The Characters are talking! - S.M. Bjarnson 07/07/14

The Characters Are Talking!

By, S.M. Bjarnson

The characters are talking, I can see them now waiting by the rippling waves for the next line in their wonderful love story to be written. I am the author and editor making remarks and additions into their simple lives, that I bring complex and unsettling feelings, because true love deserves to be tested. 

They hold hands waiting for the sunset to clear to see the next page or chapter in each other's life, in one another's future history. So we wait, because as we wait I am struck not by grief of making them feel pain, but stuck in a rut of possibilities of the people they could become, they whimsical destiny they so long to live up too. 

They are patient like no other person could be, not only are they understanding but they neither neglect or accept your judgments they merely nod and they deal with the forthcoming tides of a raging storm or the end to a beautiful sunny day. 

There are more words to be shared and rather to be heard. They wait with anxious excitement to hear the next revealing course in which their lives must take! So please be kind and witty as well, your characters are starting to talk! Talk they will and so it will be about you if you don't finish their own words exiting their fictional mouths! 

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Sneak Peek 11: The Circus in Me, S.M. Bjarnson

“My name and place are of no concern to you or the board members, you suppose I should confess my wills too. I am pure in thought and mind. My reputation or report does not fall into your hands. I send all undignified claims to God. You sir, my brother, elder, Ashlee’s padre, claim whatever name fits you best. Are in dire need of editing your remarks on the obligation others have to confide in you, for we are both made from His Divinity.”“No need to raise your tone, young lady. Do realize though physically we are made from similar materials, in spirit quite the opposite of ingredients. I will always float higher.”“You're confessing to me that I am below you as a human? Because you stand behind a desk and have Bishop in front of a calling? Does that make sense? Orate to me that I am lesser in God’s eyes because of a position?” Stricken with benevolent words, all of us equals.“Who are you to question Him?” Standing abruptly slamming down the mug of warm water.“Who are you not to question?” My spoken word soft and confident.

-S.M. BJARNSON

(Today is also my birthday! I wish I was in Las Vegas!) Yay :)  

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sneak Peek 10: The Circus in Me, S.M. Bjarnson

His smile was quiet. Stare struck into my blue eyes. Something he saw every day and somehow he was seeing it now; guilt.
“Unless Jazz is bad too, then none of that whatsoever.” Gladly giving into odd ideas of my strange personality.
“Miss Livingston, there is an Honor Code set in place at BYU. Every student abides by the rules.” In my hands he placed another copy of the guidelines I abided.
“I embrace that you have proof of these actions Mr. Branch President?” Eager to understand what proof was evidence enough to lead me to his office. I glance down at his last name, Bleu. Calculations being precise. All facts and folklore coming into perfect harmony.
“Did your daughter make these complaints contrary to me? She is my roommate.” He gleams acceptance of the things I profess.“Such a beautiful name Tracey Aliza. You should go by that instead of this Trae Lae business.” What an awful name; Tracey Aliza. I was one of many. Born into the prototype of human beings.“I do follow the rules.” In his hands I laid the copy back. I had done nothing wrong, I corrected.“My daughter’s middle name is Tracey.” Ignoring absolute honesty.“Is she the 4^th or 5^th child in the line of kin? I am the 2^nd in my generation. I will tell you this because obviously you don’t understand the meaning of names.” My gut bulging with pride and power. His vision changed. More nervous than wearing a skirt four inches above knee length.
 “I am named Tracey because in a male dominate society, who think little of the female race, it deemed inevitable to confirm my father wanted a 2^nd son.” His silence spoke for itself. Ruled by souls and soldiers of generational men he acted as the rest did. I feared my gumption. 

S.M. BJARNSON

Different Courses to Maneuver, By S.M. Bjarnson

I'm so filthy tired, but I'll write the words on the page anyway.

Spoken here, uttered there.

You heard the words, I talked the rhythms.

We had different paths to cross, different journeys to overcome.

That's how we got here, it’s how you got to me and I got to you.

Feeling each other’s breaths we eat away the nervous flutter in the bellies of our minds.

Biting our lips for the temptations of lure to come to life.

It's what you want, what they bring?

Holding hands, coursing through the veins of time, we are all what we are meant to be.

Aren't we, to see that?

You want to run to the shore, search through all the old memories of places and times.

I'm gonna rush into the open waves, disappear into the empty swirls of yesterday.

All I want to do is swim into the horizon.

After all it was just one night, just one time.

It's all we ever were most of time, most of the day.

Nothing, but moments clashed together by the untangling air.

A goodbye look in your eyes, a quick see ya later kiss to the cheek, we both scattered in different ways.

Never to be caught again, in each other’s nets of time and whispering moments.

-S.M. Bjarnson

Photo Credit: Phone App Background Settings

Sneak Peek 9: The Circus in Me, S.M. Bjarnson

Ashlee set me up! I know she did! Was all I could think as I entered that office. Called in to meet with who declared leadership. Titles called to him as the Bishop or in this very case Branch President.
Escorted into the square office.
“Tracey Aliza it’s come to my attention that you’ve been having inappropriate relations with a fellow male student.” He waited for my response. As if there was a sign on his forehead that read please confess weaknesses and every imperfection.“Excuse me sir?” Confused is this how it works? Were we supposed to confess everything bad ever thought?
“There have been rumors.” His knuckles white crisscrossed over one another.
“Rumors? Sir?” Baffled as I was, I began to understand that it was not tolerated to have relations with the opposite sex. True to my nation, I understood this was just like the rules I’d grown to know.“Speculations you are acting unworthy, my dear.” I am most certain I have never been anyone’s so called dear. Let alone a man I have just made as an acquaintance.“Speculations? I assume following up on gossip? Are those corrections in order?” A rough patch growing in my throat.
“Gossip. We do not listen to such tall tales. Here on provable facts here.” Soon I would find out what sin I would plead forgiveness.
“I assure you sir, I am not involved with any male figures. I know not to speak to the boy students and all that Jazz.” My hands began to shake. I slapped them together tucking between the kneecaps. 

S.M. BJARNSON

Slippery Rooftops, by S.M. Bjarnson

The rain was misty, the rooftop was a clean white, puddles of raindrops covered the ground which I stood on.

The most amazing magical feeling becomes embedded into your heart.

A feeling of wholeness.

I stumbled towards the edge, the surroundings of the top of the building.

I stared downward at the cemented ground.

I slipped my molly Mormon purple white flowered shoes off, stepped on the wet blocked wall.

I glimpsed above me the sun was shining as the raindrops trickled down my face, I smiled.

Turned and faced the door and fell back into the air and clouds.

If I could be anything I would be the rain.

I laid down on the wet grass, as the hail beat upon my dampened rained on clothes.

The raindrops on my face became tears trickling down my face and for the first time I felt I should cry and it would be okay.

Cold and wet my body laid in confusion and sadness.

Rain came down in bullets/pellets.

I felt clean and new.

My skin became frozen cold.

Time ran out to many times before.

 S.M. Bjarnson

Whispers of the Wall, by S.M. Bjarnson

They heard my cries, but did they whisper to one another about my pains, my belonged sorrows of fear. There I stood upon which I would call shivering waves of tempting tides of love and hate; both exotic and fundamentally underdeveloped to the extent they can become. Much is known about the things I wish to share with you; here I am lying in a bed of memories.

The only ones I have of you.

I pull fragments of each second I got to spend with you, the touches underneath each breath I was able to take around you. The one that always seems to live on inside my darkest corner, the way you didn’t kiss me or thrill the premonition I had always wished for, between me and you.

Bloody mirrors, paint the way of what honestly could have been, definitely still could be. I fear, as many times before me in making a choice. To taking that chance, here I will live with you, always in an infatuating romance of love and desire.

Those are things you always wish for, times you go back to.

Recalling memories you always wish to step through and become again. Relive the fantasy of living in such a moment of you and I. If I cover my eyes will you become the person I have longed for and so desired? Will we speak of unending times of running away to once lived romance, to somewhere alive inside of us?

Blindness covers me and still you make me keel over in a torture pain in my gut, I have to see you. The rush of what could be secretly wants me to let it take over, devour every good intention I ever existed in. But, it would never work. Things such as fantasy never seem too, so I’ll live out my last desires with you, upon this wrinkled page of thoughts and somewhat begot feelings; I once loved to reminisce in.

Now I am searching for a destiny, a reality that I don’t have to keep putting in quarters in the slot machine to live over, again, and again. You’d be there right alongside of each nightmare, holding my touch with such fragrant fiction that you would kiss away any pain I had in me, I loved you, then and there in the twilight of my dreams. You were always there in the back of my pocket, waiting to become reacquainted with my imagination.

I will take you anywhere you want, my dreams are fading and suddenly I want more out of you, the more I had not really ever gotten the chance to be a part of. Looking back upon everything I had, everything I wanted to have with you, with myself, I am sick with envy. Most of us, wishing to live as we did, in the moment of times we can remember.

I wish for, I live everyday to be that way. Living in each memory as if I will remember them all, because they are all that elastically brilliant to you, to me.

Truly that is really the only place you have ever really, breathed a free atmosphere, inside of my own free atmosphere, in the world of imagination. Creative spurts of happiness overflow to your part of the haven I have given up to you.

My time spent fantasizing about what could-be, I want to touch basis with hormones, undiscovered.

In the end, we are just like that a faded memory made up into a story created by a lust, or desire I am not being fulfilled by, an hour of your time and here I stand oblivious to reality. Maybe, I never wanted it to be true.  Dreaming on an open dream. Wish, a little?

S.M. Bjarnson

Acephalous, by S.M. Bjarnson

The rain never seized that day. The rain pitter pattered long beyond what anyone thought was possible for rain in this drought, I searched for answers as well as much of words as I possibly could. The fact was it wasn't the rain we feared so much but the after fact of it all.

He woke in the sudden of the night, my son. Turning in circles in his little boy mind, searching for the answers no one seemed to give to us. But, there he was scouring the neighborhood and the outskirts of remote wire fencing, to let us know.

You would turn a corner and you would turn right back around, there was no place for you if the found out about you. He awoke in a stutter of words and fears, communications of his kind were unbearable to most folk around these parts. We are salvaged beings commanding retribution to the commander who pities us senseless where we had gone before.

Chances are they weren't looking for us, chances are they were looking beyond us, for what we couldn't possibly bear. A new frontier that was already linked to us, in a way we were the way, but possibly more in the line of direct connections.

I went searching for him, I rounded every corner if I would see him, knowing he would not be there. Frustration broke out, to panicked fear and an ongoing curriculum of doubt ran throughout my blood stream, at last I had spotted his hide away, in plain sight he stood, watching the beckoning war outside our own door front. He was calm letting me pick him up and chase away with him to a safety. Running home, flagrant bombs exploding around us, whose war was this again? No sound, but silent movie subtitles saying we are almost surviving.

I held him so close and dear, his eyes wide open to all the explosions, he never once began to blink or tear down his barriers.

We did have men on the inside, trying to detour all the bullets and ammo aimed our way, they were ombudsman, but the most good any of them had done was prolong the enchantment, they had not lasted long. Hung upside down by their feet in sycamore trees. Ornaments, of betrayal.

They had come. Bursting through our doors, rampaging through our loose luggage. Animals, deviating by the storm. Taking the women, using them for their games, we were all recusant beings. His little bed, train tracks circled around it, books standing upright in all directions, I wanted so badly to lay him down to quiet my own fears of the night. But, we were boxed in; a small kitchen punctured 45 women and their babies to the white ceramic counter tops and floors. Who knows where the men had gone. Who knows if there were any left, anymore?

We shuffled and bustled every which comfortable way we could afford too, Thomas Coy in my arms and I felt alone. I sat him down, he stood on my toes in front of me, and I couldn't help but to notice that none of these bodies around me were any I knew, were any I had ever known. I was trapped in a crowded room, my son and I were alone in, he knew the very same. We were the last ones to be pushed outside in a line, fire barrels burning bright around our corridor, and then he spoke to us. He called us by name in which we responded with lacuna eyes. The words were a heavy tone we once knew as children, he smiled and laughed engulfing our fear, along with our rage.

His words somersaulted over each other as if it were a big charade. We were all going to die today.

The dream came to me in the middle of the night, halting all relief for an escape.

He ran from as children do. Like it was some sort of hide and seek game.

Towers and barriers running in a maze we were all wondering where to go.

He led the way and I played follow the young leader. I was fearful, even mortified if I lost this begotten son of mine.

He saw no danger or death in his path, body after body they carried them away. His sight clear of all misfortune, his mind at ease from all troubling ailments ahead. It would be quite a while until I could tell him about the visions I began to have the night before the invasion. One day he will ask if I knew and it will require me to answer yes.

He ran too fast in the dream, he was gone out of sight. He glanced back merely waving to me to hurry along, but I could not and arrived in a vacant field with no one in sight.

He is gone my young son.

Has he disappeared? Has he been taken by another? Or did I make his life a secret?

There is a belief that we have changed. That somewhere down the winding road we are capable of redirecting a new path for mankind.

 If that is to be accurate and true, why are we all suffering and damned?

Was it yours or mine own fault?

Did we cease to make a big enough impression on our thought patterns to change the outcome from yet another disaster?

There will be a time I am reminded when he will choose to come back to me, to see his mother as I truly am.

To a time much better than this one is. To a world that is created far more mature than we may ever understand.

Until then I shall wait and watch as the sailors and soldiers tied to the bottoms of boats; drowning in such misery and despair they forget, no they convince themselves otherwise they indeed are dying from a natural substance; chaos. 

S.M. Bjarnson

Circus in Me: Sneak Peek 4

She was taken back beneath excitement to something of gleam or gallant. They gravitated toward her, wanting to accept her, partake of her journey. She shivered in her conforming seat, contemplating these lifestyles almost in a judging manner but not quite.

Her hand was never raised in disapproving motions. She merely volunteered to be a rescue. As you would a lost dog, a homeless cat or any other pathetic animal you couldn’t help find but adorable.

They like her, they pulled at her. Bringing her into an embrace she had never experienced. Doc, the ringmaster placed a comforting hand on her shoulder welcoming her into his family of misunderstood individuals. He lead her down the line of performers. First the Bearded Lady, Mona, then Doc the manager and caretaker of the animals, Katarina, the tattooed beauty. The triplet acrobats near her age eyeing her shape and figure. She walked amongst these odd individuals; her fear unbearable now. She came to the conclusion she must shout out for some sort of help, but what kind of assistance was she asking for? A departure? A rescue from these odd fools, who she seemed to belong too, or maybe just maybe a helping hand. The mystic, Arunia, smiled at her as she lent an open hand, her voice was simple, but pretty. She hushed Trae Lai’s fears; she was home.

S.M. Bjarnson 

Scared to live our lives, by S.M. Bjarnson

   A Heads up I wrote this in High school.

Dear Fellow Peers & Colleagues

      What makes us fear growing up? What makes us not exceed our maximum potential? Is it that we feel threatened or inferior of other achievements? Or maybe it’s the fact that one day soon we will have to stop holding onto the past. That we won’t be able to hide from our future and it’s events. Whether your future occupation is a local gardener or a famous motor cross rider, you will be great at it because you were born to do it.

   In high school we put up safety barriers around ourselves, because of the intimidation of having to be something more than an average high school student. For most high school seniors we have already had this realization come to us. So, now we are facing the coming winds, head on with a fearful heart and a courageous mind, both characteristics that we all should learn how to master.

    As our cards are laid out in front of us it’s our choice to pick and play or fold and fail. It’s our choice to press forward to excellence or stay another regular human being. A quote that hangs above my window makes this statement, “Life is what we make it. Always has been. Always will be.”  With that phrase I strive to face every new day with a hopeful heart and optimistic mind, to be a new me and make a better world for myself and for others. This is your life fellow student body, it is your choose to live and take charge, leaving fears and nervousness in the dusty tracks behind you. It’s your choice; it is your life, no one else’s.

     Fulfill your own destiny, chase after your own personal passions and have them become a true reality to your life, discover once and for all dreams can come true. Believe in yourself and find the personal strength that is screaming to be unleashed from within you, let it out and be freely you. Maybe than we won’t be in fear of growing up and becoming adults in the world’s society.

    Take chances and stop thinking. Quit wondering to yourself what if, stop caring what the person next to you thinks, they don’t think and honestly I doubt they care. Do something, because you want to, because you feel the need to shout it out to the world, be proud of the accomplishments of being influential in a spontaneous way. You wait around your whole life waiting for something amazing to happen to you, but than nothing happens and you get discouraged with life. Let me make this clear, nothing is going to happen unless you make it happen.

   Be happy and comfortable with who you are today, walk with confidence and hold your head high. Because, after high school no one will stress with statuses, even if you dominated the top of the pointed pyramid or that you slummed to the crumbling bottoms. No one will care, because it doesn't matter, it never did. Figure it out for yourselves; you’ll know it’s true as well.

   Be smart and be courageous, stand out above the normality of each other’s lives. Be you and be free.

S.M. Bjarnson

Be a Author Today! S.M. Bjarnson

Today I'm going to write like I have never done before.
Awaken my soul it is ready to explore and endure.
Words will be filtered and my wish to become with be known.
My chances of survival rely merely on that of what I hope to scribble.
You are sure of yourself, the story line spectacular.
You deserve this win.
Wanting nothing more than to become and be known.
Sentences begin to come at you in all directions.
Pausing the chaos you organize the thoughts.
Your a performer for those in the imagination field.
The writer inside you tells a story not one could hope to write.
I am brilliance. I am the beauty in reading and writing.
There are such times when I doubt my plot, doubt my livelihood of being just an imaginary believer.
Am I worthy of the AUTHOR title?
Is it mine and do I necessarily belong to it?
Fears fade away and there is always that warm feeling reminding me that I am more than worthy, that this is my chosen destiny, that this is my birthright.
Words are printed onto pages but first written wildly upon my soul.
I emerge from the blessed waters of renewal.
Today, is a new day.
Live on.


S.M. Bjarnson

The Writer's Realm

One day, I remind myself, yesterday neglected to falter and tomorrow you shall rise again! One day I tell myself there will be plenty of days when one cannot concoct happiness into the pages she/he has written. One day I confirm there are plenty more just like this one coming my way. Wouldn't I engage to say that I would suffer this writer's depression of those many days for the decades of success that await me? I plead with myself I need this victory this win I have to claim as mine. 

With every word flowing out as a chaotic struggle to sound a bit above water, yet remaining under the brink of solitude. IT bites at you and swiftly there is a quiet comforting voice in the background whispering to you that tomorrow is another day and you will survive this one so you may endure and enjoy the next one. I let myself know you have become strong. Your weakness only make you exceed limits only you are aware of. There is a beauty in this battle. A welcoming tone as the chime of the fight begins, you are startled at first wondered where this potential victim came from, you are your opponent. 

You close your timid eyes wondering how quickly it will be to take down that which is yourself, inevitably. Your stance in position for a fair fistful. Were you obligated to take over this mortal enemy? Was it possible to merely avoid the situation and forfeit the war that raged among the heart and mind? Were you wise in your steps that you could so carelessly shake hands and let that be it? 

Did you take certain precautions that would allow you to have a pass here? 

Welcome to the Writer's Realm, fight for your life, or rather your words!

 Consisting of structures you wrote and once loved silhouettes of images you portrayed, betraying you at every inch. Bandages bleeding from the coursing in my veins I was a viper stinging in my own thoughts. Poisoning the very thoughts that caused such a perfectionist writer. 

My vision of stories blank as blackboards. The wisdom of my elders vanished as I took my first blow. Where were the faults I tried to correct? I wanted to search in depth for the wise words I once lost.  

There were mentions of talents long forgotten. 

The talent in which one grew like a plant that you watered and fed daily of light and literature. I confessed to having that very plant grow inside me once and now it had sprouted and took over the very being I called home. I commenced the silence. It tries to steal the very soul I live in.

I followed in my own footsteps and alas won out among the blood and tears of the fore comings. My bravery was a mighty win. My courage rang clear as my words were set free. My mind finally at ease. My world at a calm humble peace.

I stood on the podium, the day had finished with a stream of cruelly words.

I was victorious.

March Round up! :)

Here is a play by play for weekly days & topics!

Monday: Motivate

In retrospect, I will be writing a article or two about getting the writers or readers inspired.

Tuesday: A Tale or two

Today is a day for storytelling. Either from you or one of my close acquaintances

Wednesday: Wisdom of the World

Wednesday is the day for writing wisdom & marketing enlightenment.

Thursday: Free Day

Give ME a Break. :) 

Friday: For Everybody

Promote your dope! I feature a music video of an artist I admire, a poem or a short story from fellow colleagues.  

Saturday: Sneak Peeks

Sneak Peeks of my new upcoming novels. The cover reveal or insert I allow to flow through my writer's hands. 

Sunday: Let's Have Fun Today! 

A recipe or crafts I love to share! 

I <3 pinterest!

 Follow http://www.pinterest.com/crazii09bjarns/

If you would like to post with me on the days I post new things about other creative artists in the world. 

Thank you to all who view and enjoy the articles I post, I am very excited to contribute to your livelihoods!

Email me and we will have loads of fun collaborating! :) Hooray!