Chad R. Mitchell's Blog

August 6, 2015

A Tale of Green Cities – The adventure continues…

A Tale of Green Cities

A Tale of Green Cities


I am very excited to report that the second book in the Tales of Terrezial series has gone live! A Tale of Green Cities is available in print version as of this posting! If you purchase the print copy, you can receive the Kindle version for free through Amazon’s book matching feature! The Kindle version will be out August 8th!


#TalesWillBeTold #Amazon #books #fantasy


http://amzn.com/B009PI2DBM

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Published on August 06, 2015 08:02

February 25, 2015

A Tale of Two Brothers – Available now!

A Tale of Two Brothers

A Tale of Two Brothers


Oh lookie here! The Kindle version is up and ready! Print version is done as well but Amazon will take a couple of days to update. I will post instructions for those of you who already purchased the Kindle version to get the updated revision! And to those of you who already purchased the print version… message me. I have a special offer for you! (P.S. Don’t order the print version from Amazon unless you want the older version! Order from Createspace link below!) #TalesWillBeTold #Amazon #books #fantasy


https://www.createspace.com/5284187


http://amzn.com/B009PI2DBM

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Published on February 25, 2015 18:06

Please stay tuned.

The 2nd edition of A Tale of Two Brothers will be out by the end of this week. Please wait until Amazon updates their page to purchase. Looking forward to sharing these tales with you all.


Tales Will Be Told.


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Published on February 25, 2015 01:58

October 7, 2014

An Invitation…

Recently I was challenged to participate in a blog adventure of sorts. It involved choosing one’s own adventure…


In the past I loved the books where I could participate, and influence the story. I felt a part of the action, and this made the story come alive. I remember actively marking all choices and fulfilling all story lines, and I refused to be finished till I had found every conclusion. I even discovered occasional orphaned pages where the publisher had accidentally not completed a story line…. It was great fun.


So, when our travel blog andthreetogo.com was invited to be a part of The Invitation, I chose quickly…


And today we are proud to present:


The Invitation


Choose wisely.


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Published on October 07, 2014 10:13

October 6, 2014

Writing Again…

Hello all,


I have been absent for far too long. Tomorrow I will share a fun writing piece I did with some fellow authors. I hope you enjoy.


Tick-Tock.


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#CYOA #fiction #amwriting #amreading

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Published on October 06, 2014 07:04

Welcome…

Welcome.


Tales are being told, editors are working hard,  and artists are building the vision.


Be sure to pick up a copy of A Tale of Two Brothers in preparation for the release of book two: A Tale of Green Cities.


Thank you for visiting.


Chad R. Mitchell

Tales Will Be Told…

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Published on October 06, 2014 02:53

December 29, 2013

Label This

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Pardon me while I get this off my chest. It’s not complete. Just a vent of sorts…


LABEL THIS.


Lately I have found myself doing it again. I slapped a title on that which I didn’t understand. I did it subconsciously at first, I called it crazy, I declared it insane. This was directed at a fellow human being, and I didn’t even catch it at first. That was just one of the labels I have used in recent weeks. I have labeled them in my mind, in text, and in person. I have looked at fellow human beings and titled them odd, strange, fat, gay, christian, redneck, smart, attractive, idiot, conservative, liberal, and obscene. Some of these titles I placed upon them, and others I simply heard them call themselves.


Labels lend a certain quality, and can be used correctly. They can be used to define food, rate places, and clarify things. They can be used as praise, warn of danger, and are indispensable in navigating this strange world of ours.


But when applied to a person they carry a greater and more dangerous weight. I heard a man yell at another man with a word that signified who he thought he was. It didn’t end well. I saw a post online, where a person spouted off a defense of her own label, one she was proud to carry, without seeing the hurt that it caused to others who found it off-putting. I saw a downright disdain for a whole group of people, with others defending the same. They fought about this label, some claimed it as their own, and others cast it to the ground.


Labels are killing communication.


I have a friend, let’s call him Timothy. He and I are close, we enjoy our times together, and we hang as often as we can. He enjoys many things that I do, we share various similar interests and affairs. However, he prefers more time alone, I prefer more time around others. Sometimes our interests don’t always meet and we go our separate ways. I don’t label him. He doesn’t label me. Others would.


There is another, a very outspoken young lady, who is very adamant about her sexes’ strength. She is smart, intelligent, and very good at defending her point of view. Some might call her militant, feminist, sexist. But I don’t, and she doesn’t. She is so much more than that label would entail. She is loving, kind, and very fair in all that she does. Even those labels are just a piece of all that she is.


When I meet others they might pick up that I have a faith in God. They might pick up that I believe in things that others might call insane. But they might also discuss the turning of the sun, or the way that beer is made, and we might get to know each other as human beings first. I try not to label myself. Not because I am ashamed or afraid of what I believe, or of what others might think of me. I don’t want to use a title that might not really contain all of me.


Titles can hurt.  They can be misleading, and they really don’t define who you are as a person. As a member of this human race. As a fellow soul on earth.


American. A very common title when traveling the world. I call myself it to define where I am from. I say I want to take that label, almost as a flag, and carry myself as an example, an ambassador of that place. But that doesn’t change the effect of that eight letter word. I can see the walls go up, the smiles grow large or small, and I can see a difference in how I am perceived. Not because of how that word appears in my head, but how it makes the other feel.


Labels are flags. And every time you chose one to bear, or to plant, you are taking, giving and bestowing power and weakness upon the one you choose to define. This applies to oneself, and to others. They are poor representations of the greater whole. All the pieces of everyone amount to a much, much, more interesting human soul.


Labels are simply a box. A very small box, and not indicative of the greater complexity that each and every human being is… A label is not yours even if you own it. A label is what it represents in the mind of the beholder. They own your definition, and no matter how much you try to say it defines you for you, it doesn’t. It defines you for them.


Choose your words carefully. For fun, for good, for pride, or for spite, these words hold the power to hold the person inside.


q8_poison6_label

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Published on December 29, 2013 03:11

October 9, 2013

Choose your own adventure young man.

Choose your own adventure


Reading is the reason I am a writer. Reading came first, writing came later. Much later.


In fact I used to get told I was not a good writer. Even worse, I was told it was a weak point in my education. I was a good student. Things come easily to me…


I am not a good student. I can wing it well. That is what I actually mean.


Anyhow.


I have that typical story, beneath the bedsheets, with a light. I would stay up far too late, always been a night owl, and even learned to read in semi-darkness. I swear it is why I need glasses. It was worth it.


The letters upon the pages, the words that held worlds. I lived for them. I devoured books in the same way that some devour french fries, handfuls at a time.


My favorites were the classics. WalMart sold 2for1 copies of out-of-copyright material. I read Stevenson, Cooper, Stoker, Hemingway… All at a young age. The words were unused, language old, and the prose… well it was difficult. But it was always worth it.


Sure I read a lot of pulp. But I never considered it such. Book of the week, Clancy, Hardy Boys, etc… Who knows. I don’t think I’ve ever completely remembered or forgotten every book i’ve ever read. But it’s all there somewhere… filling my imagination and such…


But as to the writing… I had ideas. How could I not? Who doesn’t? And my imagination was only more inspired by what I read. But I couldn’t tell a story. Not using the tools of the English language. I always got told I butchered the damn words. Follow the rules they said. Do you learn from what you read?


And I did. You bet I did.


I learned there are no, not any, rules that cannot be broken… Fragments, run on, comma misuses, grammar mistakes properly busted. The greats taught me that the English language and the way we put it on the page is one of the things that can, no must, always be broken.


Rearranged and broken.


So lately I have started to read again. Classics, new and old pulp, fiction, memoirs, beats, victorians, puritans, what have you ever seen the differences through the ages?


But reading. It opens my eyes. It makes me want to read more. I love to read.


And I want a book to read. I want a story I have not seen. So that is why I write… That and the voices of characters waiting to get out. They whisper to me in the pages of blank parchment. They whisper to me when I am distracting myself with distractions. They say get out there. Print. Put pen to paper, finger to keyboard, mind to matter….


WRITE! Do it. Damn it! WRITE!


But read to refill the well.


So I do… now.


Chad

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Published on October 09, 2013 00:53

October 2, 2013

Tales of the clothes

I've had shoes in worse condition than these...

I’ve had shoes in worse condition than these…


A suitcase full of clothes, and gadgets, and gear, and toiletries. 19 plane rides, countless taxis, trains, boats, and two wheeled vehicles. Sun, rain, rocks, washing and drying machines. Hotels, Motels, inns, hostels, homes, and condos. Sleeping, waking, walking, sickness, spilled drinks, and dropped food.


6 Months on the road. Or close enough. It takes a toll, it gives back.


The clothes are never returned. They stretch out, wear out, and finally it is time to purchase new ones. It’s a part of the journey.


Where is the H&Ms, the Forever 21s, the clothing places that stock the things that are familiar? They exist. But not here, not now, not when I just want a decent shirt without the flair that seems to permeate even a basic pair of blue jeans. I could find a Levi’s store, but they charge twice what I’d pay back home. And i’d only cut them into shorts a few months later. Even a simple t-shirt, black of course, is not without strange material, or too long, or too short, or bla bla bla.


Basically I had to buy some new clothes. I like looking good, but on the road I care a lot less. It’s easy when one is in a traveler zone, and surrounded by others in similar conditions. All that matters is the experience, the new place, the joy at being in the unfamiliar.


But then there are the normal places, the big cities, the different weather conditions. And then you notice the frayed edges, the loose threads, and the pink shirt that used to be red.


Alas. First world wanderer problems. I know.


In other news the book is roughly finished. The last word has been written. Now I am working on the rewrite. Cleaning up a few major issues before asking others to drag their eyes over the words. This time around I want more input, more thoughts, criticism, and opinions…


Write me if interested. I would love to have you read. Everyone!


Oh, but please read the first one before you do. BUY IT HERE!!! 


And write a review please. It only takes a moment. And I promise to reward you! Just think of all the cool things I can send from around the world!


This has been a random writing exercise from Chad.


Thanks


C.


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Published on October 02, 2013 21:53

August 20, 2013

Take the ride

Zoë UmbrellaDreamers

Click the “Dreamers” link to see an entertaining video of our travels. A taste of things to come.


 


I leave the jungle path. A giant snail is almost crushed. His life continues due to a quick shuffle of the feet. I almost trip.

Down the path I continue, looking casually, not afraid of the draping green that might contain a drooping snake. I lie. I am always terrified by the thought.


I reach stairs between the walls and enter their narrow corridor. It’s not dark yet, and I can see the dripping condensation from the AC. It’s filthy on the floor.


A rearranging of goods, waterproof the pack and back. I pull the hood over my eyes, readjust, and squish the helmet over it all. I am a rain man.


The two-wheeled vehicle starts eagerly. I check the tires. Will they slip? I surely hope not.

Stepping aboard I feel the thrill of the daily adventure. Sure, it’s a deathtrap, and I am insane for trusting my life to its old frame. But it’s all part of this adventure.


The hills are visible in the distance, the green misty trees leak their perspiration down. I dive into the city streets, the tears of the clouds pass the smog and end up not clean at all. The streets bleed oil and it’s slick. I keep my wheels pointed straight. Speed is in check.


Past the vendors with their wares. Some, many, I cannot recognize. It’s not the language barrier, it’s the visual confusion. The smells, not all bad, confuse the senses even more. I wonder if I should stop to eat, or to retch.


I wonder why they built a city in the midst of a valley filled with green. A river is now useless due to the smudge of pollution that is squeezed out of the streets. It floods the surrounding scenery and makes it dreary.


I still find it beautiful.


The neon lights up the wet black of the avenue. I am keeping my eyes glued to the front of me. I hit the gas and smile as I see the familiar.


I pull up and squeeze the contraption that bore me here into the not-quite-a-parking-spot. I pull it up and pull off my rain gear. I am as wet from sweat as from the avoided rain. I wonder the point.


Fortunately my favorite table is available. I order an Americano, debate a beer. Take a seat and open the tool that I have been given for getting my work done. I debate not spending time working on my art. But then I think of where I am, all that has been done, and I buckle down, caffeine hands ready.


WRITE.


 


Chad wrote this while surviving yet another moto ride through the streets of Taipei. It’s a journey, a life… And this is only a blurb.

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Published on August 20, 2013 06:28