Corrie Fischer's Blog
January 31, 2014
FREE!
http://corriefischer.com/
Who doesn’t enjoy the price tag of $0? I know I certainly do. Therefore, as a thanks to all of my supporters, I am going to offer you Mirror’s Edge, the first installment in the short story series Trapped, free for five days. This special price of nothing will be begin Saturday, February 1, and will end Wednesday, February 5th. Get your copy while it lasts! If you enjoy it, check out my current novel REM (Shattered Sky Series). Enjoy!
Get your free copy on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/MIRRORS-EDGE-Tr...
Who doesn’t enjoy the price tag of $0? I know I certainly do. Therefore, as a thanks to all of my supporters, I am going to offer you Mirror’s Edge, the first installment in the short story series Trapped, free for five days. This special price of nothing will be begin Saturday, February 1, and will end Wednesday, February 5th. Get your copy while it lasts! If you enjoy it, check out my current novel REM (Shattered Sky Series). Enjoy!
Get your free copy on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/MIRRORS-EDGE-Tr...
January 15, 2014
Beneath the Ink
Though the art of body modification has been around for thousands of years, tattoos are still often considered taboo by our society. Why? Well, some Biblical enthusiasts have quoted scriptures and associate the practice with the “mark of the beast.” Wait a moment though, the Bible also calls the body “a temple” to be decorated.
The next disagreement is my favorite; it is truly hilarious. It is the argument that tattoos will look terrible with age. Show me one person who looks “sexy” at eighty years old….just one.
Finally, there is the concern regarding gainful employment. Though I will admit this is a valid worry, I am proud to say every one of those quoted below are actively employed and a few of them have even written fairly successful novels.
Okay, all joking aside, let’s get to the real point of this post. Whether you are for tattoos or against them, there is one thing I want everyone reading this to realize. These inked works of art are all placed upon real people, individuals with thoughts, emotions, and lives. Now, let’s take a look at some of their stories as we embark on a journey to go beneath the ink.
Read the rest at: http://corriefischer.com/
The next disagreement is my favorite; it is truly hilarious. It is the argument that tattoos will look terrible with age. Show me one person who looks “sexy” at eighty years old….just one.
Finally, there is the concern regarding gainful employment. Though I will admit this is a valid worry, I am proud to say every one of those quoted below are actively employed and a few of them have even written fairly successful novels.
Okay, all joking aside, let’s get to the real point of this post. Whether you are for tattoos or against them, there is one thing I want everyone reading this to realize. These inked works of art are all placed upon real people, individuals with thoughts, emotions, and lives. Now, let’s take a look at some of their stories as we embark on a journey to go beneath the ink.
Read the rest at: http://corriefischer.com/
January 7, 2014
Murder
What kind of story draws you in? Does the concept of murder intrigue you? Can a crime of passion make your heart race? Are you thirsty for the idea of blood and death?
What if the story is not just a tale? What if it happened to you? Picture standing there watching as you’re helpless to protect those you hold most dear. Imagine for a moment, their screams echoing across your ears. The sound of a gunshot blast raging and then….silence. A deafening silence that begins to consume your world. Picture hovering through life as the living dead, unable to die yet not feeling alive.
Oh, now you feel differently, huh? Suddenly the story is not such a pretty scene. Well, let me tell you, it isn’t. In the real world, there is nothing exciting or glamorous about murder. It is not something to be glorified or admired. It is a horrible crime that leaves victims in its wake. Real, loved, people who were simply going about their daily lives. In an instant, their worlds fade and their breathing stops. There is nothing beautiful about it. It is brutal.
Of course, the cruelest punishment of all comes for those who are left behind. They are forced to pick up the pieces and somehow, continue on with their lives. They pass you on the streets. They are your associates at work, your friends and neighbors. So often you see them, but do you ever truly look? Can you see the pain hidden behind their weak smiles and teary eyes?
Now, I want to tell you a story. Are you listening?
What if the story is not just a tale? What if it happened to you? Picture standing there watching as you’re helpless to protect those you hold most dear. Imagine for a moment, their screams echoing across your ears. The sound of a gunshot blast raging and then….silence. A deafening silence that begins to consume your world. Picture hovering through life as the living dead, unable to die yet not feeling alive.
Oh, now you feel differently, huh? Suddenly the story is not such a pretty scene. Well, let me tell you, it isn’t. In the real world, there is nothing exciting or glamorous about murder. It is not something to be glorified or admired. It is a horrible crime that leaves victims in its wake. Real, loved, people who were simply going about their daily lives. In an instant, their worlds fade and their breathing stops. There is nothing beautiful about it. It is brutal.
Of course, the cruelest punishment of all comes for those who are left behind. They are forced to pick up the pieces and somehow, continue on with their lives. They pass you on the streets. They are your associates at work, your friends and neighbors. So often you see them, but do you ever truly look? Can you see the pain hidden behind their weak smiles and teary eyes?
Now, I want to tell you a story. Are you listening?
A Powerful Reminder
Before you read the following post, please take a look at the post “All About the Journey.” I ask that you do this because the words displayed there were written yesterday afternoon (January 3rd, 2014). Little did I know, later that evening my family and I would get a harsh reminder of the truth resting in those typed letters.
The following post is based entirely on facts and is in no way fictional.
Yesterday evening (January 3rd, 2014), at approximately 7:05pm, my phone began to ring violently. My mother’s photo was displayed on the screen. My first thought was that she was calling to discuss the writing project we are working on together. I could not have been more wrong.
Her voice was immediately panicked. In broken sentences, she exasperatedly explained to me that Kevin had just been in a car accident right in front of her. Because my brother and step father share the same first name, I immediately asked for clarification. It was my step father. The tone of her voice implied it was serious and she gave me little information about my step father’s condition. She ended the call with “I think he’s okay. I have to go! I’ll call you back.” My thoughts ran a million different directions with one dominant question pounding in my mind. Is he okay?
I reflected on the limited facts that had been conveyed in our short phone conversation. My mother, Denise, had been driving behind him in her own car. Why they were in separate vehicles, I had no idea. My mother had apparently witnessed the entire incident. Another car had collided with his. The details of the accident were unknown. My mind kept circling to the one question: is he okay? Then, several other thoughts arose. How will she react if he isn’t? What if she approaches him and he is unconscious or seriously injured? Finally, one question overtook all others. What can I do to help?
There I was sitting at home, a 45 minute drive away, feeling utterly useless. I had to do something, anything! I desperately tried dialing my mother’s number multiple times. There was no answer. She had said she thought he was okay, but that gave me no definitive answer. For all I knew my mother may be alone in the street crying over Kevin’s body. Without any further thought, I grabbed my car keys and rushed out the door.
The drive was torturous. I struggled between the lines of speeding and caution, worrying I may cause an additional accident in the process. After I got onto interstate 540, my car began to shake. The balding front tires on my Mustang restrained my desire to fly down the road. I passed exit after exit. The journey seemed to be lasting an eternity. My phone rested silently in my purse.
Finally, I heard the tune of Mudvayne’s song Fall into Sleep. The ringtone echoed loudly; it had been the reason I selected it the day before. My mother voice was still shaky, but she had clearly calmed some. She explained Kevin was okay. The paramedics had taken him on a stretcher as a precaution, but he appeared to have no life threatening injuries. She gave me the details that he had been hit by another driver, a woman in her early twenties. I asked if the girl was okay and my mother confirmed yes. Neither driver suffered fatal injuries. Her thoughts then turned toward the car. It had been the first new car Kevin owned since he was 20 years old. He loved that vehicle. She told me the damage was extensive and it was likely totaled. I could hear the stress filling her voice. I tried to reassure her the car did not matter. It was just a thing, one that could be easily replaced. I pointed out that considering all the loved ones she had lost, she of all people should understand that concept. She completely agreed.
I will not bore you with the details of the hospital visit that followed. Though one interesting fact did surface during the retelling of events in that small, white room. My mother said when she approached the car, several strangers were already standing around Kevin and the other driver. These individuals saw what happened and dropped everything they were doing to come to the aide of another. This is a beautiful reminder there are still caring, selfless individuals in this world. It was also a powerful reminder that we never know what can happen. Tomorrow is never promised. In this case, everyone walked away. I thank God for that.
The following post is based entirely on facts and is in no way fictional.
Yesterday evening (January 3rd, 2014), at approximately 7:05pm, my phone began to ring violently. My mother’s photo was displayed on the screen. My first thought was that she was calling to discuss the writing project we are working on together. I could not have been more wrong.
Her voice was immediately panicked. In broken sentences, she exasperatedly explained to me that Kevin had just been in a car accident right in front of her. Because my brother and step father share the same first name, I immediately asked for clarification. It was my step father. The tone of her voice implied it was serious and she gave me little information about my step father’s condition. She ended the call with “I think he’s okay. I have to go! I’ll call you back.” My thoughts ran a million different directions with one dominant question pounding in my mind. Is he okay?
I reflected on the limited facts that had been conveyed in our short phone conversation. My mother, Denise, had been driving behind him in her own car. Why they were in separate vehicles, I had no idea. My mother had apparently witnessed the entire incident. Another car had collided with his. The details of the accident were unknown. My mind kept circling to the one question: is he okay? Then, several other thoughts arose. How will she react if he isn’t? What if she approaches him and he is unconscious or seriously injured? Finally, one question overtook all others. What can I do to help?
There I was sitting at home, a 45 minute drive away, feeling utterly useless. I had to do something, anything! I desperately tried dialing my mother’s number multiple times. There was no answer. She had said she thought he was okay, but that gave me no definitive answer. For all I knew my mother may be alone in the street crying over Kevin’s body. Without any further thought, I grabbed my car keys and rushed out the door.
The drive was torturous. I struggled between the lines of speeding and caution, worrying I may cause an additional accident in the process. After I got onto interstate 540, my car began to shake. The balding front tires on my Mustang restrained my desire to fly down the road. I passed exit after exit. The journey seemed to be lasting an eternity. My phone rested silently in my purse.
Finally, I heard the tune of Mudvayne’s song Fall into Sleep. The ringtone echoed loudly; it had been the reason I selected it the day before. My mother voice was still shaky, but she had clearly calmed some. She explained Kevin was okay. The paramedics had taken him on a stretcher as a precaution, but he appeared to have no life threatening injuries. She gave me the details that he had been hit by another driver, a woman in her early twenties. I asked if the girl was okay and my mother confirmed yes. Neither driver suffered fatal injuries. Her thoughts then turned toward the car. It had been the first new car Kevin owned since he was 20 years old. He loved that vehicle. She told me the damage was extensive and it was likely totaled. I could hear the stress filling her voice. I tried to reassure her the car did not matter. It was just a thing, one that could be easily replaced. I pointed out that considering all the loved ones she had lost, she of all people should understand that concept. She completely agreed.
I will not bore you with the details of the hospital visit that followed. Though one interesting fact did surface during the retelling of events in that small, white room. My mother said when she approached the car, several strangers were already standing around Kevin and the other driver. These individuals saw what happened and dropped everything they were doing to come to the aide of another. This is a beautiful reminder there are still caring, selfless individuals in this world. It was also a powerful reminder that we never know what can happen. Tomorrow is never promised. In this case, everyone walked away. I thank God for that.
The Beginning
I would like to start my first posting with the beginning of my journey into the world of writing. Below is excerpt of the thoughts that ran through my head the first time I decided to write a novel:
Sitting in front of this blank page, my mind suddenly feels empty. The thoughts and brilliant ideas that birthed within me have all but vanished. My eyes are drawn to the blinking cursor. Remaining ever so consistent, it is there one moment then gone the next. Its fleeting appearance eagerly awaits my directing hands. Alas my fingers float over the keyboard. They hover there just above the familiar letters without movement as though frozen in place.
Instantaneously my mind is filled with thoughts of those before me. Did Shakespeare hesitate so with a quill in his hand? How did he ever manage to capture our hearts and then stop their beating? Contemplations of a thousand great authors flash through my head. How did they do it? This question burns in the depths of my being.
Finally, I discover its answer. There is one profound consistency among them. They are all telling a story. However, none of these famous writers are merely demonstrating a bland retelling of events. No, all of their works contain one critical element, passion. Without this, their words would be all but meaningless, left to fade away on some forgotten page.
It is my turn now. Finally my hands are ready to express the burning fire within my soul. I pray only that as your minds absorb this tale, your hearts experience a glimpse of the raw emotion contained therein. This passion is not one that can be stately in an obvious manner. No, instead you must slowly embark on the journey alongside me. You must soak in the fear, anger, sadness, and joy. Beware though, if you follow this path merely to seek an end, you shall meet only disappointment. After all, the beginning and end of any story is simply a pinpoint in time. Therefore if an end is what you desire, you are truly missing the importance of the tale and the key to life. It is all about the journey.
Sitting in front of this blank page, my mind suddenly feels empty. The thoughts and brilliant ideas that birthed within me have all but vanished. My eyes are drawn to the blinking cursor. Remaining ever so consistent, it is there one moment then gone the next. Its fleeting appearance eagerly awaits my directing hands. Alas my fingers float over the keyboard. They hover there just above the familiar letters without movement as though frozen in place.
Instantaneously my mind is filled with thoughts of those before me. Did Shakespeare hesitate so with a quill in his hand? How did he ever manage to capture our hearts and then stop their beating? Contemplations of a thousand great authors flash through my head. How did they do it? This question burns in the depths of my being.
Finally, I discover its answer. There is one profound consistency among them. They are all telling a story. However, none of these famous writers are merely demonstrating a bland retelling of events. No, all of their works contain one critical element, passion. Without this, their words would be all but meaningless, left to fade away on some forgotten page.
It is my turn now. Finally my hands are ready to express the burning fire within my soul. I pray only that as your minds absorb this tale, your hearts experience a glimpse of the raw emotion contained therein. This passion is not one that can be stately in an obvious manner. No, instead you must slowly embark on the journey alongside me. You must soak in the fear, anger, sadness, and joy. Beware though, if you follow this path merely to seek an end, you shall meet only disappointment. After all, the beginning and end of any story is simply a pinpoint in time. Therefore if an end is what you desire, you are truly missing the importance of the tale and the key to life. It is all about the journey.
January 3, 2014
All About the Journey
www.corriefischer.com
In life, we can all relate to one thing. We are all victims to the hands of time.
Whether you are a celebrity, a wealthy entrepreneur, or a full time parent, you know we shall all eventually pass away. Because our days are numbered, we must cling to the time we have in this world. Everything we do in our time here is precious. Every day we spend with loved ones, every shred of insight we share with the world is beyond value.
This leads me to the purpose of this blog, the journey. Yes, it is all about our journey. At one point or another, the only representation of our existence will be what we left behind. This may sound morbid to some, but that is not the intention. Our purpose here is not to dread the inevitable end; it is to celebrate the life we are granted. There rests the purpose of this blog, to celebrate the voyage through life.
I sincerely hope my journey and the stories of others will inspire you to live to the fullest and never take a moment for granted. This is your life so make it worthwhile!
In life, we can all relate to one thing. We are all victims to the hands of time.
Whether you are a celebrity, a wealthy entrepreneur, or a full time parent, you know we shall all eventually pass away. Because our days are numbered, we must cling to the time we have in this world. Everything we do in our time here is precious. Every day we spend with loved ones, every shred of insight we share with the world is beyond value.
This leads me to the purpose of this blog, the journey. Yes, it is all about our journey. At one point or another, the only representation of our existence will be what we left behind. This may sound morbid to some, but that is not the intention. Our purpose here is not to dread the inevitable end; it is to celebrate the life we are granted. There rests the purpose of this blog, to celebrate the voyage through life.
I sincerely hope my journey and the stories of others will inspire you to live to the fullest and never take a moment for granted. This is your life so make it worthwhile!
