The Creative Edge

It’s been a while since I blogged due to a lot of technical difficulties (well mostly laziness)…But now I should be back to blogging more often, thanks in part to my new found internet service and a sudden hit of revelation. Starting this week I will be posting at least one story each week under a collection am calling “Parables of Souls”. Those who have followed my writing know that I usually play in the fields of psychological thrillers with exception to one or two undertakings. However, with Parables of Souls, I diverge into the world of Drama, dealing with relationships and their various facets. Don’t expect the customary ‘cry a bucketful’ kind of stories. My writing and tackling of the subject matter will be experimental and hopefully entertaining. I promise twists, compelling plots and grandiose stories, but most important of all a platform for healthy dialogue on issues. Parables are penetrating knives of reality that shatter illusions but only a certain type penetrates ...

I never even knew her name but we were siblings through pain. She sat under the custodian of night, with moons and stars as light’s gatekeepers. I heard her sing a song of anguish—the first verse was guilt, followed by the chorus, pity, then the last verse, inadequacy. I wanted to walk on by, to run from this melancholic girl, but I couldn’t. It was divine destiny, for I understood her like no one could. Instinct guided my feet. I walked slowly, gradually increasing my pace till I was running, running to her, the nameless one.  I sat next to her on a big slab of rock, my tongue twisted. My brain knew what to say but the nervous pathways resisted its command. “I know your pain,” I finally said. Her face contorted in anger, then broke out in a fiendish laugh that could terrify demons. “Do you?” her voice heavy. “I did everything for you but it wasn’t good enough.” “I don’t understand?” She leaped onto her feet, animated with a deadly brew of rage. “That idiotic fath...

For millenniums mankind has been captivated by the essence of a story—writing on walls, canvas, paper, sand, tress, and anything that was convenient. If art proved to be a medium not strong enough to carry a particular story man resorted to oral tradition—that is telling stories by word of mouth. The brilliance of storytelling knows no culture or age or ethnicity. I think it is safe to say that everyone is drawn to it. Hollywood and the fiction publishing industry, which is still going strong despite fierce competition from things like music and video games, would attest to that. So, what is it about storytelling that leaves human beings so drawn to it? How is it that ancient stories like Troy that were written by Greek writer Homer still ring true to many people or that parables taught by Jesus about two thousand years ago still have people learning from them? Well, I feel the answer (or answers, because I feel it comes in two closely related pieces) is simple: 1  ...

The streets ran dry/ Broken hearts cry/ The rains of love no longer pour/ Desert sands of hate cover the floor/ Like the mind of a psychopath we have perverted the gift of love/ Emotion is king/ Without it you would see no wedding ring/ Happiness is queen/ Without it you would see no relationships/ Sex is the language/ “Can you read my body language?” With the sensual apparel/ Making fantasies appear real/ If love is money then we are in a recession/ Surpassing even the great depression/ Forget genuine, we would rather have the fake. The streets ran dry/ Broken hearts cry/ The rains of love no longer pour/ Desert sands of hate cover the floor/ Forget courtship/ Recreational dating is the game/ You lose if you fall in love/ You lose if you actually love/ Winners feed their flesh/ Winners feed their lust/ So the women cry, and the men smirk/ Then the men cry, and the women smirk/ A vicious cycle on hell’s playground/ While Chilling on the devil’s backyard/ Virginity got too heavy so ...

Why do I write? That is a question I have never asked myself. You’d think for a guy who’s been scribbling tales since he could write that would be the first thing he would have asked himself. However, at a subconscious level, I did know the reasons why I wrote. They ranged from the love of writing, to impressing girls, to just getting on people’s nerves. Throughout the last four years or so I have gone through some dramatic changes that have seen me take on a totally new world view on things. My writing has followed suit. You see, if you had asked me years ago what I would want to come out of my writing, I would probably have told you I wanted money and fame. To be hailed   next to greats such as Stephen King, Robert Ludlum, J.R. Tolkien and so on. But now, I think different. I’ve shed the teenage fantasies and foolish ambitions. I want to be a writer of substance; someone whose works will challenge, provoke and important of all, lead people to Christ. (If you non-Christian, ple...