LJCC

Me, emoting, while lipsnycing this song in my head.

That was meant as a joke that Zelt is insane, but I guess that's cannon now. Ahihihihi. Sorry if I turned him hinsaeen on the membrane. Nutty characters always have a soft spot in my heart.

They stood together, watching the train pull away—a metallic beast sliding into the damp morning, swallowed whole by the mist. A single sunbeam, indecisive, pressed its fingers against the last car and then withdrew. For a moment, something moved on the horizon—divine intervention? No, just light making its last desperate claim. The sky cracked open in orange slits, jagged wounds above the mountains. The train, undeterred, surged forward. Not toward disaster, though that would have been poetic, two hundred souls dashed against the rock. No, this was a collision of a different kind: a slow, inevitable plunge into the tunnel of Mordor—where, for the next twenty minutes, passengers would surrender to the darkness, to sleep, to forgetfulness. Zelt had been speaking. To whom, he wasn’t sure. The air, maybe, or the careful curator of voices in his head. Yes. He's gone mental, apparently. "You know I’ll always love you." "Yes, and I’ll always love you." "Promise." "Yes, I promise." "But why do I have to go to the station?" "Your parents need our help. The luggage." A tap on his shoulder. It was real. Unmistakably real. Zelt turned, and the male nurse sighed. He was accompanying the patient on his last journey to get institutionalized, who, sounding weary and rehearsed, said, "How many times do I have to remind you, Zelt? Take your fucking meds."

Just finished Reading Night by Elie Wiesel. It's a short book but really made me think. Every moment where Elie describes losing his faith feels like a gut punch. His entire world had revolved around his religion, and by the end, it’s like that foundation has been ripped out from under him—leaving nothing but emptiness, now bereft of devotion. That scene with Juliek and his violin is haunting—such a powerful moment of beauty and despair intertwined. It’s one of those literary images that just lingers in your mind, no matter how much time passes. SPOILER WARNING.

I need to be alone for a few minutes... Greek wrestling was known to the ancients as or the pale ("upright (or erect) wrestling"). Yep. Sounds about right. Also, by 4:47, it's a thirst trap at this point. The uploader knows what he's doing, and I'm here for it. You're doing God's work. I support you.

Never watched this. Now I'm curious.

I sadly don't have Amazon Prime. I have Netflix though. I don't think it's on Netflix.

I wish this had a good English translation. Now my quest to find a good english sub has begun.

When you're writing with 1st person POV, you're writing with blinders on. You only have one path of sight, which is the 180' degree at which your character's line of sight can see. If your narrator looks straight ahead, those are the things you can describe. If N slightly angles their view to their left and right, it's the extent of how you can describe things. In no way can the narrator elaborate on the things he cannot see. If he does describe them, it would be things that had already happened in the past based on the extent of how he'd acquired such knowledge. For example, behind the narrator is a church. He could say: Martha, my gossipy neighbor, told me about a robbery at the Cathedral Square last week. He wouldn't have an idea that the same robbers that attempted to rob the church would be robbing the place again as he's walking through the town because it's literally behind him. So, putting words in the mouth of your narrator's son literally pertains to that emotion from the narrator's perspective because, as a rule with first-person POV, unless the narrator can read minds, the narrator wouldn't know other people's truths apart from their version of how he/she would explain things. UNLESS those around him have some one-on-one time and tell him whatever they're feeling. This leads to the question of: Are these characters telling him what they're really feeling, or are they just saying what the narrator wants to hear? Are they lying or being truthful? And yes, you can surmise, BASED on WHATEVER your character sees (eye roll, smirk, side eye). Because whatever explanation your narrator creates for the people around him is an opinion formed on his own. He can interpret the eye roll as an attempt to question authority, a typical teenage way of dismissing things, a disparaging remark on whatever he did, or he can describe it and not think about it while still putting it in the story because you want the readers to think he doesn't think about the eye roll, but in fact, it's an intricate emotion leading to his son not having respect, and it bothers him (SUBTEXT). It can be as simple and complex as that, with him interpreting one single gesture.

It's 1st person POV. Anything the narrator says is formed from the narrator's opinions. That's why 1st person POV is inherently unreliable because you're assuming that the narrator doesn't know everything. Unless the narrator explicitly states like, "[Son] said he didn't like his weekends with me," or indirectly, "His [Mother] pointed out how I kept buying the wrong cereal brand. Was I such a shitty father that my own son kept tattling on me?" As for this: I know he’s waiting for me to say something, to open up, How did the narrator know what the son was thinking? I don't know the son's age, but children tend to not be reliable conversationalists with their emotions since they are, after all, children. Unless the son spoke to the father outright, the reader would assume whatever the father was saying was directly coming from his own insights. If it went like this: I know he told his mother that I'm barely saying anything to open up, but… what’s the point? If it's a third-person POV, it could go like this: "[Son] hinted, through a series of eye gestures, eye rolls, and dismissive nods, when his mother had asked how his father was, that the entire weekend was inexplicably fraught with silence, a shrug, and his father excusing himself to lollygag at his beloved shed. [Son's] weekend was met with abject displeasure that his father still remembers the shit he did, one shitty thing at a time—as expected. And that got the teen frowning at his mother. Stealing your father's credit card to purchase concert tickets will surely elicit any parent's greatest arsenal, the silent treatment."

This is the start of the story, basically. After I finish book 3, what I wrote here may or may not change (just the details.) But yeah, this is literally the start of the story. I might continue that or restart another Cop story about Angels and Demons once I finish this. But yeah, that is after I finish this. lol.

Thanks for the support mate. Give me six months more to finish everything. I'm currently writing the last sequel to this trilogy. Fingers crossed it'd be up before July.

Those are very kind words.

I'm a hundred percent sure you'll fall in love with them. 😂 Also, the goal is to get the audience horned up and emotionally invested. So imagine yourself wanking off while crying. This is basically what this story is. I'm kidding. Haha. Anyway, I just need to write around 80k+ words to finally finish the last installment before I publish the rest of the series. It's still an uphill climb but it's getting there.

PRESENT DAY, NEW YORK (THE PROLOGUE) Spring arrived like an unexpected letter, its contents tinted with the promise of change. The first warm day in New York carried a weight Californians couldn’t fathom. Their sun, endless and thoughtless, was no match for the earned light of the East—a light that knew scarcity, that thawed not just the skin but the moods of winter. Greenwich Village swarmed with rollerbladers, their wheels whispering over the pavement like dragonfly wings. In W