Jason McIntyre's Blog, page 13
January 13, 2011
THALO BLUE #008
(New here? Catch up on previous installments of THALO BLUE!)
Back to little Vaughan they went, all three, Zeb oblivious, Sadie contented, and Oliver happy as the proverbial bowl of spiked punch. As they drove on Yonge Street that day, the foliage in Vaughan wore vibrant green; the spring had been not damp, but moist. Luxurious and wet, but mixed with heat in the afternoons, like something
Back to little Vaughan they went, all three, Zeb oblivious, Sadie contented, and Oliver happy as the proverbial bowl of spiked punch. As they drove on Yonge Street that day, the foliage in Vaughan wore vibrant green; the spring had been not damp, but moist. Luxurious and wet, but mixed with heat in the afternoons, like something
January 10, 2011
THALO BLUE #007
(New here? Catch up on previous installments of THALO BLUE!)
That night when Sadie and Oliver lay in bed, she reading, and he going over papers from work, Sadie brought up the topic of Sebastion's drawing. She told Oliver about Sebastion's insistence that his name be spelled with a Z instead of an S. "He doesn't like the S," she said. "And he got especially picky about it." She showed
That night when Sadie and Oliver lay in bed, she reading, and he going over papers from work, Sadie brought up the topic of Sebastion's drawing. She told Oliver about Sebastion's insistence that his name be spelled with a Z instead of an S. "He doesn't like the S," she said. "And he got especially picky about it." She showed
January 3, 2011
THALO BLUE #006
(To catch up on previous installments of this serial: THALO BLUE)
Sebastion, to this day, has a set of three distinct images which he can call to mind with perfect clearness, as though they were still photos taken with Oliver's SLR camera, ones that he could hold in his hands and stare at. These snapshots, all from his early childhood, those years between three and nine when it seemed his
Sebastion, to this day, has a set of three distinct images which he can call to mind with perfect clearness, as though they were still photos taken with Oliver's SLR camera, ones that he could hold in his hands and stare at. These snapshots, all from his early childhood, those years between three and nine when it seemed his
December 30, 2010
Why do we read?
"There's no mistaking a photograph.
It has the clearest, cleanest memory."
- "On The Gathering Storm"
Given the prolific availability and now low cost of producing and distributing photos and video, plus the ubiquitous nature of high-speed Internet access in the last four or five years, why do individuals continue to read text? Why do people still read books when they could just watch
It has the clearest, cleanest memory."
- "On The Gathering Storm"
Given the prolific availability and now low cost of producing and distributing photos and video, plus the ubiquitous nature of high-speed Internet access in the last four or five years, why do individuals continue to read text? Why do people still read books when they could just watch
December 23, 2010
Finding That Perfect Moment
Every so often, I hope to post short anecdotes about the impetus behind some of the characters, backdrops or ideas expressed in my writing. Right now, a short note about the "happy accidents" that can occur when combining two ore more notions into something meaningful.
A lot of writing is about choosing the correct details to share about a scene, a character, or a moment in the story. It's
A lot of writing is about choosing the correct details to share about a scene, a character, or a moment in the story. It's
December 20, 2010
THALO BLUE #005
(To catch up on previous installments of this serial: THALO BLUE)
II. The Default Color for Pain
A crow used to visit Sebastion by his bedroom window, used to perch on a bare tree branch where the boy could see it as he lay in bed, under his blue bedspread. Black and shiny, it would cock its head this way and that, and it would stay there for a while, as Sebastion looked on. When he was
II. The Default Color for Pain
A crow used to visit Sebastion by his bedroom window, used to perch on a bare tree branch where the boy could see it as he lay in bed, under his blue bedspread. Black and shiny, it would cock its head this way and that, and it would stay there for a while, as Sebastion looked on. When he was
(To catch up on previous installments of this serial: THA...
(To catch up on previous installments of this serial: THALO BLUE)
II. The Default Color for Pain
A crow used to visit Sebastion by his bedroom window, used to perch on a bare tree branch where the boy could see it as he lay in bed, under his blue bedspread. Black and shiny, it would cock its head this way and that, and it would stay there for a while, as Sebastion looked on. When he was
II. The Default Color for Pain
A crow used to visit Sebastion by his bedroom window, used to perch on a bare tree branch where the boy could see it as he lay in bed, under his blue bedspread. Black and shiny, it would cock its head this way and that, and it would stay there for a while, as Sebastion looked on. When he was
December 16, 2010
THALO BLUE #004
Instructions from the dispatcher via the 911 operator had told Officer William Sheers and his partner, Owen Lipnicki, that a forced entry would be necessary. "Suspect is possibly armed. Victim is potentially injured. Location: front-facing east bedroom. End of the hall. Last door on the right. Hurry."
After careening through a ridge of packed powder and across an icy street gutter the
After careening through a ridge of packed powder and across an icy street gutter the
December 13, 2010
THALO BLUE #003
The sirens grew. Sebastion, in his cubby-spot, heard them too, became red in the face with the renewed hope they brought. And here, this intruder, this stranger, heard them rise. Perhaps this was at an end. They were close and he had nothing, no way out this time. But they didn't know he was here, didn't know he was sitting on this sofa, in this room, in this house. They didn't know that
December 9, 2010
THALO BLUE #002
The stranger bashed the base of a small sculpture—an opulent copy of the Bust of Nefertiti—through the television screen in the living room as images of a car commercial flashed across it for the last time. His hand held Nefertiti by the throat, long and slender it was, and the follow-through gouged his skin all the way up to his wrist in dozens of places. Sparks and a brief shot of smoke blew
