The Short Attention Span Press is a group of people that post important advice to writers of all genres under the guide of accomplished author Meyer Lane. Meyer Lane, himself, takes the time most every day to make comments and post advice that he also sees fit along with posting an an occasional original piece of work for exclusive release to the internet for free. You may be able to catch him online at any time.
We at the Short Attention Span Press are glad to be a part of this most unusual mix of accomplished and struggling writers. We would also like to thank Meyer Lane for his guidance and willingness to put a pen name up in order to consistently assist new writers. Know that there is a measured amount of contractual risk he is taking by doing so. It is for this reason that he cannot reveal his true name. He feels that it is a small amount of risk to take in order to reach into the void of unknown great writers and inspire them (even give them a place to showcase their work) to become known for their own unique abilities that only they have.
Now a word from Meyer;
“It is a shame that I have seen a great many artists that not only had the ability to be listed amongst the great writers in history but were already producing works that reflected so only pass into the emptiness. I am here to try to stop the attrition. I am here to give people the inspiration and the chance to become what I know they can become. We are not looking for the muse. We are the muse.”
~ Meyer Lane
We at the Short Attention Span Press would like to again thank you for your continued support.
~ Gabriel M., Supervising Editor
Of gilded sights
and abstract might
I reach out
the paper door
In where to go
or where I am
the mind seems
without a care
Somewhere to land
somewhere to roost
for the ever changing floor
Break my reigns
those thousand chains
and send them off
to hold my mind
**This is the 9th installment of my “Pisces Falling” Series. To see the entire story thusfar, find the Pisces Falling Category on the listings on the right sidebar. I am having great fun with this story . . . a little at a time. 😉 ** ~ Meyer Lane
Buzzing with activity. The city is on fire, consumed by the excitement and fear of the soon to be departed army. The soldiers did not waste a minute saying their goodbye’s to family and friends even though they are taught not to believe in goodbye’s. I feel it gives a soldier more upfront hope and confidence that they have the ability to get back home. So, with their private goodbye’s said, the army now is in full swing of preparation for the voyage. They are working together silently, robotically.
Three days til we depart. Everywhere, everything, every person, seems to be in a dream world. Like this whole world we sit in right now is completely fake. I rub my eyes. Lips are chapped. I don’t remember the last time I ate or drank.
It almost like I expect to wake of from this dream . . . this nightmare. Yet, for all of my fears, I must not fail. For all of our lost children I must not fail. For all of our future hopes and dreams, I must not fail. For all of Lyria, I must not fail.
~ Meyer Lane
Head bound by feeling
Mind stocked, wrought with the muse
One thought at a time
Leaking out upon the paper screen
Like ink spilled from a well
By the drop
Faster and faster then it flows
Pulling a picture from the well
My work is not done
Tis only an extension thereof
Corcoran State Prison
900 Quebec Avenue
Corcoran, CA 93212
Protective Housing Unit
** Communication Reviewed and Approved **
Report: December 12th, 1981 ~ The Santa Ana home of Sebastian Wainright III was raided by police. Two adults, four children were found placed perfectly in their beds. They all were groomed and no blood was apparent on the scene. The heads of each of the victims were completely severed and placed back in natural anatomical position. Upon further search of the house, officers found Sebastian Wainright III bathing in a bathtub full of blood in the basement. He made no comments.
March 11th, 2011 ~ Sebastian Wainright III was denied parole for the third time. He still refuses to speak. The following is the only communication verbal or written that inmate Wainright has attempted. Prison psychiatrists have slowly been encouraging said inmate to communicate in an effort to gain some movement in regards to reform.
Sebastian Wainright III
What exactly is it that you think you know about the sorrow of man? Is it the kind of sorrow when you wet your bed and were afraid to tell your mommy? Is it the type of sorrow when the fat kid in school called you a fairy? Is it the kind of sorrow when your poor little grandmother wasted away from cancer in front of your eyes?
This disillusion in the minds of people continues. It will forever continue due to the instant self proclaimed (verbal or internal) geniuses that crawl over this earth like a plague. Sorrow is this disillusion itself. Sorrow is what they see when they are dying, breathing their last breath, chocking on their own blood…they realize that the last time they last time they masturbated was their last and final thrill. That last breath…sorrowful…pitiful.
The way I see it…I did you a favor.
* Stop Communication *
As a profile expert in the area of writing, we would like you to type up a full report on the above communication. More detailed information on Inmate Wainright can be forwarded to you at your request to assist in this report.
Thank you for your assistance in this matter.
The room is smoky and tense as I open the door as if half attending are bothered to be there and half would much rather be there than on Varnoo.
As I walk into the counsel room, I realize that they are completely out of their element. Training to kill or defend is one thing, but expecting them to sit calmly and speak to one another…well…doesn’t always work out.
As expected Yanis Stahl, the eldest counsel member (and most hard headed) speaks out first. I didn’t even sit down yet. His long white beard almost bristling with anger. I think he sleeps with his battle suit on…just in case.
” I do not understand why we must sit down and talk. Talk about strategy and girlie games. There is only one way to fight…that is face to face!” A couple in the counsel roar approval, others chuckle at how familiar we are with Yanis’ temper.
Brin Moran stands up. He is a younger counsel member, but one who has garnered much respect through bravery on the battlefield. ” With all due respect, Yanis, I share your passion. My passion is also to crush every last standing Varnoo into a memory. I believe we will do that. I believe, as we have all been taught, to fight smart. To know your opponents next move even before they know it. To do this, we must get inside their heads. We must know their plan. We must see it before they use it on us…thereby rendering their plan useless. My King…my proposal is this; we need a diversion. We need to wait until just before the invasion and send the bulk of our forces in by way of the Living Hologram Link. In essence…fake an invasion. Then, we separate the link and bring the entire force in to destroy this evil once and for all.”
I didn’t need to say one word…The entire counsel stood and roared slapping Brin on the back.
Once and for all, I thought.
I stand up…” So it is settled then. I expect all commanders to make the details of this known. Timing will be of the essence. We leave in four days. Goodnight men.”
by Meyer Lane
I could barely look up the concrete stairs.
Cold. Wet. Slippery. The blood running from my mouth and nose. Left eye swollen shut.
They jumped me out of the blue. Wallet gone. No person in sight to help.
I knew better than to be walking out in this neighborhood at night, but I just had to get out…was crawling the walls of meaninglessness.
I manage to lift myself up several steps. Blood running into my good eye now. Feel weak. Dizzy. Don’t look down.
I’m hurt worse than I thought. Bleeding heavy now.
With all my strength, I reach the top of the stairs. I think to myself. This is about right…paid for my apathy.
And I’m not even afraid anymore.
~ Meyer Lane