So yeah...

Umm let's see where to begin???? So much has happened in so little time... Uhhh. Let's start with the bad and move on from there? Sounds like an idea to me/

So my job is officially going crazy. I work for Anheuser Busch. Well, I work at Grant's Farm, the ancestral home of the Busch Family and home of a good chunk (but alas not all) of the famous Clydesdales. So if you haven't heard AB got taken over by InBev!. I really don't know what to say about anything at this point. I don't think I'm really allowed to say anything, shame isn't it? Anyway, my job may or may not exist in a few summers... Damn. (Note: May update this later after I actually go into work after the takeover.)

Movingt On: I have three weeks to get my 2 mile time down to 17 minutes and 59 seconds or less. Yes Cross Country Season will soon be upon us. If you are religous please pray that in four weeks from today (July 15) that the weather will be absolutely beautiful and I will run my time trial with out fail. Oh God I think I need this more than my job right now...

On a lighter note: Happy Second Anniversary YGO:TAS! Congratulations on not only surviving, updating, but also being down right funny. Seriously episode 30: Sore = epic win! Phresh Pharoah of Bel Aire was pure comedic gold. Also props to TitanAura for "You'll Never Stop the Abridged" I loved that song, and I understand not being able to hit high notes easily, after all I'm an alto.



Yay: I told you guys I entered Alicia Blade's Writing Contest right? Well, I didn't win, but that's okay! I think she honestly liked my story. Here is the review she gave it in her newsletter: "The Best-Seller" by Brooke Johnson was a story that truly touched me, as a writer and a reader. It was one of those stories that follows you around long after you finish it and had me thinking about the continuation of love after death and how artists tend to live on in their works. Brooke's use of "phantom" was subtle and effective—over all, this was an extremely well-crafted story. So I think that's a good review. Also the story was completely original.

You know what? Here's the story:

“The Best-Seller”

I received a phone call from a TV show today. They want to interview me about the book. Who wouldn’t love to talk about a best-selling modern masterpiece? I couldn’t have been happier.

And yet paradoxically I couldn’t have been more heartbroken. As you know, the story isn’t mine. You wrote everything. The characters, the plot, everything, it was always yours. It was never mine. I only followed your outline.

You received your ‘inspiration’ shortly after our first anniversary. You tore the house apart looking for a blank note book and a pen. It had to be a pen you had said. That way even if you trashed an idea for this story you could keep it for later. For three days you scratched away at the notebook ‘outlining’ your ‘best-seller’. I thought you were just being childish.

You told me everything about the story, although many times I really didn’t want to hear it. I don’t care for fantasy. I definitely don’t care for romance, ‘chick novels’ is what I called them. But you continued to ‘bounce’ your ideas off me. I told you what I honestly thought. And yet you seemed to appreciate it, even when I wasn’t that helpful or, let’s be honest, hurtful. Some great husband I was.

And one day you sat down at your computer, and began typing away. The rapid fire clicking and clacking of keys nearly drove me off the edge. It was nigh impossible for me to work. I’d always ask you to type softer, and you did, being the loving wife you were, for a half-hour or so, but then you’d be right back at it. I hated that you know. Oh, you knew all right and you’d apologize and move into the other room. You always said you did it for love. Love keeps us going you always said.

Love. That’s what got you killed. You just had to go and visit your mother that day didn’t you? You just had to arrive in time to see the smoke billowing out of the kitchen. You couldn’t have just waited for the firemen could you? Oh, no, you had to go running in and try to save her. You loved her too much to let her die. So you died instead of her. Which, that didn’t do much good because she was so grief stricken that she killed herself.

Maybe she had the right idea. I tried, many times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it or as luck would have it we wouldn’t have what I wanted. I was mysteriously out of ibuprofen the first time. The second time all the knives were hidden in the part of the cabinet I forgot to search. Little instances like that were the only things that kept me going.

Then one day I found something else. I opened up your computer and there it was, your unfinished ‘masterpiece’, the cursor blinking as if it expected you to begin typing again. You wouldn’t begin typing though, you’d never move again. You’re six feet underground. You couldn’t reach a computer if you tried.
But I could reach a computer, and I knew the story. But, that was insane, I knew nothing about writing, but sitting there it was almost as if my fingers began moving on there own. I slowly began writing your story. You always complained of writer’s block but every time I came across a difficult part I’d suddenly know exactly how you would want to write it.

I finished the story three weeks after I began typing it. That seemed faster than you ever wrote, but that may have happened because I didn’t sleep or go to work. Astonishingly though I didn’t actually need the sleep. Of course after I finished I collapsed into a heap on my bed, and slept for 2 days.

I sent it into a few companies. I sent a letter explaining the circumstances surrounding the novel’s being written, hoping they’d understand. They did. I received offers from all the companies finally deciding on one simply because I was drawn to them for some unexplained reason.

The book climbed to tops of charts within days. Within weeks the publishers had to print more copies than they originally anticipated. People wanted interviews and press conferences and I turned everyone down. I couldn’t talk about your book. It wasn’t mine to talk about.

Which brings us back to this phone call, this show’s offer is different. They want to talk about you and your writing. I want to say no. I can’t talk about you, I can’t. It hurts too much. And yet a calm feeling washes over me as the word “yes” escapes my lips.

Uh yeah so that's All I have to say for now.

Songs (Simply because I couldn't choose which one was more appropriate): Phresh Pharoah of Bel-Aire by Little Kuriboh; and You'll Never Stop the Abridged by TitanAura