INT. RESEARCH OFFICE - NIGHT

Two large desks support a chemistry station and a computer. The computer screen illuminates SAMUEL, 30’s, lab coat. Samuel leans his head against his palm.

SAMUEL

This is an unsolvable equation, why am I always at the center of it?

ROBERT, 30’s, scrubs, knocks on the open door.

ROBERT

Still working on the crazy world-changing invention, Sam?

SAMUEL

I wouldn’t use "working" as a descriptor in this scenario.

Robert slaps his hand on the desk and hunches over to see the monitor.

Just a few more moments and I would be off to the dinner date I had so meticulously planned weeks in advance. As I tidied up the remainder of my inventory into its designated space, my manager walked in as he usually did to inspect my progress.

“Impeccable work as ever Robert,” he said.

“Thanks, boss, I was hoping to leave a touch early,” I said smirking.

“About that,” he paused. “I am going to need you to stay late, our closer called in,” Tim said somberly.

I stood there looking at him for what felt like a year.

“Are you serious Tim? You know I’ve been planning this date for weeks,” I huffed.

“I’m sorry Rob, I just can’t close this store by myself, and you always deliver exceptional work,” Tim said.

“Man, I can’t believe this,” I stated, pacing.

A bright red door barred entry to the small yet eloquent hotel room; my hand reached for the keys held in my pocket, shaking in exquisite delight as my plans were coming to fruition. My rough fingers – from my days of work as a mechanic – bristled into my dress pants as they swam nearer to the keys, dry rough skin holding onto the neatly-stitched fibers. Finally, I grasped them and slowly moved the keys toward the door handle, jagged grinding squeaks resounded as the key slid into the mechanism.

A shoof, twist, and then a click released the metal bolt from its resting place. The neon blue glow of a sign reading “No Vacancy” pierced the night sky, illuminating a set of beautiful mattresses covered by what must have been imported cotton. Between the two sat a lavishly wrapped gift upon a deep oak end table. Tonight, my dream would become a reality.

As I approach the Edonian Corp. building, I see Jeremy and Anya waiting for me. They must have been nervous too; they never got anywhere before I did.

“Look who decided to show up early,” I tease.

“Just shut up and listen. I found a pathway that leads you straight to the office. Take this map. It outlines a straight shot.” Jeremy hands me a marked paper.

“I’ll take the tethered broadcaster. Good luck, Orin,” Anya says.

Anya and Jeremy head towards the doors. I see Anya pretend to fall and Jeremy rushes to her side, yelling for help. The guard at the entrance runs towards them. I sneak by and close the door behind me.

I knock on the door three times per the instructions on the paper.  The door slit whips open. Two beady eyes peer through.

“What do you want?” The voice crackling.

“Umm…”

“We don’t sell ‘ums’ here, son.”

“I’m supposed to get help from Dr. Valintine. My name is Michael.”

He slams the slit closed. I hear numerous metallic slides and twists. The door bangs open. Before me is a thin pale man. Arms wide open, he chants, “Come on in. We’ve got lollipops…minus the ‘lolli’ and I suppose a little pop, but drugs, yeah, I’ve got those.”

There are times in life when slowdowns are not perceived as good at all -- traffic, the wifi you pay for, the line at the fast food restaurant...and I'm sure you could come up with a few more! Anything that we feel ought to be a quick process that slows down tends to prove rather irksome. And yet, those obnoxious moments may be the very thing we need to reset ourselves. Maybe recenter a little bit, and reaffirm what truly is valuable.

Here we are again – complex, deep, and nearly unexplainable emotions. This time, we will be working with grief. Specifically, grief of the unrequited kind. I was recently exposed to the idea of unprocessed grief, and how we can sometimes use that grief as a justification for not staying in the moment, but more on this later. This was an incredibly insightful take on how we process grief as individuals. Thus, my curiosity and obsession with figuring out how grief works in my life was born. May you enjoy my process, and may it also encourage and help you process grief of your own.

At its most simple, conflict is fully understanding the characters within your story. What is the deepest desire of your protagonist, antagonist, and supporting characters? Then you need an opposing force that motivates those characters to move outside their comfort zone.

Fear. What a complex and equally intriguing emotion. We have all experienced fear to some degree, ranging from mild inconvenience to crippling anxiety. Before we delve too far into the complexity of this emotion, I must first state in very clear terms that I am not a clinical practitioner. Merely I am an individual in pursuit of the truth and a deep desire to help others work through and chew on complex thoughts and emotions as I do the same. With that in mind, the core goal of this blog post is to tackle how fear keeps us from being our best selves and often bars us from pursuing what we have natural skill sets for by fooling us into the sense that inactivity is somehow better.

Think of the stories you love the most. Do you enjoy them because there is a perfect structure and by-the-books dialogue? Or is it because you see yourself (or at least a portion of yourself) in the story? Chances are it was the latter. Why is that? Well, as humans we long for connection and community, which generally results in us surrounding ourselves with like-minded individuals.