Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts

Friday, July 3, 2015

Where did it all begin?

By Peter Welmerink
 
 
 
Do you have writer's block?
 
Are you wondering why you do this thing called writing, called creating?
 
Have you felt you've lost your writing mojo? Saying, "Dang! What happened to those good ole days when I could just vomit forth lines and lines of adventurous words and create fabulous tales?"
 
Answer: if you have stuck with it (writing, creating) for this long, I can assure you...
 
YOU STILL HAVE THE MOJO.
 
You may just have to hook a chain around it, a tow strap, hook it up to your monster truck, and pull that SOB out and make him/her/it work.
 
And... !!!
 
IT CAN BE DONE.
 
#
 
In my own life, I can't say exactly when the writing bug bit me. I grew up in a middle class family, working mom and dad, just me and one sibling. Folks got separated when I was in 4th or 5th grade. I went to a parochial school, paddled with a yardstick by the nuns. Living in a neighborhood close to downtown, the bustling metropolis of Grand Rapids. Lived IN THE CITY for sure as the family home was situated on one of the busiest east/westbound streets. There were woods near the house though for traipsing through. There was the John Ball Zoo a block away. More woodland (the boonies) further southwest, and the Grand River.
 
It's not like my mom or dad tossed a pencil and notepad at me and said GO WRITE. It was just something I did. School had some one-subject notebooks, wide rule lined paper. The blank page. The empty line. I just felt the need to... fill it, fill the line, fill the page and pages with whatever came to mind.
 
I wrote about my life as kind of a lonely boy growing up in the 70's. Lots of love songs played on the radio. Sweet Life by Paul Davis. Afternoon Delight by Starland Vocal Band. You're in my Heart by Rod Stewart. Sharing the Night Together by Dr. Hook. I typically wrote about LOVE or adventures in finding it.
 
I won't even get into the ROCK MUSIC or the movies I watched. (Foghat, Boston, BOC, Black Sabbath, Led Zep...and Planet of the Apes (Heston), Dirty Harry (Eastwood), Kelly's Heroes.)
 
Stir in reading Sgt. Rock comic books, GI Combat, Robert E Howard's Conan, Edgar Rice Burrough's John Carter of Mars...
 
Crazy mixed up kid.
 
Was that why I wrote? All that stuff sloshing around my brain.
 
I don't know.
 
I had friends. I wasn't that lonely. Yet, I would often squirrel myself away and write adventure stories. Stories of war. Stories of saving the girl. Stories of being the hero. Stories of superheroism. Adventure. Adventure. Adventure.
 
Whatever the reason, I kept writing, felt the need to fill the blank page, create, tell a story even if I was the only one reading it. I didn't care if I was the only one reading it, I simply HAD TO CREATE.
 
So, to stop my rambling, let me say to you this:
 
IF YOU HAVE BEEN WRITING FOR THIS LONG, YOU STILL CAN AND YOU STILL WILL.
 
Remember back to the day when you first started writing, when you first started creating. Do that again. Just let it go and let it flow. Just write. Write some silly yarn. Ramble freely and abandon all thought on doing it for publication or even having any of it make sense.
 
As the music artist Seal says: "We're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy."
 
Go back to those early childhood times, let your mind go, and create.
 
Adventure! Adventure! Adventure!
 
###
 
Peter Welmerink has been writing since he found a stash of notebooks in a hallway cabinet drawer in grade school and began to scribe incredible tales of adventure and mayhem. He writes Epic Fantasy and Military Adventure fiction. He can be found at peterwelmerink.com, grandrapidsaltered.blogspot.com and darkheroicfantasy.blogspot.com.
 
TRANSPORT, his fictional Military Post-Post Apoc Zombie Thriller series, is available now. The events of the tale are set in and around Grand Rapids, Michigan. Childhood dream of massive adventure in his hometown brought back to life and published. Bazinga! Dream it. Do it.  
 


Monday, March 30, 2015

Poetry for the Soul by J L Muvlihill















OF DRAGONS AND WIZARDS


 The wizard held his staff up high,
as lightening cracked and sparks fell from the sky.
 
His dark robes billowing in the wind,
his hair wild and white as the beard on his chin.
 
His face weathered and marked by time,
and uttering from his lips he spoke only one line.
 
An ancient verse very few have heard,
but he yelled it with such passion accentuating 
each word.
 
High above a dragon raged and flew with icy speed,
with silvery skin,
enormous wings,
and blazing eyes of green.
 
The wizard cast a spell and sent it flying toward the sky,
the spell hit the dragon in the heart as the monster 
glided by.
 
The dragon screamed and bleated his defiance at this,
as fire spilled from his mouth but the wizard it did miss.
 
Still the lightening cracked and it began to rain,
the dragon filled with rage screamed out in pain.
 
The wizard’s spell cast upon the beast,
had bound it at last and its body fell to the trees.
 
In sorrow the wizard watched as the dragon drew
last breath,
and faded slowly into the slumber and at last into death.
 
His task now completed the last dragon gone but at 
what cost,
no more dragons,
no more wizards,
soon the magic too would be lost.
 
For each one feeds upon the other,
the wizard without the dragon so like love without 
the lover.
 
War no more will the dragon wage,
peace no more will the wizard gauge.
 
A dying breed they both have been,
both to lose no one to win.
 
He turned and walked away head bent to hide
            his sorrow,
no one to see his tears his greatness gone on
            the morrow.
 
No more as a wizard would he stand,
all anyone will see now is a broken old man.
 
So ends the magic of dragons and wizards for only 
legends they be,
memories of them kept alive through songs,
stories,
and reflective poetry.

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