Thursday, March 18, 2010

SO first of all, Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone! Hope everyone had a safe and enjoyable night! I know I did. :)

Second, I would like to share with you a section of my book, just like my bestest friend Tiffany suggested. One of my dreams is to be a novelist, specifically in the fantasy genre. I love reading books like Harry Potter, Eragon, Abarat, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, and yadda yadda yadda,. And I would die happy if I could get a similar book published. So, in high school i began working on my dream. I started a book called Avalanche Mountain. I got a few chapters written, had some friends read over it and edit it, and they said I did a good job. Well, for some reason i quit writing. Partially because I got to my senior year and school got really busy, and I ran out of ideas, and this and that and whatever. Well, I got back into writing it last year (my sophomore year of college). I started over and redid everything. My new version is a lot more well written and i think better overall, but I stopped again because I wasn't sure where I wanted to go with the book. Well! I've started it up again. This time I've been thinking really hard about what I want to do, and I've got a lot of "encouragement" from my friend Eric who really wants me to finish it. =P So here's an excerpt from part of my book (renamed Spiritus), I hope you enjoy it.


In a world of technology and machines, a world of discovery and ideas, civilization has become so caught up in advancing that it has forgotten its past. A past when magical creatures roamed the land and humans lived alongside the mysterious races of old; a magical past that has been locked away, locked away for too long, and now it wants out.


            My name, before this all began, was Coby Braxton. I lived in a small town in the middle of Nebraska; so small that you won’t find it on any map. That night I sat in my small room in my parents run down house. The yard hadn’t been cut in nearly a month, numerous shingles were missing from the roof, and the front porch was littered with random junk along with an old couch. The hole I called my room contained nothing but a small dingy bed and a computer which I had put together myself. It wasn’t much, but for sixteen years, that hole was my home, my only escape.

            I leaned over the keyboard of my mix-matched computer, I had made it from parts I had been collecting from the junk yard for months, as I typed my essay, “Contrary to popular belief, Robert Bunsen only improved the original version of the Bunsen Burner it was actually” BEEP BEEP BEEP! The instant messenger on my computer flashed. It was a message from my best and only friend Anthony Gregs.

            “Have you done your report yet?” It read. As usual, he needed someone to do his.

            “I’ve just started mine,” I typed back.

            “Oh… Well you have plenty of time on your hands, right?” was his reply.

            “Come on, Ant. My report is going to take long enough; if I do yours too, I’ll be up all night!”

            “But I don’t know this stuff! I don’t even know what a Bunsen Burner is! You’re the science wiz!”

            “Then, why did you sign up for advanced classes?”

            “I didn’t know it would be this hard! Come on, pal, help me out here.”

            “Sorry Ant, I can’t help you this time,” and with that I turned my messenger off. He’s going to hate me, I thought to myself as I resumed typing, but it’s better than doing two reports. He’ll get over it soon enough, I hope.

            I wasn’t crazy about the idea of losing my only friend. I was one of the smartest students in the sophomore class, but I wasn’t exactly what the other kids called “cool.”  I wasn’t constantly picked on like most of the other kids in the advanced classes, but no one ever seemed to notice me. I walked through school like a ghost. People would bump into me in the hallway like I wasn’t even there; and when my books would topple to the floor, no one took the time to help me out.

            I wasn’t as handsome as the jocks were either; but then again I didn’t think I was hideous. My wavy hair was light brown and fell above my bright blue eyes. Actually, I thought I was fairly good looking, although, the girls at school must have thought otherwise.

            The constant typing was getting tedious so I decided to take a break and get a drink from the fridge. I scooted away from my desk and walked into the kitchen. My good-for-nothing father was sitting in his favorite grimy recliner in the living room. There was a can of beer in his hand and a football game on TV. He spent most of his days in this pose; he couldn’t keep a job due to his bad attitude and lazy performance. In between jobs, which were usually long periods of time, he simply sat in his beer-stained chair and watched TV.

             My mom worked as a bartender at the local sports bar. She worked late nights and, when Dad was unemployed, spent the early mornings in bed with various men to make the extra cash we needed to get by. Everyone knew she slept around, everyone except my Dad, who didn’t care much about her anyway. It’s a small town and it didn’t take long for word to spread. Consequently, it didn’t help my reputation at school to have a prostitute for a mother; my whole eighth grade year I was known as “The Whore’s son.”

            I tried to avoid my parents as much as possible; partly because neither of them was pleasant to look at, and because I wasn’t exactly their favorite person either. I had known my parents adopted me for as long as I can remember. They must have told me so when I was very young, and they would never let me forget how big of a mistake it was. When I was little I had to endure their beatings when they were angry or drunk, which was quite often. Eventually I learned when to avoid them, and therefore avoiding more bruises. I could stay hidden most of the time, but you can’t dodge them all.

I worked on computers for local businesses; debugging their systems and fixing random problems that sometimes popped up. I’m good with computers. I saved every penny I earned in the hopes of one day leaving my hell hole and finding my real parents. It’s that hope that kept me going, that kept me alive.

I didn’t grow up in a happy family, but I took pride in being the exact opposite of my parents. The kids on TV who come from abusive households always seemed so angry and unhappy. I didn’t want to end up being one of those kids. My parents were angry and immoral, so I strove to be optimistic and good. I would always dream that I had inherited my character from my biological parents, that they were strong, good-hearted people who loved me very much. I would tell myself that for some reason they had to give me away for my own benefit. But I would never know what they were really like, mentioning them was forbidden.

            “Oh, for Christ’s sake! Call that!” My father screamed at the television as I walked into the kitchen. “What are you doing, boy?” He shouted over the noise of the game as I closed the fridge.

            “Just grabbing a drink, Dad.” I replied.

            “That boy’s gonna eat us out of house and home.” He complained as my mother walked in. Without a glance to either me or Dad, she sat on the couch and started painting her nails. She was preparing for another night on the town. Dad turned his attention to her, “And where do you think you’re going, woman?”

            “I’m going to work, Ted. Someone’s got to pay for that damn beer you’re drinking.”

            “Don’t give me your smart mouth remarks, Becky! And buy some more chips while you’re out, this bag’s empty,” he crumpled the bag and threw it to the floor.

            I knew this conversation would escalate into an argument. Before I somehow got dragged into it, I high-tailed it back into my room and got back to work. After another hour of flipping through books, typing until my hand cramped, and listening to Anthony plead some more, I finished my report. I looked it over with a great sense of accomplishment; I knew it was a guaranteed “A” paper.

            With my report tucked safely into my school bag, I changed into my pajamas and slid into bed. A glance at the clock told me it was a few minutes after midnight. As I switched the light off I stared at the pitch black above my face. A tear began to slide down my cheek.

            That night as I buried my face in my pillow, I thought about my life, about how miserable I was, and wondered how much longer I could endure it. That night I cried myself to sleep, unaware that my questions would soon be answered.

            “Sixteen years…,” I whispered to myself. “Happy Birthday, Coby,” and slipped into sleep. 

So that was just chapter one of my AMAZING  BEST SELLING book. Haha. It doesn't give a lot of insite into what's going to happen, but you'll have to read the whole book to find that out! One day I will finish it and have it published :P 

Taht's all for now, later guys!

~Mr. Koosh



  1. Yay! Wow, you've really revamped it. I liked the new details you put in. I can't wait to read the rest! :)