suspended in mid-air

While Heron is in Ottawa painting the world with necessary change, I sit at home wondering what to do. With some music in the background, I make myself write this entry. I need to keep it up. Don't give up now. This is an experiment and practice. It's also fun and I have gotten some feedback from a couple of people. People read this random stuff after all! I came to the realization how pretty much everyone has a blog nowadays; it's the age of self-publication.

In terms of writing progress, I am still stuck at the same place. I have three characters in my head that could potentially lead me into three different directions; creating three stories. I think what I have to do now is develop them. Find out who they are, what they do. What makes them unique? What drives them? What are their goals? I always end up with all these questions but I have yet to find a way to answer them. It's happened before that all of a sudden things start to flow; I am waiting for that to happen again with either of the three. Should I wait or do I force it to a certain extent?

For the first time I thought about language. I am a big fan of foreign films, with subtitles. One of my characters is of non-English background. I see the person being Eastern European or Middle Eastern and I thought it would be so much nicer and unique if the spoken language was not English. I started to wonder, as I write this, should I keep that in mind? I think it would almost be awkward if the character spoke English. Of course this is too soon to think about this as the story needs to be written still. Can it be written in English originally and then translated into a different language if I get the chance to take the story to the next level? I suppose many factors would depend on that. Just something to think about.

I want it to flow! I am anxiously waiting for the words to race through my fingers onto the computer screen. I know it's there. I am close. I need a catalyst.

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Story Bit #2
As the lady ravages through her purse, Markus gets anxious and starts to sweat. His eyes bounce around the bus once again. More people are getting on the bus. His heart is almost beating out of his chest now. He puts his arms around his briefcase and lowers his head onto it for a second. Just to take a break from it all; to breathe. It's just a short ride, Markus assures himself.
Just down the aisle a young man, with his pants around his knees and a long t-shirt gets on the bus. In front of him, along the aisle, sits an older gentleman. His daughter, who is in her thirties, sits next to him. She is taking him to the museum for his birthday. The thug walks down the aisle and walks into the umbrella protruding from the gentleman's lap. The umbrella falls to the floor of the overcrowded bus. The thug stops and looks at the gentleman but does not bother to pick it up for him. "You gonna pick that up, old man?", he asks. The daughter, trying not to make a situation worse than it already is, puts a hand on her father's shoulder and whispers something in his ear. He bends down reaching for his umbrella. The thug decides to continue walking, stepping on the umbrella as the gentleman tries to pick it up. Confused and not understanding what just happened the gentleman looks up as the thug keeps walking.
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I have decided to transgress and go against part of my self-implemented system. I shan't keep track of the number of lines I write in these things, but I will keep it relatively short. Let's say no more than twenty-five lines while writing, which is probably closer to thirty once published.