A story
Everything that I have read about writing a story, boils down to one basic premise - write about what you know. So that's what I am going to do.
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What is martial arts? It's the study of forms, movements, and techniques that have been passed through the ages, refined, changed and added onto to the result of which is what you see today. 95% of which is total crap. Why study these styles? Do you really think that if you are faced with someone sticking you up for your wallet, that you're going to do some fancy move and disarm them? Please. lose the 20$ in your wallet and get home to your family/loved ones.
Why do I study? I study because of how it makes me feel. I like to think that I don't 'do' martial arts, I live them. I have taken many styles, some longer than others, some with more enthusiasm and effort than others. I am a perpetual student and feel like I am on a constant journey. What is the issue with me, or is it an issue with martial arts today?
I'd love to blame someone else, but I think it's a combination of things, mostly all my fault. I think I've definitely watched too many movies and want to do it all. I've decided to have a family and a career which definitely puts things into perspective. You can't have the ultimate training and have kids and actually spend time with your wife and excel at your job.
So here I am, sitting at my computer, about to embark on what might be something unique, or might be the same lame attempt of a guy who starts a lot of stuff and doesn't finish much at all.
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The old man walked down the road. (all martial arts stories have an old sensei/master figure) Leaning heavily on his staff, the shuffling of his feet kicking up dust, he makes his way along the tree lined dirt road. His shoulders are stooped, his clothes old and dirty, and the light in his eyes fairly dim as he uses every bit of his strength to continue on his way.
(so, can you see him?)
"No, seriously. Can you see him?" a boy asks the younger one as they hide in the bushes by the side of the road. Lying on their stomachs under the bush, they peer out down the road seeing the man walk down the road, a dust cloud growing in the distance behind him. The younger of the two shivers in anticipation of what he knows will come next.
"Calen, why do I have to watch this?" he whispers, barely audible.
"Because if you don't Brandon, they're beat you, and you have to be able to tell them what happens!" his brother says emphatically, his hand covering his own mouth as he realized how loud he is talking. The figure is about even with them now, the pace of his shuffling still even. Slow, but even. The boys can hear the hoof beats in the distance, getting closer. Brandon strains as much as possible to see the men on horseback, long flag tipped lances beginning to lower as he sees them crest the rise and begin bearing down on the old man. Brandon and Calen watch as they draw down the road, their whoops and cries spurring the old man on further. His pace picks up slightly and he begins to veer off to one side of the road, opposite the boys.
As he passes them, the old man looks at Brandon. His eyes are no longer dull, but sharp and determined. Nodding slightly, he whips around, bringing the staff up suddenly, deflecting the lance aimed for his back. The strike is accompanied by a yell, throwing the horseman off balance. Yelling again, the old man reverses the staff, bringing it over and smashing it into the head of the horseman. In the blink of an eye, the three menacing horsemen are now only two, and very confused.
"Ye hit Trevor you Git!" one yells down at the now obviously not feeble old man.
"Nothing more than he deserved" the old man says in an even tone.
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and now my eyes are burning and I need to sleep. Please let me know if I should continue.