Nateskate
12-21-2004, 06:14 PM
...or your own experiences into a fantasy?
Some of you are enjoying my real life experiences on the ADHD thread. And I have a question related to this. Have you ever used your own "real life" experiences as a template for your fantasy/fiction...etc.
I have. Around twenty years ago, I began an elaborate fantasy, that I never completed. And about a year ago, I dusted it off, and began to rewrite the story with some changes. It's still unfinished, and I may never do anything with it, but I thought you, "who have read my other ADHD thread, might find this amusing."
By, the way, I used "Nathan Skates" in the story. It's a joke I have,where when I need to kill someone off, I write myself (Pseudonym) into the story, and guess who goes? Freud would have a field day with this. Hears a sample. I hope you enjoy it.
“Donna, quit kicking the back of this seat before I stop the car and get out,” I shouted, adding the obligatory warning, “If I have to stop this car one more time, I assure you that you are not going to be happy!”
        The kids weren’t happy. Neither was I, nor my wife Barbara. Four hours of driving will test the metal of the most patient of drivers, but it will drive children with attention deficit disorder, and any parent within pinching, poking, biting, or even listening distance to utter distraction.
        I can’t tell you if I had to separate the kids fifty times, two hundred times, or more, because a person tends to lose count of such details during the season of misery, when life in prison, without parole, seems like a more preferable place to spend your hours.
        No, I didn’t stuff the three of them in the trunk as I threatened, but I did seriously consider sedation, although my wife never thinks I’m being serious when I say this. And why not just knock them out for a few hours to get some peace? Less misery for us, and less misery for them, certainly a win/win situation that we could all live with. But until society begins to consider such actions as humane, I’d never do such a thing. But, oh, am I tempted!
        Long rides can be enjoyable, but this was anything but enjoyable, and I could count the reasons why I should have never rolled out of bed. First, this was not some picnic destination. No saunas, theme parks, ocean waves, or sightseeing for us.
        No this was the obligatory family tour, visiting sisters, and mother in laws, and distant relatives that could drive the most pious man to drink.
My wife and I argued often over whose family was more insane. I think that mine won hands down, but indeed, every time we visited her relatives, I wanted to re-tally the votes. Being that her relatives were closer, and that being a woman, she needed to maintain those bonds much more than I ever felt the necessity, there were birthdays, holidays, and family picnics, all invitations into the house of pain.
Sure, my family had absolutely nothing to do with each other, and I sometimes thought that I’d have been much better off as an orphan, at least I sometimes told myself this when my relatives got on my nerves. I like to say that the Skates put the ‘Dys’ in function. But Barb’s family doesn’t exactly get along with each other. First comes the obligatory insincere hellos, then once the formalities are done with, the cat claws are properly inserted, and round after round of the most intense backbiting and backstabbing begins, with gossip, slander, and all the intrigue of the best spy novels and whodunits ever written.
The view along Interstate 81 was scenic, but what fool in their right mind wants to ride through the farmlands of Lancaster in the swelling heat. Well, it’s a rather beautiful place, but not when they are manuring the fields. I choke and gag every time I pass by before the next planting season.
Who in the name of civilization thought up the idea that spreading manure along side of the roadways was a good idea? Being asthmatic, this bovine pollution is nothing short of attempted murder as far as I’m concerned. In fact, I told Barbara, that if I ever fell over dead at the wheel, to make sure that she sue every cow farmer east of the Mississippi, cause they’re to blame. My autopsy will read, “Death by Cow Poop.”
Then again, to be fair, it could have been equestrian manure that causes the final blow that does me in. They won’t know for sure until after the pathology report comes back.
And to be truthful, I could have blamed every in-law, out-law, crapping cow, every farmer, and every hyperactive child in the northeast for raising my irritability level. But these side issues only served to feed into the fact that things were not going very well at work. And of course, if it weren’t for work pressures, you’d probably never hear my rambles about family matters at all, because what I am telling you has absolutely nothing to do with relatives, blood, or otherwise.
Now mind you, my job with the U.S government is very restrictive. Just getting into the front door requires every type of biological scanner, swipe card, and code number known to man. Double Zero Seven had nothing on our secret agency. We have more checkpoints than Maxwell Smart ever faced. Now, if I could just borrow the “Cone of Silence” and drop it over my kids in the backseat, it would make these trips so much better.”
        The detective flipped another page in Skate’s diary, looking for clues. It was tedious to sift through diaries, journals and the likes, but sometimes names, places and events solved more unsolved murders than any forensic scientist could dream of. Skate’s death was indeed a mystery. His place of employment doesn’t exist, and if they did, they denied ever having anyone by the name, “Nathan Skates”. He read on:
“They tell me that I am some kind of genius, but certainly not the kind that can ever remember his codes from week to week. That, and I can’t spell to save my life for some reason. But in the area of mathematics and physics and such, things just seem to make sense to me. And I must admit that I have an above average imagination, which I think is the primary reason that I got into this mess in the first place.
I could tell you about my insane family, or in this case, my wife’s wonderful relatives. But as much as you might enjoy that particular sitcom, and all of the skeletons in our family’s closets, I’m sure that you will find the story of my job so much more interesting, and in fact, more to the point of why I wrote this, and why you are now reading this.
In 1976, I graduated from M.I.T with honors, and then a few years later, I continued my doctoral studies in bioengineering, with most of my studies being completed at Lehigh University.
All the same, I didn’t want to go into teaching, and assumed that I’d just work for a pharmaceutical company, or more likely, I’d just make widgets, or design the better diaper, and retire to a serene life of playing chess, and taking apart and fixing broken gadgets. Now, that might not appeal to most, but it appealed to me at the time.
But I’m not great at following maps, and perhaps that’s why the map to my life is so full of unexpected turns, and twists, and why I ended up in a career that I never quite expected, or even knew existed, working on classified experiments, and involved in perhaps the riskiest program that the government ever thought up outside of their top secret weapon’s division. Yet, we think of ourselves as somewhat of a weapon’s system, even more than-well- an espionage division, in that we do at times work hand in hand with weapons and the military, although they never get to see how we provide them the information they seek.
Some of you are enjoying my real life experiences on the ADHD thread. And I have a question related to this. Have you ever used your own "real life" experiences as a template for your fantasy/fiction...etc.
I have. Around twenty years ago, I began an elaborate fantasy, that I never completed. And about a year ago, I dusted it off, and began to rewrite the story with some changes. It's still unfinished, and I may never do anything with it, but I thought you, "who have read my other ADHD thread, might find this amusing."
By, the way, I used "Nathan Skates" in the story. It's a joke I have,where when I need to kill someone off, I write myself (Pseudonym) into the story, and guess who goes? Freud would have a field day with this. Hears a sample. I hope you enjoy it.
“Donna, quit kicking the back of this seat before I stop the car and get out,” I shouted, adding the obligatory warning, “If I have to stop this car one more time, I assure you that you are not going to be happy!”
        The kids weren’t happy. Neither was I, nor my wife Barbara. Four hours of driving will test the metal of the most patient of drivers, but it will drive children with attention deficit disorder, and any parent within pinching, poking, biting, or even listening distance to utter distraction.
        I can’t tell you if I had to separate the kids fifty times, two hundred times, or more, because a person tends to lose count of such details during the season of misery, when life in prison, without parole, seems like a more preferable place to spend your hours.
        No, I didn’t stuff the three of them in the trunk as I threatened, but I did seriously consider sedation, although my wife never thinks I’m being serious when I say this. And why not just knock them out for a few hours to get some peace? Less misery for us, and less misery for them, certainly a win/win situation that we could all live with. But until society begins to consider such actions as humane, I’d never do such a thing. But, oh, am I tempted!
        Long rides can be enjoyable, but this was anything but enjoyable, and I could count the reasons why I should have never rolled out of bed. First, this was not some picnic destination. No saunas, theme parks, ocean waves, or sightseeing for us.
        No this was the obligatory family tour, visiting sisters, and mother in laws, and distant relatives that could drive the most pious man to drink.
My wife and I argued often over whose family was more insane. I think that mine won hands down, but indeed, every time we visited her relatives, I wanted to re-tally the votes. Being that her relatives were closer, and that being a woman, she needed to maintain those bonds much more than I ever felt the necessity, there were birthdays, holidays, and family picnics, all invitations into the house of pain.
Sure, my family had absolutely nothing to do with each other, and I sometimes thought that I’d have been much better off as an orphan, at least I sometimes told myself this when my relatives got on my nerves. I like to say that the Skates put the ‘Dys’ in function. But Barb’s family doesn’t exactly get along with each other. First comes the obligatory insincere hellos, then once the formalities are done with, the cat claws are properly inserted, and round after round of the most intense backbiting and backstabbing begins, with gossip, slander, and all the intrigue of the best spy novels and whodunits ever written.
The view along Interstate 81 was scenic, but what fool in their right mind wants to ride through the farmlands of Lancaster in the swelling heat. Well, it’s a rather beautiful place, but not when they are manuring the fields. I choke and gag every time I pass by before the next planting season.
Who in the name of civilization thought up the idea that spreading manure along side of the roadways was a good idea? Being asthmatic, this bovine pollution is nothing short of attempted murder as far as I’m concerned. In fact, I told Barbara, that if I ever fell over dead at the wheel, to make sure that she sue every cow farmer east of the Mississippi, cause they’re to blame. My autopsy will read, “Death by Cow Poop.”
Then again, to be fair, it could have been equestrian manure that causes the final blow that does me in. They won’t know for sure until after the pathology report comes back.
And to be truthful, I could have blamed every in-law, out-law, crapping cow, every farmer, and every hyperactive child in the northeast for raising my irritability level. But these side issues only served to feed into the fact that things were not going very well at work. And of course, if it weren’t for work pressures, you’d probably never hear my rambles about family matters at all, because what I am telling you has absolutely nothing to do with relatives, blood, or otherwise.
Now mind you, my job with the U.S government is very restrictive. Just getting into the front door requires every type of biological scanner, swipe card, and code number known to man. Double Zero Seven had nothing on our secret agency. We have more checkpoints than Maxwell Smart ever faced. Now, if I could just borrow the “Cone of Silence” and drop it over my kids in the backseat, it would make these trips so much better.”
        The detective flipped another page in Skate’s diary, looking for clues. It was tedious to sift through diaries, journals and the likes, but sometimes names, places and events solved more unsolved murders than any forensic scientist could dream of. Skate’s death was indeed a mystery. His place of employment doesn’t exist, and if they did, they denied ever having anyone by the name, “Nathan Skates”. He read on:
“They tell me that I am some kind of genius, but certainly not the kind that can ever remember his codes from week to week. That, and I can’t spell to save my life for some reason. But in the area of mathematics and physics and such, things just seem to make sense to me. And I must admit that I have an above average imagination, which I think is the primary reason that I got into this mess in the first place.
I could tell you about my insane family, or in this case, my wife’s wonderful relatives. But as much as you might enjoy that particular sitcom, and all of the skeletons in our family’s closets, I’m sure that you will find the story of my job so much more interesting, and in fact, more to the point of why I wrote this, and why you are now reading this.
In 1976, I graduated from M.I.T with honors, and then a few years later, I continued my doctoral studies in bioengineering, with most of my studies being completed at Lehigh University.
All the same, I didn’t want to go into teaching, and assumed that I’d just work for a pharmaceutical company, or more likely, I’d just make widgets, or design the better diaper, and retire to a serene life of playing chess, and taking apart and fixing broken gadgets. Now, that might not appeal to most, but it appealed to me at the time.
But I’m not great at following maps, and perhaps that’s why the map to my life is so full of unexpected turns, and twists, and why I ended up in a career that I never quite expected, or even knew existed, working on classified experiments, and involved in perhaps the riskiest program that the government ever thought up outside of their top secret weapon’s division. Yet, we think of ourselves as somewhat of a weapon’s system, even more than-well- an espionage division, in that we do at times work hand in hand with weapons and the military, although they never get to see how we provide them the information they seek.