The Story Project: The Journals: Year 1

By Nick Hayden

The Story Project is the dream of one man, but it is the lives of thirteen others brought together over the course of one year. Their journals chronicle loneliness, longing, and love as a house of strangers struggles to become a community. But it seems everyone hides a secret.... They came because they wanted to write stories — but they have become the story.

These journals are thirteen different views of life woven together into one story, a story about connecting with different people...or, at least, trying to.

Delve into the strange relationship of Cassandra and Obed, the eccentricities of the Lems, the tragedy of Lance and Katrina, the generous warmth of the Xayyachacks, the adventures of Jonathan, as well as Sarah’s clumsiness, Bob’s procrastination, Mitch and Juliana’s budding love, and Phil’s...whatever.

The journals here were originally published in 2005 in "real-time" online. Six authors contributed to the thirteen fictional writers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nick Hayden
• Release date: Mar 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458029522

Nick Hayden

Nick Hayden has never known exactly what to write in his author's bio, but he's willing to try. Nick is married to his lovely wife Natasha, he is father to his wonderful son Fyodor. (No, we are not Russian.) Sometimes Nick really loves to write. Sometimes, he prefers to dream about writing. Most times, he enjoys reading things he's already written. Without a doubt, he has to write. He truly believes that fiction is a lie that tells the truth. That is why he writes, and that is why he loves fiction. He tends to read books published before his birth, though he is always willing to make exceptions. He tends to write speculative fiction, though he is always willing to make exceptions. Nick believes in the redemptive sacrifice of Jesus Christ and believes that Jesus is the truth. This may very well show up in his writings, but hopefully won't land like a piano from a third story window. Above all, Nick hopes that something here will inspire you, entertain you, make you think, or simply make you smile. If not, he supposes he'll have to keep at it until something does.

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The Story Project

The Journals: Year 1

Published by Nick Hayden at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Nick Hayden

Smashwords Edition, License Note

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Written by:

Aaron Brosman

Timothy Deal

Nick Hayden

Maura Klopfenstein

David Miller

Edited by:

Nick Hayden

~~~

The Story Behind The Story Project

It wouldn’t be fair, really, to publish this book without giving credit to the real authors of it. There are six of us, sharing responsibility for the creation of this story through one, two, or three fictional characters each of us developed. We met at Taylor University Fort Wayne and formed an intimate group of writers called Novel Concept. In a writing program where most of the writers were drawn to each other naturally, the six of us developed a further bond. Somehow, though we are most certainly different people, we shared a common view of storytelling. We dreamed big, imagining living in the same town and working with offices down the hall from each other, always free to take our next best idea to each other for discussion. Instead, we all went our separate ways after the majority of us had graduated, but we took our dream with us. And this is what we came up with. The Story Project is about the story behind stories. But for us, we’ll always be the real story. We’re dreamers, and while we’d love, with all our hearts, to have our writings read, we recognize that, perhaps, The Story Project was as much for us as it is for you, our readers.

The Story Project was originally released online in real-time over the course of two years (2005-2006). At first, we hardly knew what we were doing, but with time we found our stride and found our voices. If the beginning seems rough, stick with it. It gets better and the end (in olume 2) is immensely satisfying. We love these characters and still miss them from time to time. We think you'll grow to love them as well.

We are, in the order in which our characters appear in the Project, Maura Klopfenstein, Timothy Deal, Natasha Hayden, Nick Hayden, Aaron Brosman, and David Miller.

~~~

Foreword

By Stuart Lem

January 1

The Story Project has been a dream of mine for some time. It is, perhaps, the greatest dream I am capable of having.

From an early age, I knew I was gifted. I skipped approximately half the grades that kept me from college, which I completed in two years. I forewent any further formalized study – I knew it was useless. The world gripped my attention, and I ached to unravel its mysteries.

I worked for a short time with premier scientists between the business ventures that made me wealthy. I grew bored. I was not learning quickly enough. There is something within me that desires not only to observe, but to make; not only to ponder, but to act. I undertook to create a center dedicated to studying the very edge of modern science – the Lem Institute.

Do not imagine any philanthropy on my part. I did not want to teach (I have no patience for those less intelligent than I), but to create hands by which I might work. I taught some classes, for there were areas of study I could not entrust to any other. The Institute grew to a respectable size, creating a community of its own, apart from society. Indeed, people had never been a source of much interest to me, except when science touched upon their cellular activity, their brain patterns, their hormones and conditioned behavior.

But as one grows older, one comes to revelations that cannot be given within the strict bounds of science. Since childhood, I have read voraciously with no concern about the subject, as long as there was knowledge between the covers. It came to me that there was an entire realm that my instruments could not probe. Even if emotions are merely chemicals; conscience, the result of environment and culture; deity, the groping of finite minds – and I have never been fully convinced that all was biology – even if all this is true, why poetry, prose, drama? Why must we create? Why must I create?

There are things which art, even in its most rudimentary forms, can communicate that I have not been able to objectify. So, it became my dream to somehow contain such creativity for study. I knew there must be no rules for those I brought to participate, no incentives, only the invitation to create.

I have no control over what happens next. The one I have chosen as managing editor will gather writers as she sees fit. They must not be established. They must be the most ordinary of people, men and women who do not desire money, fame, recognition – students, farmers, salesmen, lawyers, educators, mothers, programmers – it matters not. Only, they must have the spark. I grow sick of the many writers of the world who polish tarnished metal when I desire to bask in the warmth of flames.

You, too, perhaps, may find the project interesting. The journals of the writers are public property, but the writers will not know that. They will not know you are reading their works. They do it for themselves alone, and a few others they consider their audience. Observing their creative process will be a joy that requires patience, like watching a plant grow.

But do we expect the stuff of souls to be harvested quickly?

~~~

It Is Good to Write

By Cassandra Talbot

January 3

It’s so good to write. You won’t see me take my hair down during the day, and you sure as hell won’t see my makeup come off, but at the end of the day, when I get home and take off the heels and change into sweatpants, it’s good to write.

Really, that’s why I’m in this transition of sorts. I graduated from two prestigious New England universities that will remain unnamed with a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree in journalism. When they took off the training wheels, I couldn’t have pedaled faster and gotten to my destination in more of a hurry. After a series of short-lived intervals that were separated by promotions, I became an editor for an also unnamed national women’s magazine. I kept pushing. Pedaling harder and harder, faster and faster, making things better, more efficient, climbing the corporate ladder, spending less money and making more of it, finding the supply and meeting the demand; and then one day I woke up and found myself a businesswoman. That’s fine, I guess, but I went to college because I wanted to be a writer. And just like that, my four-year-old nephew’s comment on the Indy 500 became profound – Hey, Dad … where are they goin’? I was racing furiously around the track, but I’d lost my direction long ago.

This is my first week working for Stuart Lem at the Lem Institute. Mr. Lem and I go way back. He was a professor of mine when I was working on my master’s degree, and then he moved on to own everything in the world, including the magazine that I eventually took over. While I was managing editor there, he dropped by for the occasional making-sure-you’re-not-botching-everything checkup and cup of coffee. It was the last said checkup and coffee that preceded my morning racetrack epiphany, and let’s just say I was not up to par. Mr. Lem recognized it immediately and promptly suggested a career change – work with struggling writers at his institute. And by struggling we mean not only poor and unpublished; we mean unmotivated, attitude-laden, and/or even misdirected (like me!) after years of blind and furious driving around the racetrack. I put in my two weeks, hired and trained my replacement, and today I began scouring the Institute for such struggling writers. Oh, and I get to have an assistant. I’m used to this, but I wasn’t expecting it with this particular job. Tomorrow, I’m interviewing a young girl who’s just graduated college. God bless her.

Today has been mostly dedicated to organization. Stuart gave me the names of two people who might be interested in the project, whom I contacted, and he also suggested that I find a place for us to meet. That endeavor has not yet been enormously successful, unless, of course, we met in someone’s dorm room. Not ideal. Not ideal at all. Especially for those of us who haven’t lived in one, or even been in one, for ten years or more. You couldn’t pay me to go in there again. Oh, and especially since I don’t have anyone interested yet who actually lives in the dorm. But anyway, I have two people who have responded. I have an older man, whom one might delicately describe as eccentric, named Dr. Something-or-Other. It starts with an X, and that’s about all I can tell you. Between the thirteen and a half letters that comprise his last name and the accent through which he pronounces it, there’s just no chance that I’m going to try to spell it. It’s just embarrassing for a woman with two journalism degrees and a much-drooled-upon resume to spell something incorrectly in print.

I also had a young lady, Katrina, respond. She seems like an interesting person. Very mysterious, and kind of distracted. But from what I’ve seen, she’s talented. It makes me excited about writing again. And it makes me excited, not because it generates financial success, but because it’s what we’re all made to do, and in a weird way, we have a certain kind of bond. In a weird way.

A very, very weird way.

~~~

College Graduate Existence

By Cassandra Talbot

January 4

Today I was made aware, or shall we say reminded, of the plight of the 22-year-old college graduate existence. I had an interview with a young lady hoping to become my assistant.

Now, when I graduated college and desired to become a professional, I was told that the journey was something like climbing a mountain. Sarah would say it’s more like climbing a down escalator. In an odd way, I think it’s possible I might be able to relate to her, even if she’s more cynical than an unpublished poet on her deathbed. Although, she doesn’t seem theatrical at all. I haven’t decided whether or not to hire her, because despite the crispy outer layer, I think there might be something of substance inside. In fact, I think there’s something exceptional inside that she doesn’t even realize. It’s the ability to see the exceptional. It’s the ability to see the world around her for what it is – a crazy, amusing place – and then tell other people what she sees. From where I stand, though, it seems as if she has no idea how outstanding her situations are. She tells the stories, but she’s oblivious to the fact that her stories are earth-shattering, hilarious, and dramatic. If nothing else, she would be of certain interest in the Story Project, with enough development.

I’m going to call her and have her come in for another interview, and this time, I’ll try to keep the goal in mind: I am, in fact, trying to find an assistant.

~~~

The Weekend

By Cassandra Talbot

January 7

Ah, the weekend! And, oh, let me tell you, what a week.

I spent most of my time sitting in on classes, observing the students. I’d originally thought that I’d inherit this group and not so much have to create it. I was wrong. Not only was I wrong, but I had to quickly devise a screening process through which potential members would have to pass. Stuart Lem gave me a list of people that his lemmings (pardon my terrible pun) had passed along to him. This list contains the names of the struggling writers for whom I am to watch. This week I observed how they respond to challenges, how they form ideas, how they react to their instructors’ criticism. I whittled my list to about half, and next week I’m going to gather select class assignments for review. Then, after further whittling, I’m going to make the opportunity of the Story Project available to those names that remain on the list. And then the application process can begin.

I’ve come to understand that Katrina, a former magazine writer, and Dr. X are the only two whom Stuart demanded have access to the group, whether they decide to join or not. I’m sure he has his reasons, though he didn’t make them clear to me. So, they don’t have to go through my screening process … lucky for them. However, I don’t even have them officially committed to the group. So, back to square one. Kind of.

I’ve made progress, yes. I suppose that’s the thing about new beginnings or, really, any point in a process. To be further along, to make progress, one has to turn around and realize that the start was further away than one thought. And, even though what I thought was a sprint is actually a cross-country run, I have, in fact, taken a few steps. One might expect, if one thought the run was a sprint, that the finish line would come sooner, but, in truth, it wouldn’t. It would stay just where it always was. So, in reality, I am closer to the end. The finish line moved only in my head, which means that the steps I took at first are no less valuable than when the end seemed closer.

I’m not sure I get it either. But to know that my life steps are not wasted, or even taken in the wrong direction, is an exciting prospect. It could well serve as my fuel for next week. Sigh. Another week.

But first, the weekend!

~~~

Officially Committed

By Dr. Xayyachack

January 10

Now I am officially committed … to the Story Project, that is, not a mental institution like some might think. My wife, bless her heart, says I should be sent to an old folks’ home so I won’t involve myself in every scholarly project that comes my way. I always remind her this tactic wouldn’t work because I would likely begin sociological studies on how elderly people live together in such a community, how it affects seniors to be cut off from younger generations and … how old men like me can easily become distracted. Back to the Story Project.

I spoke to Cassandra today and confirmed my desire to be a part of Mr. Lem’s project. Quite the professional woman, Cassandra told me politely that she was happy to hear it and that I would be a good addition. Though she is wonderful at hiding her personal feelings, I believe I sensed some relief in her demeanor, perhaps because I am the first writer to commit to the project. I am confident others will come; I already know of several students who might be interested, though I don’t know how many of them Cassandra would approve. In any case, these opening days will be exciting as more writers join us and we get a better idea of how this creative atmosphere will influence our writing.

As I hinted earlier, my wife, Judy, isn’t quite as enthusiastic about the project as I am. When I mentioned it to her, she began the usual routine of looking at me incredulously, listing off my other responsibilities – full-time teaching at both the Lem Institute and the local branch of the state university, attending meetings at various intellectual societies and clubs at both campuses, and maintaining our 200-year-old mansion, among other things – and finally demanding why I must be a part of something else. Thankfully, I was ready for this question.

Much of my time as a youth was spent apart from the rest of society. Consumed with curiosity about the world, I spent days, sometimes weeks, alone in my studies. No facet I discovered failed to interest me, no subject matter satisfied my hunger for knowledge. I learned from the wisdom of others far wiser than I, studying their findings, theories, inventions, and ponderings. As I continued to learn, I realized I would never be able to absorb all the knowledge that existed or that was yet to exist. My own studies had, to borrow a familiar phrase, barely scratched the surface of all possible knowledge. Some might find this defeating and claim that the pursuit of knowledge is useless. However, I felt enlivened and relieved to know there would always be new things for me to learn, new avenues for me to explore. I need not worry about attaining, or feel pressed to attain, perfect knowledge, for that is unattainable for humanity.

Near the time I realized this, I met Judy, a young woman whose beauty pierced my heart, whose intellect stirred my own, and whose loving deeds put me to shame. I realized that in my studies of all the intricacies of the world, I had forgotten to live in it, to interact with it, and to support it. As I began courting Judy, I asked her to help me change this, to remind me how to live in this world and how to give myself to those around me. Judy’s beautiful traits haven’t faded in almost 40 years; with her guidance, I have implemented bits of them in my own character. (Though, unlike Judy, I doubt that any of my colleagues would call me a beautiful sight.)

Judy has heard all of this before, but though she loves to hear it, today she wanted to know more. She told me she thought I was already contributing much to the world and asked why I wanted to be involved in a writing project. Not having expected her to ask this, I was delighted to find I couldn’t put my reasoning into words. I realized this project feels important enough to me that I need more time to contemplate it before I can express why it is important. And to that end, I leave my journal for now.

~~~

Why Write?

Dr. Xayyachack

January 11

After much pondering in between classes today, I was able to piece together some reasoning for my desire to be a part of a writing project. Though I fear my words are still inadequate, the following line of thought seemed to satisfy my wife, and perhaps it will satisfy me as well.

Writing is a form of creation. Ever since man was created in the image of God, man has delighted in imitating God’s creativeness. The perceptive Dorothy Sayers, to whom I am indebted for much of this line of thought, noted in her book The Whimsical Christian that God’s creativity is the first of His traits recorded by the writer of Genesis. In fact, it is the only attribute of God clearly seen before the passage where God makes man in His image. It would seem that creativity, one of God’s fundamental traits, is similarly important to man – it may well be the most intimate way that man bears God’s image.

Of course, we humans can never create objects out of nothing like God can. Our form of creation is limited to rearranging materials into new forms – for example, interweaving threads to make clothing or hammering boards together to build the frame of a house. However, in writing and other forms of art, the most important materials used are ideas. Ideas, especially those abstract in nature, arise out of the imagination. Sayers notes that the amount of elements of imagination available never decreases, unlike elements of the material world. Working creatively with the imagination then becomes, in Sayers’s words, the nearest approach we experience to creation out of nothing. What a tremendous way to reflect the image of God!

Naturally, though, the painter at his easel and the writer caught up in his story do not have this sort of academic analysis in mind. In the moment of creation, they are both more concerned with representing the truth they have found as best as possible. For although it is the artist’s task to arrange ideas in new manners, the new arrangement is useful only when it draws attention to the true ideas embedded in Creation….

At this point in describing my train of thoughts, Judy said she was beginning to get lost. As I considered where this train of thought was going in my mind, it suddenly derailed, and I realized there are many boxcars in this train I have yet to explore. In the meantime, Judy, thus far, likes my reasoning for being a part of Mr. Lem’s latest project, though she asked me not to let the mansion go to ruin in the midst of all my activities. I told her, of course, I wouldn’t let that happen.

After all, the mansion will likely become the Story Project’s headquarters. But shhh! Don’t tell Judy. It’s a surprise.

~~~

Peeking Around The Corner

Dr. Xayyachack

January 13

Glad tidings! Cassandra has agreed to use the mansion as headquarters for all Story Project meetings and activities. She said she was grateful I offered it and mentioned a fear of having to use the dorms as headquarters. While I have no doubt our mansion will prove a better academic environment than any dormitory, I can only hope it will provide a suitable atmosphere for this creative project. Judy and I have never before hosted a troupe of writers.

Of course, Judy doesn’t know about this yet. She’ll likely first learn of it sometime next week when we have our first meeting in the mansion. By that time, I theorize that at least one of the two young women Cassandra has been meeting with this week will have volunteered to join the project. I have had little opportunity to speak to either woman, but Cassandra has told me that both seem to be very intelligent and promising.

I must confess, however, that I am anxious for more writers to join us. A fellowship of storytellers anxious to reflect God’s light is a blessing I have eagerly awaited. I must also confess that since our six children left the home I’ve missed having an odd collection of people in the mansion. (Yes, indeed, I describe my kids as an odd collection of people, and they know it!) A mansion that has remained within the family since the 1700’s deserves to have more people living in it than merely my wife and me. Hopefully, this project will make it a lively place again, give us a chance to use some of the dozen-or-so guest bedrooms that have been amassing dust, and perhaps even give me some assistants for the molecular dissection experiment I’ve been wanting to try in my private laboratory. (Alas, the love of literature and the love of science infrequently dwell together in the same person, but our group may eventually draw someone who holds both loves. An old man can hope, can’t he?)

In the meantime, I suppose I had best go and begin to put the mansion into proper order for next week. I apologize for the absence of academic pondering in today’s entry, but at times it is better for the mind to rest and ramble. Thoughts can be free and flowing … like water. Tea. Yes, I should like some tea before I get to work. Farewell!

~~~

Asdfjkl;

By Sarah Smith

January 19

My boss is weird. Okay, okay, so I have a new job. This is progress, or so I would have thought. Like I said, my boss is weird. I’m supposed to be her assistant, right? Apparently, my job is writing in a journal. She said my job would be much more demanding in the next month or so, so I guess this is doable, as random as it is. I mean, I like writing, so I didn’t argue, but like I said … weird. She promised she wouldn’t look at it, and she let me create my own password and everything, so I’m going to say she’s weird all I want. Weird, weird, weird.

Anyway, my new job is at the Lem Institute. Doesn’t that totally figure? I’d thought I’d escaped through the flames with my tassel singed at the end, but here I am, swinging my knobby tassel at the door of my alma mater. I’m working for a new executive named Cassandra Talbot, which is funny, because she looks familiar. I can’t quite place it, but I’ll keep you updated, you dear and severely-weird-within-your-context journal. So, yeah, working for Cassandra Talbot. From what I understand, her job is recruitment of some sort. She’s been hanging out with Dr. Xayyachack, which fits in beautifully with the weird factor. They’ve been poring over notebooks, papers, and calendars in the cafeteria … at 3:30; and he’s been in the office on a few occasions.

But the funniest thing I think I’ve heard so far this week is this: Dr. Xay calls her Cass! She didn’t seem to mind, but oh my goodness, I fell off my chair when I heard it. My little office is a tiny room just adjacent to hers, so they didn’t see it, but they definitely heard the thump, and Dr. Xay was all like, What the blazes?! I had my fist in my mouth for five minutes. Oh my gosh. Little Miss My-Briefcase-Is-Awesome-And-I-Wear-High-Heels-To-Bed. I was instructed to call her Ms. Talbot, though I could potentially see someone calling her Cassandra, as cringe-worthy