Finally! After a year, it has arrived...

My 200-something page manuscript and I

About a year and a half ago I finished writing on my first novel manuscript titled The Symphony of War.  It is still on the shelf, slowly being edited a few pages at a time. To be completely honest with myself I'm not sure if I'll ever have it sent to a publisher. As my first ever novel it serves more as a reminder that I can indeed write a full-length novel and a reminder to keep writing. Things only get better with time and practice, writing included... I hope at least.

Since finishing I have been wracking my brain again and again for another idea. Something I could turn into another novel, this one to truly work hard on and get published. It seems though, the harder you try and think of an idea, the more elusive it becomes. As would be expected an idea finally came to me when I least expected it: shaving in the shower. I'm not sure what it is about the shower, but I have heard more song-writers and authors say that plots and lyrics have come to them while in the shower. Maybe this is a good sign.

So after a year of waiting and trying to maintain some semblance of my writing ability with this blog (I'm really more of a descriptive, plot-based writer than a commentative one) I've finally got the beginnings of a story. Below is the basis for my plot and even though it's not much it's giving me something to work with.  The best piece of writing advice I've ever received is this:

Don't start with a plot, you'll never succeed.  Instead start with a character. Become best friends with him/her and learn everything you can about them. Then find an event and write how they'd react. More likely than not you'll find your character creating the story and you're just describing their actions with written word.

Without further ado, may I introduce you to the creator of my next novel:

 I have no name. I have no age or gender.  For that matter, I have no height or weight, type of build or distinguishing characteristics.  Nor do I have eye color, hair color or style. One could say I am a ghost. My role is that which is dictated to me. I am a tool; an unseen product of the federal government. For all intents and purposes I don’t exist. I am not many things. But one thing I am; is expendable. 

That mantra is ingrained in my mind.  Drilled into my head during the months of specialized training I received.  It is something that I will never be able to forget, no matter how hard I try. This mantra is the result of a simple signature on a piece of paper. To be completely honest I was surprised at how simple it was; that piece of paper. No header, no fancy government seal.  Just plain white printer paper with a few words typed on it. I read them once but don’t remember exactly what they said – just that my life no longer belonged to myself.  According to the paper, it now belongs to the author of those words.  Funny thing about that though, is that with no header or seal, nobody but I and others like myself know that the author was the National Security Agency.  One of many steps taken in order to remain an anonymous entity.In all honesty and fairness, I did sign up for this. It wasn’t exactly as I expected thought. I don’t think anyone else expected it to be like either. I have no problem with what I’ve done. That’s not to say however that all of the tasks I’ve been given have been easy. If anything the opposite would be true. It’s times like those that I am thankful for the fact I was trained to be cold to everything happening around me; to get the job done no matter what the costs, and then be able to sleep at night despite the fact.  Terrible things must be done to ensure the general public is safe. Things that people never know go on. Things they wouldn’t dream of happening in a million years. There is this idea that people cling to, that America is the pure white knight in a world of evil. In some aspects this is true, but we are no white knight. I am proof of that. 

My name is Jacob Franklin.  I used to be a Sergeant in the 7^th Marine Regiment, 1^st Division based out of Twentynine Palms.  I’m 33 years old, 5’11 and weigh 190lbs. My eyes are blue and my hair was brown before it was shaved.  I’m fairly average looking but I at least want someone to know that I have an identity. I do exist.  I’ve done a lot of things, some I couldn’t be more proud of and others I wish I could scrub away the memories.  All have been in service of a government who doesn’t acknowledge my existence.  I have given so much for a country that doesn’t even know I’m here. I’ve saved your lives a handful of times and I’ve been told not to tell you, or anyone for reasons of “national security”. By no means do I want to be a whistleblower. I firmly believe that sometimes hard and terrible things must be done for the greater good, but I at least want someone to know that I walked this earth.  My aim is not fame or sympathy, those I do not need or want. What I am trying to do is ensure that someone somewhere remembers me after I’m gone. This is more for me than anyone else; a type of catharsis if you will.  This memoir is all that will remain of my identity, and if this makes it to you, then I am okay with being words on a page.

I hope it's something you would find interesting. This goes without being said but still.. FEEDBACK! Please, I love it good or bad. I love it better if it's good but I'll definitely take the bad too. Leave a comment or contact me and I'd love to chat about this, writing, or anything else. Thanks for reading as always!

Connor