How "how I met your mother" relates to my thesis

There is a certain truth to the adage, "A heart skips a beat" to refer to the heart's action when they are in love. I was first reminded of this as I watched an episode of "how I met your mother" where Barney FINALLY has an inkling of romantic feeling towards someone else. Interestingly, that episode was playing as I was working on my research on heart rate variability (HRV).

As I'm writing my novel I wonder....

The characters in a novel reflect the inner workings of a writer. From the most mundane to the most interesting, each character encompasses different characteristics from the inner workings of the writer's mind. And so, sitting here in my desk, I see a writer now distilling their love into their character, making such character a lover. Their rage, on a stroke of anger, is scribbled into the description of the antagonist. And random facts and fillers, are given to the background characters. Those characters that don't make much noise, but whose actions scream from each line of the written page.

Black

The roads are dark here. The pavement that greys and ages with time is charcoal black and new. It is like a river of dark tar quicksand that aches to be inhaled. In the distance there is a faceless stranger. Do I know him? Why is he there? And why haven’t our paths crossed soon. “Come yonder!” Said a voice behind me.

Death looked scary. There was nothing there but bones, and he was just like death in those Mexican lottery cards. His face looked like a sugar skull, and for a minute I wanted to lick it and see if death was sweet. “come, you can cross here.”  Suddenly, beneath the tar a boat appeared. It was small boat made of the brownest wood. It looked like it had been cut down recently, and wasn’t smoothed because the ridges were still.

Excerpt from Chapter 2, a Novel in progress

"The bloodlust and guilt did not clash well, and made him delirious. Such was his delirium, almost a drunken stupor. And in this stupor he made his way home, down that one road. Had this been another time of the day, it would have been a massacre for the people who crossed his paths. But this was 3 in the morning, and everyone was sound asleep. As he walked, he periodically licked the red iron liquid on his lips as a reminder of what he had done. And then he would start crying, because his conscience would come rushing down to punch him in the gut.      

Playing with creativity -- The Art of losing

The art of losing is a necessary one

Lost memories that are unstitched through time

Each string lost 

Until your face is a blur

Emotions  are torn apart

From the very fabric of these memories

They are Recycled

And Reused

Into new memories

Where new lovers delight

They are mended again

Neatly stitched within each memory

And a nicely placed red bow called love

When your gentle hands are finished

I realized that the art of losing was necessary.

Playing with creativity - Letters from the beyond

You there, standing, You don’t notice me. By the time you get this I will be long gone. I wanted to write something cheesy like, “thank you for loving, sorry in advanced for not telling I was sick-peace”, but then I realized the humor would be painful, and you would probably resent me so I opted for this. I remember when we met. You were reading by the library. At this time I was fine, probably dying, but fine anyway. I liked your yellow stripped shirt that made you look like a bee with your fuzzy buzzcut that was now growing. Well now that I am dead you must know that I think it was love at first sight for me.

Misstep (poem)

We didn’t want to take two steps forward

That was one two many steps

And so we stayed there  without moving