The Butterfly Effect

It is often said that the things you come to appreciate and value the most are the things that you stumble upon accidentally, the things that you would have never noticed had it not been for one chance encounter, one simple glance, one moment that you strayed off the worn and beaten path. After a while, you begin to wonder how your life would have been different if you never met that person, or walked down that sidewalk, or picked up that phone. I begin to ask myself the inevitable series of questions that comes after that sudden realization. What if I had never gone to that birthday party? What if I had never said yes? What if I had never gone back? Eventually, you come to cherish these moments, these people, with all your heart. You never want them to leave you, you never want to imagine a life without them, and you can never bring yourself to forget them. The best opportunities only come once in a lifetime, and once you have them, you should never let them go, no matter what sacrifices must be made.

I used to be a very shy and quiet kid. You would seldom find me without a book in my hands, and it was rather difficult to get me to interact with other kids. I never did well in group projects, and I broke down when I got stuck with someone I didn’t know. Over the years, I developed a shell around myself that closed me off from the rest of the world, a shell that only I could truly understand, a shell that only my true best friends could ever break. One of these best friends decided to invite me to a birthday part that she was throwing at a local Laser-X. I agreed to go, and unknowingly signed away what could have been my life.

The birthday part was truly a wonderful experience, even though I lost most of the rounds of laser tag. But the defining moment of the entire party was the challenge at the Dance-Dance Revolution game. I had watched two girl face each other, both doing pretty well. Better than anything I could do, I thought. As their song ended, the taller of the two stepped down. The other girl asked if anybody wanted to face her.

Here’s my chance! I spoke up, “I’ll play against you.”

She nodded and smiled at me, brushing her curly brunette hair out of her face, “Okay, you want to pick the song?”

When the song was over, we both eagerly awaited for the scores to appear on the screen. When they did, I was in shock. A girl had beaten me. Oh man, this is terrible I thought. I sucked up what little pride I had left, and I offered her a high five, as I said, “Good game.”

She looked at me, quizzically at first. Then she saw my hand. “Yeah, good game.” She high fived me back, without halting to glare at me with spiteful eyes, like so many other girls had done to me before.

The shell splintered ever so slightly.

Secretly, I had hoped that I would see her again, even though all the odds told me that I wouldn’t. I didn’t even know her name. But Fate bet against those odds, and we met each other again at our freshmen orientation.

After many boring speeches given by school officials and class representatives alike, the orientation wound to a close. I found myself impatiently wandering around the parking lot, looking for my mom’s bright red van. Disappointed and bored, I ventured back into the school to wait for her inside.

That’s when I saw the girl again. She had just stepped out of the auditorium, and was making her way towards the door, her brother in tow. Instantly, I recognized her brother. From the look in his eyes, he recognized me as well. I approached them, and nervously acknowledge the girl, “Hi, I remember you from that birthday party.”

“Yeah, I played against you in DDR.” She sounded nervous as well, but still a smile spread across her face. We talked for a little while longer, and I managed to learn her name, as well as her email address. As they left, I repeated her name over and over again in my head. Kelli. . .

The shell had begun to crack.

During the first few weeks of school, we would sometimes run into each other in the pale white hallways of the freshman academy. We would talk for a little while, and then go about our day.  It seemed that we were destined to be friends, and little more than that. . .

But Fate was relentless, and it offered up another choice, another chance.

Kelli and her brother invited me over to their house a couple of days later, and for the first time in my life, I truly felt in love. Even though all we did was play video games and watch television, I felt like myself around someone. For that moment, the shell had been cracked open.

Before I knew it, I found myself sheepishly asking her if she would be my girlfriend. I was so nervous, I was shaking as I asked her. But when she said yes, my whole world was turned upside-down, and I knew from that point on, that nothing would ever be the same again.

The shell had shattered, the pieces scattering far and wide.

As I’m looking back at everything that has transpired over the past three years, all the memories flood my mind, and pure joy washes over me. Even as I struggle to put my thoughts onto paper, the memories stand out like red paint on the canvas of life. Our first date at the Johnny Appleseed festival, and how we tried to hide the fact that we were holding hands. Our first accidental kiss as we left school for the weekend, that left us both excited and scared. Our first real kiss on her back porch, that left us both blushing and giddy. The many after-school Fridays that we have shared watching movies, playing video games, and talking. The numerous nights we lost ourselves in conversation until two in the morning. The few moments that it seemed our flame would go out, and the moments where we talked out our problems and rekindled the dying fire. So many pivotal moments, where one simple change, one chance happening could have changed everything, for better or worse.

I have always been a believer in Fate, and even now I believe that things happen to us that we have no power to change. But when Fate gives you the moment of chance, you have to choose to take hold of your fate. Simply relying on chance alone holds no guarantee that you will find what you seek. Harry Browne once said, “You are where you are today because you have chosen to be there.” At the end, that is what it comes down to. You have the power to choose to accept or decline the perfect opportunities that Fate drops right in front of you. For your sake, I hope you choose correctly.


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Posted by on September 21, 2011 in Original Works, Writing


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(An original poem by Ty Thomas)

Three years past, and nobody could know
the thoughts that would keep us up at night
high on the memories.

Afternoon walks with no goal in mind,
hand in hand we journey towards home.

Evenings with brownie batter galore
and sprinkles that litter the air.

Nights of reading each other’s eyes, and
losing our selves in the blissfulness.

Regrets will pass, and sorrow will fade
Remember what brought us together
Not the money or the status, but
the hands of fate on the equinox.

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Posted by on September 19, 2011 in Original Works, Poetry


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Through Jaded Eyes

(An original poem by Ty Thomas)

Sharp points on verdant pine,
faded blooms of winter’s coming,
whispering drops of storm’s creation.

Children dance and laugh and play,
insects chitter in joyful abundance.
All while jaded eyes glare over them

and see nothing but a wasteland
waiting to be sowed. . .

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Posted by on September 15, 2011 in Original Works, Poetry


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Forgotten Dreams

(An original poem by Ty Thomas)

A dream lie forgotten by the bedside
crying out to be held again

Hope rests alone in the dust
slowly losing itself

Visions half-seen
Impressions half-thought
Ideas half-nurtured
Dreams half-chased

Are we so blind that we can not see
the message we are leaving?
We wonder why our younger selves
are slowly dying out. . .

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Posted by on September 14, 2011 in Original Works, Poetry


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So Many Choices, So Little Time

Lately, I’ve been torn between all my novel ideas. I’ve listened to songs that remind me of my stories, I’ve been reading more often to try and get inspiration for which path to take, but nothing is coming to me.

However, as Lisa Alther once said, “Inspiration never arrived when you were searching for it.”

So, I’m going to post my three top ideas on here. Feel free to offer your feedback if you feel like it. I’ll even take any suggestions if you have an idea or anything else. Thanks for your help!


1: The City of Gears – Grieving her brother’s suicide, a young woman manifests suppressed psychic abilities, and unearths a deadly secret behind her brother’s death and the gears of the city itself. . . (Near-future, Science Fiction, etc.)


2: Seven Swords Saga – A young orphan boy stumbles upon an ancient legacy and finds himself in the middle of a vicious war to claim the legendary power of the Seven Swords of Cordaire. (High Fantasy, Adventure, etc.)


3: Into the Dark – Haunted by nightmares of his father’s murder, a young man tries to put an end to his visions by tracking down a dangerous serial killer who he believes holds answers to his dark past. (Modern Psychological, Mystery, etc.)

I would put pictures for you guys, but I can’t find any pictures that would be able to go along with my stories. Sorry none the less.

Until next time, my friends. . .


Posted by on September 7, 2011 in Writing


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In Over my Head

Ever since I was young, I loved to read. Whenever my mom would pack up the books strewn all around the house, I would run up to her and ask, “Are we going to the library? Please, can I come?”

Sometimes the answer would be no, and she was just organizing the house, as mothers commonly do on a daily basis. I would be sad for a little while, until I got enveloped by one of the books she had just unearthed from beneath the couch. But when the answer was a yes, I would help her find all of the books that were scattered around the house. Sometimes, they were hidden under couch cushions, and other times, they were stuck under the fridge, gathering dust. My mom would rejoice about finding an overdue book, and I would rejoice as well, because I found what I read while we drove to the library. I would read any number of books. From mystery to science fiction, from fantasy to Lego books, nothing escaped my grasp.

But then middle school struck, and the joy of reading was beat right out of me. Reading became a chore, rather than something that was done for enjoyment. Even other students would pick on me for reading during study time. I would seldom pick up any book, unless I absolutely had to. Some books would intrigue me, and I would dip my feet back into the hostile waters of reading. But a couple of rude comments later, I would quickly retract my feet, the waters too rough to swim in.

However, the end of my sixth grade year brought to light a new talent. My teacher assigned us a project which made most of the class groan. We were given a simple task: writing poetry, a few of each different type that we had learned about in the past weeks. For some reason, I was really excited. I had never really written a lot before. A few paragraph assignments here and there while I was homeschooled, but that was about it. But this one project is what I credit my love for writing to. The next year, I started attending the writing club at school, and I had so much fun, just reading my own writing and listening to what others had to offer. Middle school opened a door to a world that was fresh and wonderful, a door that I would later utilize to bring myself back to where I was before, where I read with reckless abandon.

Throughout my high school years, I have slowly been getting back into reading. Sometimes, a fantasy novel will catch my eye, and I’ll immerse myself in the world for as long as possible, before reality beckons and I am forced to give myself up. Other times, I’ll pick up a psychological tale that will leave you thinking about the book long after you set it down for the night. I still don’t read as much as I should, and I really want to sit down and take time to immerse myself in the rich fantasy that is the Lord of the Rings, or the excruciating detail that is the Monster Blood Tattoo series.

As for writing, I try to write in the genres that I read. Therefore, most of my ideas tend to be fantasy or supernatural stories. None of them are finished yet, but they will be eventually. Creative writing dominates most of my writing time, and little bits of stories will be scattered throughout my journal, on pages that you can’t find easily. Current events rarely feature in my writing, but when they do, they are accompanied with my poetry, each line dripping with sarcasm.

Ideas come naturally, and nothing is sweeter than pure inspiration. Sometimes, I will be listening to one of my favorite songs, and an idea will spring up from the nether realms of my mind, just waiting to be nurtured into a blossoming story. However, for all these ideas, I find myself in a perpetual state of writer’s block. I will sit and stare at the screen of my computer for hours on end, wondering, “Can it really be this hard, to just write?” I imagine Mr. Tolkien, writing his Elven language in longhand. I imagine C.S Lewis walking back and forth from Oxford, the ideas circulating with each step. I imagine how these great writers defied reality itself, and transferred readers to a world of pure imagination and excitement.

I hope to change. I hope to become a better reader, and by a further extent, a better writer. I hope that I can find the will to jump back into the water, to dive in over my head.


Posted by on August 21, 2011 in Thoughts, Writing


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Abstract Minds

"They Feed Electric Birds" by Marek Tomasik

When we look in the mirror, what do we see? Do we see who we really are behind the eyes?

You know you’re not the perfect soul, you know you’re a hypocrite. You’re not the perfect son, you’re not the innocent daughter.

You hurt people, whether you admit it or not. People have felt pain by your hands.

You do things you should not. You lie and you cheat. Why try when you can get away with so much more by using people.

Do you see yourself when you look in the mirror? Do you see all you really are? Do you see your flaws, your good side?

But yet, even when we see our flaws, we fight for the good fight. We stand against those who have given up.

We rise against those who are blind to the sun, we stand up for those who have sight, we pray for the ones who have yet to find it.

Look in the mirror.

Closer now.

Do you see yourself?

Do you want to save what’s left?

Though perfect we are not, we can always strive for it.


“Perfection consists not in doing extraordinary things, but in doing ordinary things extraordinarily well.”

– Angelique Arnauld (1591-1661)


Posted by on July 23, 2011 in Original Works, Poetry


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