The grey haired man stood, staring out the 12th story window, blinds opened to flood the room with the evening light. Massive panes of glass, across the room, made believe they were invincible, guardians against the city lights. The setting sun turned shadows from the buildings into darkened claws that would no doubt consume people, cars and streetlights, feeding them to a black monster past the horizon. The desk behind him, normally so tidy, the product of obsessive dusting, polishing, arranging, now so lonely, covered in crumpled papers stained by coffee rings and an untouched nametag. Jeremiah Kingston. He hadn’t slept in the last three days, showed in his in his bloodshot eyes and worn face. Dark stubble on his chin had begun to thicken. Three weeks- three weeks of writing and signing and calling and heaven knows everything he’d worked on. And it ended in nothing. The deal had been broken by the associate company. There had been full out war between corporations, with Jeremiah at the front lines. He told the directors that he had the upper hand, that he had an unbreakable case. But with such surety in his company comes the risk. If someone is that certain, stakes inevitably go upwards in the hectic, business defined world of Wall Street. And someone like him- at the height of his game, at the peak of his potential- he wasn’t allowed to fail. He knew there would be consequences worse than death in this gambit. The city outside was hushed, and the earth began to slowly recede from him. Up here, in the darkened New York skyline, he was alone, a failure society had thrown in the windy cloudless summits. A knock on the door behind him. A pause. The man didn’t turn to look and see who entered without invitation. It didn’t matter. The sound of a paper sliding onto his desk, then the click and knock of the door closing once more. The man had one more thought. He wondered how simple it would be to break the window’s reinforced glass.
Written at Writer's at Harriman
Monday, August 9, 2010
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Tandem Story
Moriah sent this to me and I laughed. Enjoy, fellow writers!
Tandem Story
This assignment was actually turned in by two of my English students:
Rebecca ... and Gary ...
English 44A, SMU
Creative Writing
Professor Miller In-class Assignment for Wednesday:
One of you will then write the first paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to reread what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached.
At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off a bluish partical beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel." Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth - when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.
Little did she know, but she has less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through Congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion which vaporized Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's blow 'em out of the sky!"
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.
Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium.
Tandem Story
This assignment was actually turned in by two of my English students:
Rebecca ... and Gary ...
English 44A, SMU
Creative Writing
Professor Miller In-class Assignment for Wednesday:
One of you will then write the first paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to reread what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached.
At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off a bluish partical beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel." Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth - when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.
Little did she know, but she has less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through Congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion which vaporized Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's blow 'em out of the sky!"
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.
Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
This was for that "Stories in the Heart" Prompt a few weeks ago. Finally got around to typing it.
That box is still buried in my closet somewhere. I find it when I'm cleaning or rearranging things and I'll spend a few minutes pulling out all the little knick knacks and things I collected in a past life. And while it gathers dust today, the story at the bottom of that box is more valuable than almost any other earthly possession of mine. Because in that box there is a note in a handwriting only slightly neater than my own. This is the story of that note.
The exact moment we met is lost in time, but so is most of my early childhood. She had a soft round face and golden blond hair that changed styles every day. She was a fan of everything fantasy that matured into a love of anything Japanese. She had a look that could kill you and a smile that could break your heart. She lived on the left side of the street with the four annoying dogs and if you saw a black cat, it was hers.
In elementary school she always was in the back ground, and later, as we got placed in the same classes, we became really close friends. She picked up the clarinet when I found the trombone, and we were in an advanced placement class together. This was sixth grade, and we were twelve. I miss those days. Once, while we were walking down a hallway, poking and laughing and giggling, the school's gossip (though I was probably to thick to notice) asked us if we were going out. Love? I'd never thought about love before. I couldn't sleep that night. I couldn't sleep for months.
Weeks went by. I'd look at her. She'd giggle. She's look at me. I'd laugh. We kept at it. Looking back, it was probably pretty pathetic. I could only think of her. But summer was upon us, and sadly, both of us were moving. In opposite directions. Posters were being put up about the End of School dance. While it wasn't really a date dance, I wasn't in the mood to care. It's not like I was at all rational. I was only formulating ways in my already too big sixth grade brain to ask her out. For a few days before the dance I would see her and all too literally run. I wanted to write a note, but I couldn't get the words out. All of my friends thought I was radioactive, which, wasn't too far from the truth. In the most embarrassing moment of my entire life, I scratched illegible words on a notebook and threw it. And ran again.
She knew what I meant, and her reply- a short sentence and a big smiley face- is still in a box in my room.
That box is still buried in my closet somewhere. I find it when I'm cleaning or rearranging things and I'll spend a few minutes pulling out all the little knick knacks and things I collected in a past life. And while it gathers dust today, the story at the bottom of that box is more valuable than almost any other earthly possession of mine. Because in that box there is a note in a handwriting only slightly neater than my own. This is the story of that note.
The exact moment we met is lost in time, but so is most of my early childhood. She had a soft round face and golden blond hair that changed styles every day. She was a fan of everything fantasy that matured into a love of anything Japanese. She had a look that could kill you and a smile that could break your heart. She lived on the left side of the street with the four annoying dogs and if you saw a black cat, it was hers.
In elementary school she always was in the back ground, and later, as we got placed in the same classes, we became really close friends. She picked up the clarinet when I found the trombone, and we were in an advanced placement class together. This was sixth grade, and we were twelve. I miss those days. Once, while we were walking down a hallway, poking and laughing and giggling, the school's gossip (though I was probably to thick to notice) asked us if we were going out. Love? I'd never thought about love before. I couldn't sleep that night. I couldn't sleep for months.
Weeks went by. I'd look at her. She'd giggle. She's look at me. I'd laugh. We kept at it. Looking back, it was probably pretty pathetic. I could only think of her. But summer was upon us, and sadly, both of us were moving. In opposite directions. Posters were being put up about the End of School dance. While it wasn't really a date dance, I wasn't in the mood to care. It's not like I was at all rational. I was only formulating ways in my already too big sixth grade brain to ask her out. For a few days before the dance I would see her and all too literally run. I wanted to write a note, but I couldn't get the words out. All of my friends thought I was radioactive, which, wasn't too far from the truth. In the most embarrassing moment of my entire life, I scratched illegible words on a notebook and threw it. And ran again.
She knew what I meant, and her reply- a short sentence and a big smiley face- is still in a box in my room.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Chapter Two, In Which I Am Watched
"Have I gone daffy in my old age?" Lunt mused. He thought a moment and then shrugged. "Whether I have or not, this isn't something to miss!" He stooped back down to peer through his four meter telescope, gazing intently at something far off in the distance. Thankfully, his telescope could show the scene close up and in incredible detail.
There was a flash of silver, a hint of canvas, not to mention a small figure being hurled hundreds of feet into the air. "Great gobs!" the man said, astonished. "There's a boy in the air...and without a parachute! Jacob!"
A two meter robot stepped from the shadows. "Yes master?"
"Fetch my glider. There's a--hum--situation."
"Yes master." The robot hurried off, sensing the urgency in Lunt's voice.
"Hum," Lunt said again. "This is odd indeed."
Jacob returned, holding a bronze-colored tube, "Your glider, master."
"Thank you Jacob," said Lunt. "I have another job for you. While I'm away, prepare some tea and whatever it is boys like to eat these days."
Jacob cocked his head, puzzled. "What do boys like these days, Master? I am afraid I am not programmed in this area of expertise."
"Hum! Yes, yes, very true. Make some cookies, or something. I'm off!" Lunt activated the glider and sped off into the distance.
Jacob stared after Lunt for a few moments, eyes glowing a dim blue. "Cookies it is then."
Several hours passed and Jacob was unsure of what to do. The cookies were prepared and the tea was being kept warm in the incubator. What now? Creativity was not Jacob's strong suit; it hadn't been installed yet. He was a young robot, only two years old. It would take up to three more years to install all the necessary components to be more than a servant bot.
It used to be that it took ten years for the mind to develop in a robot, but thanks to Lunt's genius, it now took half that time. In fact, Lunt was designing a new type of robot that took only one year...or so he hoped. Jacob, being a robot, couldn't help feeling a little skepticle.
Jacob activated the Locate Mechanism implanted in his brain and searched for his master and creator. Why was it taking him so long?
"Telescope," Jacob commanded in his grating robotic voice, "playback the events leading to Proffesor Alexander Lunt's departure."
"Data loaded," the telescope said in a tinny voice. "Would you like me to play it on the screen?"
"Yes."
A screen on the wall lit up. Jacob was bewildered by the scene and wondered why in void's name did it interest his Master? Shaking his head, he asked the computer to find out who the boy was. The computer scanned all files until it found the one desired.
"The boy is Gunnar Max Steeple, age nine. His father was Max Steeple, a condemned worshiper and Marquee. His mother was demoted to the position of Meager Nobility. She was saved from the position of a mere commoner by the doings of her husband before his betrayal...Gunnar Steeple is failing in school and--"
"Thank you," Jacob said. "That'll be enough."
Lunt and the boy, Gunnar Steeple arrived fifteen minutes later. The boy was unconscious.
"Sorry," Lunt said, "it took awhile to get through the legal webs...."
"Master," Jacob said, "why do you take interest in this boy? It is beyond my programming to understand."
"He'll be useful," was all Lunt said, setting the boy down carefully.
"More useful than me?" Jacob asked.
"In some ways yes, and in some ways, no."
"Yes master."
Jacob walked slowly toward his chamber and then turned. "The cookies and tea are ready, Master."
"Yes, yes,very good," Lunt said without paying a spark of attention.
Jacob lingered a moment and then headed off toward the dark chamber he called home. When he arrived he sat down, his thoughts on jealousy.
It was time to seek revenge.
There was a flash of silver, a hint of canvas, not to mention a small figure being hurled hundreds of feet into the air. "Great gobs!" the man said, astonished. "There's a boy in the air...and without a parachute! Jacob!"
A two meter robot stepped from the shadows. "Yes master?"
"Fetch my glider. There's a--hum--situation."
"Yes master." The robot hurried off, sensing the urgency in Lunt's voice.
"Hum," Lunt said again. "This is odd indeed."
Jacob returned, holding a bronze-colored tube, "Your glider, master."
"Thank you Jacob," said Lunt. "I have another job for you. While I'm away, prepare some tea and whatever it is boys like to eat these days."
Jacob cocked his head, puzzled. "What do boys like these days, Master? I am afraid I am not programmed in this area of expertise."
"Hum! Yes, yes, very true. Make some cookies, or something. I'm off!" Lunt activated the glider and sped off into the distance.
Jacob stared after Lunt for a few moments, eyes glowing a dim blue. "Cookies it is then."
Several hours passed and Jacob was unsure of what to do. The cookies were prepared and the tea was being kept warm in the incubator. What now? Creativity was not Jacob's strong suit; it hadn't been installed yet. He was a young robot, only two years old. It would take up to three more years to install all the necessary components to be more than a servant bot.
It used to be that it took ten years for the mind to develop in a robot, but thanks to Lunt's genius, it now took half that time. In fact, Lunt was designing a new type of robot that took only one year...or so he hoped. Jacob, being a robot, couldn't help feeling a little skepticle.
Jacob activated the Locate Mechanism implanted in his brain and searched for his master and creator. Why was it taking him so long?
"Telescope," Jacob commanded in his grating robotic voice, "playback the events leading to Proffesor Alexander Lunt's departure."
"Data loaded," the telescope said in a tinny voice. "Would you like me to play it on the screen?"
"Yes."
A screen on the wall lit up. Jacob was bewildered by the scene and wondered why in void's name did it interest his Master? Shaking his head, he asked the computer to find out who the boy was. The computer scanned all files until it found the one desired.
"The boy is Gunnar Max Steeple, age nine. His father was Max Steeple, a condemned worshiper and Marquee. His mother was demoted to the position of Meager Nobility. She was saved from the position of a mere commoner by the doings of her husband before his betrayal...Gunnar Steeple is failing in school and--"
"Thank you," Jacob said. "That'll be enough."
Lunt and the boy, Gunnar Steeple arrived fifteen minutes later. The boy was unconscious.
"Sorry," Lunt said, "it took awhile to get through the legal webs...."
"Master," Jacob said, "why do you take interest in this boy? It is beyond my programming to understand."
"He'll be useful," was all Lunt said, setting the boy down carefully.
"More useful than me?" Jacob asked.
"In some ways yes, and in some ways, no."
"Yes master."
Jacob walked slowly toward his chamber and then turned. "The cookies and tea are ready, Master."
"Yes, yes,very good," Lunt said without paying a spark of attention.
Jacob lingered a moment and then headed off toward the dark chamber he called home. When he arrived he sat down, his thoughts on jealousy.
It was time to seek revenge.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
First Book: Chapter One
I could only breathe in the water that enveloped me. Blinded as failed attempts for air took the shapes of lifting bubbles I felt lost and I reached for something firm to latch myself onto. There was nothing… nothing but water. I blinked and slowly the small rays of light rippling in flowing movements on the surface of the water became dim. A tunnel was forming and I knew what looking into the light was. The last sense that reached my mind was the feeling of warmth and a contraction around my right arm. A rescuer nonetheless my heart recognized and felt security, yet my mind was interpreting the situation to be my doom, and one last blink fastened me to an abyss.
I noticed a casted shadow over me opening and closing with no sound leaving his mouth like he was dumb. The water and pressure I had gathered while drowning began to slowly drain out of my ears. Sound was gradually, but quickly flowing back to me. Sight was blurred and my eyes were very irritable. The person casting the shadow on my face remained undistinguishable from any person I’ve met. He wore a white shirt and at that moment that was all I could decipher and comprehend from my vague vision.
Finally I heard him clearly enough to respond, “Hey! What’s the matter with you?” I didn’t know what he meant by this. I didn’t even know the situation at hand. I said “You t-tell me.”
“Why’d you risk something so stupid?” His voice was erupting with consideration, but was annoyed I hadn’t answered his first question. I paused in thought challenging my self to have some recollection of the moment. “Please, just talk to me!” His gaze pierced my eyes as his pupils were so small they could only focus on me. It was as if his eyes resembled focus, concern, and an impatient demand. “Well I was drowning.”
“Yes, I know I had to get you out of the water! Just tell me if you’re alright.” I could tell his voice was on its way to be placid. I hoped the peace would last.
“I think so,” I began to lift my body up. My stomach twisted as I did and thought was lost. “I just need a,” as I got to my knees I saw how pale my body had become. I started to think about whom I am and what happened recently. Nothing came to mind, but a vision of blurry water and light scattered so lucid. My focus returned to answering the question.
“Just a headache; I need some rest that’s all,” I just wanted this person to shut up. I couldn’t think straight. I wrapped around the thought of not knowing what’s going on. But why couldn’t I tell this person the truth? It’s the first clue to who I am. I didn’t want them to worry. Sadly that seemed to be their current occupation at the moment.
“Don’t lie to me,” I knew it was a man who saved me now. I was oblivious to his deep voice at first apparently to notice the obvious gender. He asked me again, “Are you alright?” This time he was gentle as if he was my father. I didn’t know if I would want him as my father though. I answered as my contemplation began to focus more on the moment, “I don’t know to be honest. I don’t remember anything except for nearly drowning. I don’t know you,” I continued outraged by my unknowing, “I-I don’t know me, my past or what is wrong with me! Please, just let me sleep.”
“We’ll get you a blanket, dry you up and let you sleep in the car. We need to take you to the hospital,” He was quick to say this. My eyes weren’t as irritated anymore. Clear vision was reborn to me. I wish my memories would do the same. Strange how I at first relied on something tangible to save me, but now something that would never be in any physical form is what I think will revive my minds wiped memoires, and rescue me from such frustration.
His face became more visible. His face was tan and wrinkled. His large nose hooked above his lips that shortly followed. He looked old enough to be a father, but young enough to rescue me from drowning. I noticed him crouched down in front of me. He stared at me in wonder.
“Do you need help up?” He asked.
“No, I can do it,” I tried my balance to get to my feet. I felt weak. Maybe due to shock, but I stood on my own.
The sun resided in the late-afternoon sky as I fought my legs to move forward. I didn’t find reason to complain so I staggered toward a green SUV near the dock of the dreadful lake that reminded and mocked me with near-death. Two girls and three boys stood close to the vehicle.
I noticed a casted shadow over me opening and closing with no sound leaving his mouth like he was dumb. The water and pressure I had gathered while drowning began to slowly drain out of my ears. Sound was gradually, but quickly flowing back to me. Sight was blurred and my eyes were very irritable. The person casting the shadow on my face remained undistinguishable from any person I’ve met. He wore a white shirt and at that moment that was all I could decipher and comprehend from my vague vision.
Finally I heard him clearly enough to respond, “Hey! What’s the matter with you?” I didn’t know what he meant by this. I didn’t even know the situation at hand. I said “You t-tell me.”
“Why’d you risk something so stupid?” His voice was erupting with consideration, but was annoyed I hadn’t answered his first question. I paused in thought challenging my self to have some recollection of the moment. “Please, just talk to me!” His gaze pierced my eyes as his pupils were so small they could only focus on me. It was as if his eyes resembled focus, concern, and an impatient demand. “Well I was drowning.”
“Yes, I know I had to get you out of the water! Just tell me if you’re alright.” I could tell his voice was on its way to be placid. I hoped the peace would last.
“I think so,” I began to lift my body up. My stomach twisted as I did and thought was lost. “I just need a,” as I got to my knees I saw how pale my body had become. I started to think about whom I am and what happened recently. Nothing came to mind, but a vision of blurry water and light scattered so lucid. My focus returned to answering the question.
“Just a headache; I need some rest that’s all,” I just wanted this person to shut up. I couldn’t think straight. I wrapped around the thought of not knowing what’s going on. But why couldn’t I tell this person the truth? It’s the first clue to who I am. I didn’t want them to worry. Sadly that seemed to be their current occupation at the moment.
“Don’t lie to me,” I knew it was a man who saved me now. I was oblivious to his deep voice at first apparently to notice the obvious gender. He asked me again, “Are you alright?” This time he was gentle as if he was my father. I didn’t know if I would want him as my father though. I answered as my contemplation began to focus more on the moment, “I don’t know to be honest. I don’t remember anything except for nearly drowning. I don’t know you,” I continued outraged by my unknowing, “I-I don’t know me, my past or what is wrong with me! Please, just let me sleep.”
“We’ll get you a blanket, dry you up and let you sleep in the car. We need to take you to the hospital,” He was quick to say this. My eyes weren’t as irritated anymore. Clear vision was reborn to me. I wish my memories would do the same. Strange how I at first relied on something tangible to save me, but now something that would never be in any physical form is what I think will revive my minds wiped memoires, and rescue me from such frustration.
His face became more visible. His face was tan and wrinkled. His large nose hooked above his lips that shortly followed. He looked old enough to be a father, but young enough to rescue me from drowning. I noticed him crouched down in front of me. He stared at me in wonder.
“Do you need help up?” He asked.
“No, I can do it,” I tried my balance to get to my feet. I felt weak. Maybe due to shock, but I stood on my own.
The sun resided in the late-afternoon sky as I fought my legs to move forward. I didn’t find reason to complain so I staggered toward a green SUV near the dock of the dreadful lake that reminded and mocked me with near-death. Two girls and three boys stood close to the vehicle.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
I know this isn't about writing, but the support would be nice.
Dear Fellow Sporadists,
I'm asking you if you would be willing to become followers of my photography blog. I'm attempting in excelling the popularity of my photography. Please help me out with this.
Thank you very much. Your fellow Sporadist,
Brooks McFadden
http://brooksmphotography.blogspot.com/
I'm asking you if you would be willing to become followers of my photography blog. I'm attempting in excelling the popularity of my photography. Please help me out with this.
Thank you very much. Your fellow Sporadist,
Brooks McFadden
http://brooksmphotography.blogspot.com/
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