ChAsE/s bLoG

The other Chase Winter I'm just kinda bitchin' again. This time it's a bit later than last. This is again a brain to finger to screen type beat, only this time my brain is totally dead.  What did I do today? Well, I woke up at my regular time and went to buy groceries so I could make a big ole beef roast. I cooked it for five hours in the oven. Around three in the afternoon, my stomach grumbled like a volcano so I decided to make some rice while I waited. The rice turned out well. During all of this, I've been reading and editing my book. I have pen marks on my ears and sticky notes glued to every other page in the book. I'm glad I bought a new red pen for this; my other one wouldn't have made it past chapter one.  It's an odd thing to look back at the beginning of a project. I don't know how most people write, but I try to stay in a chronological order for the most part. I write the beginning, then I work through it to the end. If I get stuck on a scene...

This unfiltered thought is a stream of data straight from my mind. I don't want to use punctuation because it feels like some kind of end to a means but to make it better for you, I'm keeping the periods and the commas and the other shit all right where it should be. I haven't even looked at the screen yet. I just want to see where this goes. I might even leave this unedited, so if you see some typos, I apologize. I suppose I am just trying to loosen up the brain and free up some space before I go to bed. I am hoping to dream. I really want to have some kind of weird bothersome dream that makes my day tomorrow a little harder. Have you ever had a dream that sticks with you for a day or two? the kind you can't quite let go of? It's such a profound experience to have your core shaken by your own subconscious. God I hope I spelled that word right. I have trouble spelling that one, for whatever reason. No matter how many times I write it, it seems to either be wrong or ...

Written by C. A. Winter   The boys are hanging out in the spotlight under the silos. Robbie is perched on the truck bed with a lap of unopened beers and a tray with some weed. His hands are sticky from picking it apart. Alan, who’s leaning on the back of the truck, forgot to bring the scissors this time. Brendan and Will are standing nearby with a beer in each hand, and they’re all arguing about what might’ve caused their class to be a bunch of fuck ups. Next week, they’re set to graduate high school but none of them have a clue what’s next. As they drink and smoke, things are getting a bit hazy, and the meaning of the madness is becoming clear to Alan. He’s listening to Robbie make fun of Will’s uninteresting opinion on the meaning of life; there is no meaning.  Alan crunches his feet on the gravel and stops them. “You know what the real problem is?” “What’s that, man-“ Will looks up from his beer.  “The real problem is our dads, man.” Robbie pipes up, “Ole man never hur...