see
For the not-eternity of them all
And what I see is not redemption
But the continuance of an unending fall

So because of this, I cannot speak
I dare not test their wills again
I will not touch the world once more,
Not in aid or death, as I promised them
Instead I will sit and watch and wait
And hope some original spark of mine
Will in some way rekindle once again
The perfection of my original design

Poetry: The Anthem

They sing it from the mountain tops
They sing it from the valleys low
They sing from above the sky
They sing from the ground below
They sing it sitting by their windows
They sing it standing in their yards
They sing it in their run-down cars
They sing it by their game of cards

But what can it be that they all sing
That not a single person hears?
What can it be that they all know
Yet not a single one endears?
What is it that the billions voice
That falls on Silence's deaf ears?
And if you listened closer still
Would you hear it through their silent tears?

They hum it day to day to night
They hum it while they laugh and play
They hum it while their children learn
They hum it every single day
They hum it in their broken homes
They hum it to their broken lives
They hum it to the sounds of work
They hum it to the clang of knives

But what can it be that they all hum
That not a single person hears?
What can it be they they all want
Yet not a single one endears?
What is it that the billions hum
That falls cold on Misfortune's mind?
And if you listened closer still
Would you begin to hum in time?

Because what they hum and what they sing
Is only what they've always done
When the monumental truths of life
Burned their minds so far undone
Because what they sing and what they hum
Is the anthem of their bodies sore
Of their lives so filled with pain
It is the anthem of the poor