16 Year Old Spawns of My Imagination

This week's writer's spotlight is  a bit different. I happened upon this very talented young writer by chance during an Indie Ink writing challenge a couple weeks ago. His mother, Deus Ex Machina, forced allowed him to do her writing challenge for that week and I was blown away. It was the first time I had seen his writing and it was amazing. If she had not said that he wrote, then you would have had no idea. It was that freaking good! So I thought I would have Jake on here and introduce him to you. I think it's important we encourage young people especially those who are as talented as Jake is. There are so many young kids today that have no passion, no desire, and  no drive to be anything more than someone who says "Do you want fries with that?".

I did a little interview with Jake and was able to squeeze a few words from his 16 yr old boy body which is no small task. So without further adieu, here's Jake in the words of his very proud mamma:

Jake is one-half of an ongoing social experiment my husband and I call "raising children."  It started 16 years ago, on July 8, 1995.  On that day, Jake burst through my uterus and forced himself upon the world 5 weeks early, all 2 pounds 13 ounces of him.  He was indeed a wicked tornado from day one.   An old soul.  The kind of kid you just know has walked this Earth before.  Part of our little social experiment has included forgoing formal education in lieu of a more relaxed and natural approach to life learning.  It's a fancy way of saying we homeschool.  More to the point, we unschool.  That's fancy homeschooling insider lingo for "we learn shit without books and junk."  And you want to know what's weird?  It actually works.  I know, I know.  It blows my mind, too.  Jake is a writer.  He is a musician, a self-taught guitarist.  He is a 16-year-old boy with an amazing imagination, a brilliant conversationalist, and an utterly filthy mind.  The apple doth fall not far from its mother tree, methinks.  I love him and I am proud of him and I will show him off to the world with the last breath in my lungs. 

My Q & A with Jake:

1.  Where do your inspirations/ideas for your stories come from?

I get most of my inspiration from my life, music, and the author Jeff Lindsay.

2. Do you plan on making some sort of career from writing or is it more of a hobby?

I wouldn't mind making my writing a career but I don't think I'm that talented. I'd love to but right now I'd just rather keep it a hobby.

3. Do people ever say that your writing is inappropriate for someone your age? How do you respond to that?

I've gotten a lot of horrible feedback for the content of my writing. Many people have told me that I'm going to hell, or that I should never be able to write again, a few people have told me that if they were my parents they would've raised me right. Which I find funny because that would SUCK for them. And I say the same thing to all to those people. "Go complain about it on FaceBook you sensitive Martha Stewart fangirl fuck face."

4. Does your family read your stories? What is their response?

Well, my mom reads my stories. My dad's not much of a reader and my brother...I wont get into much detail with him. But my mom seems to like them; she gives me helpful tips along the way.

5. Who are your favorite authors and what is your favorite book?

My favorite author, by far, hands down, no questions asked is Jeff Lindsay. He wrote the Dexter novels which is about a blood spatter analysis who has an urge to kill the ones who deserve it. It's written in first person which inspired my first person style of writing.

 

Places you can connect with Jake and read more of his writing at:

Blog: Spawns of My Imagination

Writing profile: If I get a100 fans my mom says she'll stop spanking me

What you'll find when you visit Jake:

Deadly Night 

 

He was walking on the dark and rocky sidewalk in the middle of the night (12:32 AM to be exact). He was coming from his twelve hour shift at McDonald's. His job was shit, his one bedroom apartment was shit, his pay was shit, he looked and felt like shit. His shitty name was Rich...Rich Crews. Rich is not a very lucky person when it comes to his job. He got punched by a customer because he accidentally gave him the wrong change back....even though it was only thirty-eight cents. The cool winds of the night made it all worth it though. Stuck in that god awful smelling building all day long isn't good for a man.

As the last bit of greasy french fry sweat dripped off his slowly cooling white face he heard a high pitched scream coming from the woods to the left. Rich couldn't see anything of course, it's too dark. He stopped for a second to see if he can look through the trees, but gave up and kept walking. Not even five minutes he was walking until that fearful scream can back, words followed it, words that echoed through the air and into Rich's ears. “Help me! Someone help! He's going to kill me!” the female voice screamed. Rich's curiosity took over and pushed through the bushes. As the screams got louder Rich grabbed his knife from his black pants and flipped the blade out.

What he saw made his eyes bulge, his face pale and his lip quiver in fear. He dropped his knife and started sweating again. His veins instantaneously filled with fear and fright. He stared at what was happening right in front of him: a beautiful blond woman was lying on her hands and knees completely nude. Struggling and squirming to get away from the large hairy claws holding her waist. The arms following the claws were just as hairy. It's chest was thick, and just as hairy as its arms. The beast had large pointy ears sticking out of its mane-like fur, reddish, brownish fangs stuck out of its snout slowly dripping a combination of blood and drool onto her arched back. It's eyes were red, bright red, bright blood red. read the rest of the story here