Jamie Agee
Words
Worth Fighting For
From as early as I can remember, I have
always loved to read. I found within books the ability to relate to someone…or
something far above my own understanding. I had joined a new world in which I
could be friends with so many unique characters who would not judge my “crazy
imagination,” but embrace it and encourage me to dream on. Yet, at seven years
of age, I began desiring something more. My favorite works were now coming to
an end and I now wanted to capture my own inspired quests by attempting to
write. I use the word “attempting” due to the fact that every time I was faced
with an empty page I could not get my thoughts down on paper. This was not for
lack of ideas or inspiration, but because I approached it with the misconception
that great writers simply place their pen on a blank page only to have an
entire sea of magical words automatically surge forth. When this did not happen
for me, I became extremely intimidated.
It was not until I experienced a rigorous
day of being bullied for my use of a big vocabulary that I finally understood
how to begin my writing journey. I had become so increasingly upset in regards
to how I had been treated that I suddenly began writing and writing, anything
and everything, without thought or care of being perfect. The more I wrote the
more liberated I felt and became. There had been an immense amount of emotion
locked away inside me which was now bursting forth from its haven in my heart
to be set free. Then, I suddenly realized…those same bullies, who had exerted
every effort in halting my voice through their own intimidations, had given me
a new manner of speaking—writing!
In reading over what I had written, I also
began to recognize why I had been unable to write before. It was not about my plot, for I clearly knew
what I wanted to write. It was that I wanted it to be absolutely perfect. As
long as I sought after perfection, the words evaded me, but in writing freely,
the words could come easily. I realized that though “what” I wrote was
important, “how” I approached it was just as vital.
As I have gotten older, this
lesson continues to shape my perspective in regards to my writing. Though I now
realize that writing uninhibited is a special tool which allows one to harness
a wide variety of great thoughts which you might ordinarily dismiss, I also
understand that critique is important as well. Appreciation of criticism (if
given from one who wants to help you succeed) is very powerful for it helps you
face both the positive and negative realities about your work. It is not only
the foundation for improvement to be made, but the provider of an expanded
insight into your writings. This understanding provides one with the freedom to
reach past a page full of words and grasp the stars.
Writing Prompt:
When being faced with a difficult
situation, have you ever wanted to escape? My challenge to you is to use your
writing as an outlet to do so. Think about “why” you are writing. Are you
afraid, angry, or simply overcome with sadness? Rise above these circumstances,
be uninhibited, and allow yourself to become empowered by conveying these
emotions through your writing. What you write does not have to be a journal
account of the situation you are going through. It can be an entirely fictional
story, but allow those same emotions that you have when dealing with your
hardship to come through in your writing. You can be exploring the tomb of an
ancient Pharaoh, traveling to the Amazon jungle in search of some exotic species
unknown to man, or be becoming the greatest detective of all time. Just use
your own emotions to emphasize how your characters would feel when presented
with certain situations. Dare to be inspired...
Note: I have stories in which I have
created my own fictional characters, but have attached a small sample of my
writing in which I have attempted to shadow and show tribute to one of my
favorite authors, Sir Conan Doyle
Jamie Agee
THE
PROBLEMATIC AFFAIR OF THE MANOR HOUSE PHANTOM
Jamie
Agee
The lean, eager face of Sherlock Holmes
gazed at me from his stance behind his chemical table, his air once again
concealing his preoccupation with another case. “Watson, would you care to
divulge your opinions regarding supernaturalism?”
“I beg your pardon?” As usual I stood
somewhat puzzled by the odd question posed to me and could not help but blankly
return his gaze.
Nervous excitement and agitation shone
over the features of my friend. “Ghosts, Watson, or would you prefer the term
‘spooks’?”
“Really, Holmes!” I exclaimed.
Holmes’ eyes sparkled in fervent
anticipation and enthusiasm, “What do you make of them?”
“What do I make of them?”
“For pity’s sake, man, what do you make of
them? Do you believe such things to exist or not?”
I
realized I had never given the issue much thought now that I had been forced to
answer such a question, but as it was more than apparent by my friend’s actions
the problem’s significance I tried to render an answer. “No, I don’t believe I
do. What are your thoughts on the matter?”
“Being that I have not myself experienced
anything of that nature, I could not entirely produce an explanation as to
supposed ‘ghostly’ occurrences myself, so it would be difficult to provide an
answer.”
“Then you believe in them?” I was shocked
by his remark.
“No, quite the contrary, I am merely
pointing out the fact that I have not been exposed to anything on that level.
Being there is no physical proof as to the existence of such phenomena; one can
only hope to elucidate the matter
with the aid of science.” Holmes extended a cablegram to me with the following
words, “your assistance is requested concerning a delicate matter of the
supernatural.” “So, Watson, it appears a matter of the most intricate situation
has presented itself.”
“Intricate indeed,” I mumbled. I could not
help feel a slight glimmer of sarcasm at Holmes’ innate ability to decide in
advance whether a case would prove to be worthy of his attention or a useless
waste of time. If our places had been switched I would surely have dismissed
the case with a laugh and kept about what I would consider more “important”
business. Perhaps, my disdain was not directed at my friend, but more at myself
for my lack of perception. For this reason, I suppose I am more at home and
shall I say more qualified among bandages and syringes than I would be placed
behind a magnifying glass.
#
“Ah, there is our visitor now! Watson,
would you be good enough to sacrifice the comfort of your chair?”
Holmes in his research had cluttered all
means of relaxation with his study material and so I had no choice but to give
up my seat. However, there was no time to remonstrate as the door opened to
reveal the figure of a medium sized, middle aged man with cynical features.
“Mr. Holmes, I presume?”
“Good morning, Mr. Elam Pinkerton, or
rather good evening. I received your cablegram. Dr. Watson has been good enough
to surrender unto you his seating rights so if you would care to sit down.”
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I hope I have come
at the proper time,” the man’s face twitched severely as he spoke. He paid no
heed to my companion’s beckoning him to be seated, but rather stood, his dark
brown eyes casting darts of suspicion in my direction. His eyes eventually
shifted from their gaze of repugnance on me to that of Holmes’ clutter which he
then observed with disgust. Moving ever so slowly, he seated himself.
Tension was apparent from every view of
the man. The jerking of his features persisted, yet despite this apparent
nervous strain he was able to articulate his words with tremendous calm which
set him apart as a man of great intelligence and social bearing. “Mr. Holmes,
It would sufficient to say that this stands to be a matter of somewhat
ignominious contents and the utmost discretion is in dire need,” his face
contorted into the most hideous scowl as he made eye contact with me once more.
Holmes chuckled under his breath, “Could
it be, Watson, that there is one soul in the world who has not read your
journalistic accounts? Mr. Pinkerton, I have become accustomed to Dr. Watson’s
assistance as you would have known had you read his work. You insist he leave.
So if you would permit me, sir, to say your case must be of little importance
to you and me if you should choose to force his
departure.”
Our visitor hurriedly switched his gaze
elsewhere. “So, it must be. However, Dr. Watson, I do not grant permission for
you to tarnish my family’s name with your ‘accounts’.”
As could be expected I had grown quite
agitated at our guest’s rudeness and
dearly wished I could escort him to the door as I was growing quite irritable
myself, but a sharp look from my friend shattered all hopes to do so.
Mr. Pinkerton’s thick, claw like fingers
clutched at his cane until his nails shone white. “Mr. Holmes, I left no name
on the cablegram, would you be kind enough as to divulge how you knew my
identity? I have never met you before in my life.”
CONTINUED…
For instance: a huge birthday bash that promises to be a lollapalooza of a party
