Beating the Monday Blues

Mondays suck. Lets face it. But that doesn’t have to stop us from doing great things. We, as artists and writers, really need to give ourselves a bit of a schedule to follow. Some authors will find themselves needing a more strict and rigid schedule. Throughout history there are some authors who have stated that they wouldn’t let themselves do anything else until they had typed X amount of pages or written X amount of words per day. This can be quite a daunting idea for some us and for others it can honestly be nearly impossible. If we don’t have a set schedule at work it can be very hard to try and have a set schedule with out writing. This can lead us to breaking any type of schedule we may try to set. That’s not good at all.

Other of us (myself included at times) don’t like trying to demand ourselves to meet a certain deadline. Granted we may sometimes be under contract and actually have a deadline, but that doesn’t mean that we can just force ourselves to vomit out a certain amount of work just because it’s what we say we need to do. Part of this can be fixed with the inspiration I so love to write about. Even while typing this I am listening to music on my old Mp3 player to make sure I stay motivated despite the feeling of inspiration that I’ve had today. I have used the music on this player to help me write and focus on my craft for so long that I’ve had to change players three of four times because I’ve worn some of the others out and just ran out of room on one.

But we do want to continue performing our craft at the level we are now and we do want to improve. We may find it hard, or even impossible to do that if we let the world get in the way of our productivity. Yes, it’s Monday, and yes that means we are going back to work and/or school and are feeling the typical mourning over the loss of the weekend, but Mondays can be positive as well. Mondays can symbolize the beginning of a whole new week of work. This can be the week where we tackle that hard chapter and vow to gain something from it. Or maybe this is the week we complete that particularly hard painting or song. Maybe it’s even just the week we convince ourselves to pick up the tools of our trade and produce SOMETHING. Mondays can be real downers. They can kill our spirit and motivation and bring us so low that we don’t even have the ability to produce anything at all that week. But they can also mean a lot. They can be the day we start the ending to our latest novel, or start that new painting, or the day we start writing our own music instead of just learning what has already been done. Monday may come at the worst possible time, but it can also bring us a never-ending realm of possibilities. Don’t waste them!!!!

Halloween Collection!!!

Just as a reminder on this most epic of holidays, I have been featured in a very awesome Halloween collection of shorts and I would love for everyone to get it and let me know what you think. Below are links for both a paid and free version of the collection (the free one is in PDF format) and I would love it if everyone would get it, share it and read at least my story (because I want you all to love it) and let everyone know about it. There are a lot of authors in here who really deserve the recognition, so let’s help them out!!!

FWG Presents: Hallowe’en Drabbles (FREE FICTION)

http://www.amazon.com/Jack-o-Lantern-Tales-Treats-Tricks-Halloween-ebook/dp/B00OZ1SI36/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1414763282&sr=8-1&keywords=Jack-o-lantern+tales+of+treats+and+tricks

My First Worthy Poem

I thought I would give you all another sample of my writing today, this time of a different genre. I want to first say that I am not a poet by any means. This poem is merely a fluke, and it is one of two that I felt worthy to ever share with anyone. This poem was published in the literary journal Jimson Weed and has given me a lot of satisfaction and positive feedback. If any of you like this poem let me know and I will explain more about its origin and inspiration.

 

I

By Damean Mathews

 

I watch the wind blow through the trees

I hear the fairies’ footsteps playing on the breeze

I watch as the world spins beneath me

I watch from above; seeing all, being seen by none

I watch alone, apart from them, yet a part of all

I am all, I am none

Always watching, never touching

I am everything

I am nothing

My First Published Short Story

As promised, I have decided to post my first published short story to give you all an example of my writing style. I hope you enjoy it, and perhaps even find some inspiration from it. Feedback is, of course, welcome.

The End

By Damean Mathews

 

            “The system has failed you,” the professor said, raising his eyes to the mostly full classroom beyond the boundaries of his desk.

 

            “The government has failed. The militaries have destroyed all hope for survival. The world has begun its quickening decline from civilization and we don’t matter anymore. The battle will rage,” he spoke sternly while walking around his desk, “and we will cease to be of any importance.”

 

            His students stared, the usual low rumble of the incessantly distracted pupils now nonexistent. They didn’t know what to make of this speech. Their professor had never been this forward with them and they were a little unnerved by the sudden change.

 

            “The totalitarian form of government that has controlled the world under the guise of democracy has turned its back on us. The attitude toward citizens is now the age-old saying “every man for himself.” There is no fate that has been set supposedly, but this certainly seems to be the closest thing to fate I’ve ever seen, and the powers that be have chosen ours for us.”

 

            The professor stopped, rubbed his temples, and leaned back against the desk. He slowly picked up his water and drank deeply, savoring the chill as it ran through his body. He looked at his pupils through his thick glasses, and saw the faces of the next generation- Generation X- looking back at him in vague confusion.

 

            Standing, he spoke again, “You all have not experienced true betrayal yet, but it is coming. The world will slowly take back that which belongs to it. The wild which has been cut back will take back the hold it once had. As many people who have been born on this earth will not be enough to save it, or, for that matter, themselves.”

 

            “What are you saying sir,” one annoyed young lady asked.

 

            “That there is no hope for human kind. As a whole, we have almost no chance of survival in this matter. The big groups will be targeted, then the smaller ones. Individuals will be slain mercilessly. In effect, this will discourage life as a society, and as an individual, causing us to break all the bonds of civilization, and lose the will to live alone.”

 

            “Are you saying the world’s gonna end? So, what, like are we gonna be attacked or something,” interrupted a student.

 

            “I don’t know how it will come about, but it will happen. You see, every now and then Mother Nature just has to do something to show us that we aren’t what we think we are. We created the system to protect us in a hostile environment, so it makes sense that it be used against us. We think we own the Earth, and it is about time the Earth proves us wrong.”

 

            “So, you’re saying that the Earth is going to use our own defense system against us?”

 

            “No. The system is not something that can just be controlled, that’s what I’m saying. We have been treating it like a tool, thinking we have won, and that it’s all ours. Humans take advantage of all this. We will learn. The system will see to that.”

 

            He was met with silence after this stern speech. Slowly, as he stared intently into the crowd of pupils facing him, the murmur built up. Turning around, he walked back to his seat and resumed his work. The pupils continued the hushed conversations for the short remainder of the class, then gathered their things and left.

 

            Going home, a few of the students thought of their professor’s speech, wondering if there could be any truth to it. Sooner or later, however, all thought of the old man’s absurdity was driven from their minds. The evening rolled on into the night, and the students went about their lives as usual; either partying, studying, or sleeping.

 

            At midnight, the bombs began to fall. The System had won.