david-halim-blog

[david-halim-blog]

Recently I decided to challenge myself to start a 100k word project with no chapter breaks- 4.5k in so far and am excited about the direction it’s going.

[david-halim-blog]

Al-l-Righty then- *claps/clasps hands together

I was looking for people and I found a day, a day that had someone in it, a day with someone in it that needed me. She couldn’t figure out how her life got to where it was that day, but she was grateful to at least have someone to listen and to care. She couldn’t figure out where to start so I told her to bring up whatever came to her mind, just let your broken story flow out like a slow or rushing river. She started with the boldest bleakest part of her life, the part that punches the ticket to deposit another aluvion of tears, she tells me that she has had the ticket punched every night before she goes to sleep at three in the morning but the ticket always looks the same to me. She wanted so bad for her dad to have her custody, she loved her dad, and he loved her and it was pure, beautiful love for each other. They both knew that their wife/mom had problems, at home she was the worst, in court she was the loudest, and in the end she unfortunately won. She put a restraining order on dad that still stands until five years are over, the fact that she had to be taken to an asylum didn’t do anything to help the dad and daughter. She didn’t have enough fingers to count the bad foster homes she was put in, and not enough moments in the day to count the nights she cried into the early morning, not that she wanted to know that lofty number. She finally found a good home with caring people who genuinely love her, but she had been broken and battered for so long that she didn’t know how to appreciate that love anymore. Adoption was a beyond the farthest reaches of the earth the most best, grandiose, perfect blessing that she could receive and she showed that gratitude by pouring out tears of joy. She had a forever home now that was safe and sound for her endangered and unsound heart and soul, her parents and herself are grateful that her forever home was in my town with my church and my people, but she yearned to spend another moment with her birth-father but those five awful years had another long year left before jubilant reunion, and she didn’t know if she could make it to that beautiful day or not. She hadn’t let to many people into her life out of fear, but she knew that three and three was the number of accountability, and she had a good experience with me more than that- so she let me into her life. We found that the more we were in each other’s lives the more we loved each other, and the more we showed love to each other the more we saw that this could last til death. In the beginning of the more and more we were living in she decided to test the waters of how much I loved her. To do that she told me about those awful years without love, about how much she hurt on the inside that there had to be something on the outside that hurt just as much or more and showed me the thick of scars over her body that came with that, long ones that seemed to go up her entire arm with a weak hive of smaller scars, she told me that every other night she would be down there again and it would hurt in her heart so she made it hurt outside too, she told me she didn’t think I knew this-...

Her parents gave me the key to their house but sometimes I don’t feel like I’m allowed in, has nothing to do with her parents has more to do with her, I could be sitting in her room and talking to her but it feels like I’m looking into private property from the peephole on the door. It would be off and on like that, sometimes she lets me in sometimes she’s apprehensive. Over the months she had gotten better at letting me in, and she’s told me that she wants to get better, she’s told me that the highs are longer and that’s good and the lows are shorter but they are intense and she hopes that I don’t listen to her when she tells me to stay away while she’s at her lows. I’ve found that to be the case with most people on recovery road, they do so well for so long that they almost forget how to deal with the lows that they were at, the lows may not even be so low but they’ve been so used to the highs that they lose their minds when the low shows its face, the low doesn’t do anything but show its face, the rest is up to the person who sees it. This was a month after that night or morning she asked me how much I loved her, I texted her one night asking are you doing alright? With no context whatsoever she texts back, it isn’t anything. That is not true, I went over to her house after she sent that text, her parents weren’t home and I saw only her car on the street, and the front door was open. I ran inside and looked through the house, every room, every closet, even the attic, every place where she -...

She asked me one day, I think this was sometime after that day she ran out of her house or maybe it was sometime before, one of many around that day- she asked me how I even liked her enough to love her like I do, what happened in my mind when I found out she liked me, had I already liked her before I found out she liked me, a lot of all that. This is what I told her. It wasn’t her who told me that she liked me, knowing how she is now, she saw herself as too awkward to tell me with her own voice or words, so she had one of our mutual friends tell me she liked me, then that friend would tell her dad and her dad would tell her that I liked her- I think that’s how it happened, grapevines can be a little confusing. Her dad texted me that next day after the friend asked me, he texted me saying ‘thank God you like her, it would break her heart too much if you didn’t.’ I’ve had the matter in prayer for a while, before I knew her I asked God who is the girl I’ll spend the rest of my life with, at the time he told me I don’t know her yet, then a few weeks after I met her I asked God the same thing and he told me I know her and she will come to you and you will welcome her with open arms. What else went through your mind when you found out? First thing was I looked up and said to God, you’ve once again kept your promise, the second thing was I’m happy I have a job so I can pay to take you places you might want to go or I might like to take you someday, and last was me asking God as I went home that night- God, you helped us get here, now help us make this work, because I don’t know how. She smiled and shook her head, how the hell have you put up with me? I didn’t put up with you, I love you with no asterisks, if I was ‘putting up with you’ I wouldn’t ever smile when I see your face, if I was ‘putting up with you’ I wouldn’t have stayed, I stay because I love you with no asterisks. She was silent for a short bit, how have you loved me this whole time? Because I know God didn’t bring you all the way here through all the hard years just for another person to treat you like trash. How do you know that? Because I’m here, you’ve got the best friends, and wonderful parents, we all love you with no asterisks. She was taken back in amazement at this but still asked, but how do you love me? The way I love you is the only way anyone can truly be loved, I’m patient with you, I’m kind to you, I don’t let myself be -...

[david-halim-blog]

I think the best way to keep track of your multiple AUs is to not think about them all at once, but- of course, write them down somewhere.

[david-halim-blog]

I like this idea,

Which AU of mine would it best go with?

[david-halim-blog]

For the most part, a special key can just have history.

But a person can say "Why the hell are we doing this?"

Never been a fan of MacGuffins,

But if we make the MacGuffin a person-

[david-halim-blog]

Inside jokes

the longest set up for any joke, but you can deliver the punchline as many times as you like.

[david-halim-blog]

The first critical success in the war and tactical campaign I’m running-

picking flowers

[david-halim-blog]

Update-

*Your test print is screwed up in “x” way

*Your test print is screwed up in “x” way”

*Fixes it

“Your test print is screwed up in “x.1″ and “y” way

*…

Where did this come from?

[david-halim-blog]

*Your test print is screwed up in “x” way”

*Fixes it

“Your test print is screwed up in “x.1″ and “y” way

*...

Where did this come from?

[david-halim-blog]

This may not be what you call “Unusual” or “Strange” but know that something is missing.

As we entered an entrance of our most convenient access to a nexus known only as Dream Library, a sign that we could hear but not see read, “Gentlemen must not, and others will not, read a book within that holds a respective name of one self individual concerning.” My darling, Valerie and I have come to such sanctuary of a dream library twice or trice before on other times that best flexed for both of us, today constitutes as what would be a first time together to this or any dream library. An excitement bubbled about between us, we could recount adventures we have had without company of one another, but now we have found a time to come together and make new experiences to keep a topical idea of converse when we come to a day of old age.

We have made an arrival to what can be called nothing short of a grandiose lobby, a truly theatrical spectacle of highly admirable architecture reaching higher than any skyscraper outside. Beautiful detail etched into every wall that climbed its own journey to a colossus and terrific piece of art that of an excellent masterful ceiling that arched and flew high over those of us wandering underneath. Valerie and I stopped in middle of such adroit and complicated design work in total awe. This library was created with a size no smaller than cosmic, but yet hardly anybody came within to wander.

I looked down to Valerie, a gorgeous rose within this marvelous spectacle of reality just outside grasps of those unknowing of this beauty that Valerie and I behold. “Dearest Valerie,” I inquired, “Don’t you agree to such an idea to let curiosity to run amuck?”

Valerie changed her gaze away to my eyes and jubilantly fitted a most darling smile to her face, “Why Franklin!” she exclaimed with a great excitement, “How could I resist an offer of this manner?”

We turned completely to each other, an exquisite design surrounded above and beyond our close proximity to one another. I answered to her exciful tone with my own eagerness, “Let us go read dreams of those who could only be described as terrible!”

I could not think that her face could show more excitement, but her expression makes me happy that I was wrong, “I love it!” Her high emotion of joy spread throughout her adorably small stature, “Shall we start with Albert Fish?”

My grin grew to my ears, “Even worse than he Valerie!”

Valerie’s voice rose in pitch out of every anticipated excitement that I induced with giddy suspence, “Who may he be?”

“Adolf Hitler my darling!” we reached a pinnacle of what could only be described as psychotic excitement,

She excitedly pulled ourselves to a row of truly endless books with a calligraphy “A” beside it, “Why did we wait!”

We hurried toward our crazy destination labeled with that sign of letter A. Every book within this gorgeous piece of art was organized in alphabetical order by first name, a name that most people would know any person in question. If any of you only know a last name, where we entered has a nexus within this nexus- you write a name you know and you are taken where that name is held. We have entered our aisle, A. Every book within this dream library holds size that could compete with an entire rib cage of a large man. Every book has a name but no book has an author. If a person a respective book is linked to is deceased, then there is nothing more to add to their book of dreams, if a person of a respective book still breathes then their book isn’t finished.

Valerie and I reached a point of this aisle where a subaisle of “Ad” can be found. Then Ada, Adb, Adc, continuing to a name we searched for, a name of a dream book of none other than infamous Adolf Hitler. But, his book was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t placed on a wrong shelf because every caretaker of this library never makes a human mistake. We have a little swell of disappointment within each of us, but we can look to find if Hitler’s book is elsewhere of this library.

We went to a library caretaker, a rather large man who could carry three books from this library in one hand, he stood twice as tall to that of my height and had a boldness in his hazel eyes. I asked of this giant of a man, “Sir, what is your name?”

He turned from his activity of shelving his giant dream books and addressed us, “Eiqab, sir” his voice bellowed down to our level, his voice rumbled oddly within my loins. Valerie was troubled by his sight and hid behind my stature so she may not gaze upon what she conceived as a terrifying height of an individual.

“Where may we find Adolf Hitler’s book?” chirped in comparison of his voice, “we went out to where his book should have been found, but it wasn’t there.”

Eiqab had a low look about him after we asked, perhaps he had not seen an odd interest of unconventional ideas as we held, or he could have been saddened by Valerie’s fear of his high elevation, or else it was another matter that gave him such a downcast look to his face, “Adolf Hitler’s dream book had been overdue for a greater portion of eight years,”

Valerie reflected a sorrowful look of her own, “What could have happened to it?”

“This I understand, who ever checked his book out last has created a religious cult around Adolf Hitler’s dream book and orchestrates rituals according to select dreams within his book.” Eiqab explained to us,

“Oh my,” I am amazed by this idea,

“What does this eight year late fee account to?” Valerie asked,

We were in a silent moment of thought from Eiqab until he came up with an answer for us, “An eight year fine would cost any party in question a with draw of three children under an age of five,”

I was astounded by this, “Three children under five?” I gave that a thought, it would be awful to have to collect a payment like this to pay a fine such as this. Would someone else’s dreams be worth so much if held onto for so long? Here is an extravagant thought I must ask this giant as we have his attention, “What would a collective fine be for anyone who goes to read a book with their name on it? What is their debt?”

A distressed look came about our good fellow Eiqab, he took a crudely imaged card from his coat pocket and handed it to me. He walked away without another word, I solemnly fear that our silly little ambitions may have troubled him.

I looked down at this rather bland and out of character card that I have been given, I haven’t begun to read it yet and there is a clear distasteful nuance about this card that could burn a person’s eyes if they took too long of sight to this repulsively crafted card of paper.

“What does it say?” Valerie peeked from behind my at what unsightly artifact I held,

I read its dark colored words out loud for her, “It says this, Any eyes of an individual who beholds in front of them a book holding their own name on its cover is burdened with a debt described as follows, furthermore entirety of this payment is due one week after charges are given to guilty party in question.” I read ahead to what anyone guilty of this act is tasked with if they partake in any such activity that breaks a single, solitary rule given to everyone who enters. I have never seen such a hard or cruel punishment in all my life! “Required payment is as follows, two gallons of prostitute blood, four anonymous stomachs filled with glass, a flask filled with liquid from human after birth, a filled blunt crafted from a page of “War and Peace”, and finally- ashes of any of this current guilty individual’s genitalia burned to ashes and collected in an envelope. Once entire payment is collected in one place at one time, every guilty party in question in denied access of our dream library for every remaining moment of their lives.”

Valerie and I were speechless where we stood in fearful awe of what we had read. “Would that mean I would have to cut off and burn my breast if I were to do that?” Valerie’s joy from a moment before could not be found, almost as if what was just put into sound and poured into her ears sapped every piece of joy away from her soul today.

“I suppose that is what’s implied.” My tone was no better than hers, “Would you like to leave? That was a terrible experience.”

Valerie’s face was awe struck with terror, “Yes.” She choked out,

I hate seeing her like this, I hate seeing her afraid of anything like this. I let go of Eiqab’s card, letting its terrible design leave our sight. I reached my arm over Valerie’s shoulder, I could feel every tremor she gave off as we walked to where we entered this expansive masterpiece of architecture. We walked under what was best described as a lasting statement to keep you in amazement even as you left, arches that swirled and twisted above its crowd that they watch over as crowds walk in and out. Valerie and I walked through to access where we came to enter this Dream Library faction, Valerie’s wardrobe. Valerie’s bedroom held an ambiance that strangely captured a greater peace and wonder than any dream library, where even though such dream libraries held designs and intricacies that could be found nowhere else; it seemed as though a greater amount of love and care and empathy could be found within Valerie’s humble room and in any extravagant dream library.

Eight months Later

I wish I had never laid my eyes of any dream library, I dare say I lust such an idea of a lack of existence of any dream library. Every extravagant detail within, every book from every outlet around where we call Earth, I wish, I desire them gone! Endless bookcases filled with visions and dreams and nightmares can return to their God forbidden home in hell! How can anyone endure a punishment like that of a dream library? Such a punishment that strikes fear into hearts of both a Mason and a common man. For that was whom a punishment expressed was deviously crafted for! So those who work any dark practice of Masonic religion could never ritualize any lucid dream they have. For anyone who could create their own altercations to a dream could change what is read another time, agreements could be changed and destroy realities of millions of people. This to which I will boldly state “I blame those cultists!’ For if not for them there would be peace within my fragile life! I wish such circumstances were never a possibility, I wish I could look into my archive of what was presented to me as I lay down in slumber; I could spend my leisure hours old and grey reading my dreams! Dreams telling of a future desired or a world wished for, visions that reveal amazing mysteries of our world and those we care deeply of, and nightmares of vivid abhorrent images that ought not be; all a colorful component to a despicable evil that prays on curious souls.

Valerie, such a beloved soul adored dearly by her friends and family, succumb to her own curiosity and read her own book. We had found a way around that detestable punishment by word of mouth, but her deepest personal curiosity overcame herself and was so swift I couldn’t stop her from that dire action of partaking with unto her eyes her dreams once again and never again. That punishment would devour a strong man’s soul, but it burned her soul and her souls ashes and those ashes ashes. I found her in her room in a terrible hysteria of tears and anxiety and regret. I hated every emotion that radiated from her eyes that day, I saw no motivation to live within her eyes and this brought mourning to my soul. Valerie never made any motion to make any requirement that her punishment asked of her. By week’s end, a librarian giant came and relieved her of her life and every sorrow and regret that accompanied it. I will never go into a dream library again, I wish to forget every sorrow it brought me, but every day I think of my darling beloved Valerie and I can’t think of another thought other than that she was taken from me by her own curiosity.

[david-halim-blog]

But still, what you call trash is either a masterpiece or still trash to someone else.

‘Shitty rough drafts’ doesn’t mean your rough draft is bad, it just means:

The rough draft is the shittiest version of this story you’ll ever write.

You may feel like the rough draft you’re writing is an awful, terrible mess, but it probably isn’t as bad as you think it is. (Or you may feel that it’s a fantastic piece of writing right now, and worry what it will look like to you tomorrow.) No matter your feelings in the moment though, this story will never be worst than it is now. 

It only gets better from here. Your writing only gets better from here.

So keep writing, and keep writing rough drafts, shitty or otherwise.

[david-halim-blog]

One way to see what someone is like-

How do they treat you three different times,

How do they treat others three different times,

How do they treat themselves three different times.

[david-halim-blog]

I wish there were fifteen months in a year, ten days in a week, and thirty six hours in a day so I could write it all.

What sucks about being a writer

Having a really good story idea that you’ve been thinking about for days, weeks, months, or years but just not having the motivation to write it.

[david-halim-blog]

At least...

There are no real set rules for writing time travel story arcs.

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I want less world threatening antagonists and more society threatening antagonists

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How good are we at controlling our fricken information?

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I want my MCs to lose something every time they win a battle, especially after they’ve lost so many battles, just to make everyone else question the same things that my MCs are questioning. They establish what they wanted to establish for their boss, but then the boss executes part of the plan they had in mind, and what boss has in mind doesn’t click well with our MCs.

Every time they lose a battle I wanna try to have them come out with some kind of victory- they lost against a psycho ritual murderer but at least they come out alive.