This is long but please read the whole thing and tell me what you think.
I already posted this in the thinkers cult, sorry if you had to look at this twice.
I like writing. I write about really cool stuff that comes to mind, some of that i talk about in this cult. I just started something that I was thinking to make into a short story over the summer when I really have time.
I'm thinking of a kid growing up around the beginning of the 1900's in a large east coast whaling town. Each man is proud of his work and doesn't realize at the time what will come to the species of whale (extinction); they do as they are told like each of their fathers have done. They each wear the same scruffy beard, the young men with black beards and the old with grey. Right now I'm thinking essentially the boy falls in love, when he gets that he can't have her, he runs away from society and begins to go crazy sailing the sea (it's supposed to mirror our own civilization). I wasn't really thinking of finishing it until last week...
I just took my SAT's and on my essay I got a 4 on a scale from 2-12. They don't judge creativity, they judge competence in an essay? That's the way that they judge me? I was pissed to say that least and my parents were pissed at me.
Because of this I've decided to commit to writing the short story and finishing it, thought you guys might be interested in hearing.
These are the first 2 paragraphs of what I want ot write about, the rest won't be so heavy.
The stench of rotting whale corpses was unavoidable throughout the entire town of Gloucester, Massachusetts and several miles west, wherever the Atlantic wind finally came to push it. With the cloudy morning fog came the extraordinary production and mass slaughter of the largest animals known to man; the town was infamous for existing as port to the largest and most successful whaling fleets in the young American nation. To the men of the town, young and old, their duty was worthy of nothing less than the highest honor. The harvest of whales was more a culture to the men of Gloucester than it was anything else. Like so many others, it was a career that had been passed down from each father to son, year after year, generation after generation, and yet monotony was not the slightest bit evident to the people. These glorious whalers were the effect of what had been reinforced inside their minds during the time they had spent on this Earth. They were the victims of a lie much larger than the animals they were killing. They had less reason to oppose the hunt than they did to side with it and thus, quite logically, no individual objected to the bloody, gruesome hunt.
In Gloucester, whaling seemed less like work and more similar to a due that the men were required to pay to the world. They had been told by their fathers to give their support in the form of catching and preparing their natural resources for the sustainment of outside populations. They were to survive, no matter if it meant the death of the surrounding life. The people of Gloucester were consumed by the expanding world around them. No individual would ever come to question or discuss this bizarre and powerful force, which gave purpose to their career. It shifted each man’s ideology, hollowed his soul, and taxed his short life. The entire town was prey to a well-organized system that fit together in a generational cycle. They were all unknowingly condemned to a lifetime of conformity.