Come Tomorrow

Come Tomorrow

But now I have something new to write about.

Tomorrow—Monday, January 26th, 2015—I will begin my first creative writing class at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. This is a day I’ve been waiting for, working for, stumbling towards since I first pecked a cowboy chase scene from the walls of a desert canyon. I’ve been plotting my way into a well-regarded creative writing program since my sophomore year of high school. And it is finally happening.

Of course there have been doubts along the way. If you’re like me, standing at the threshold of a sizable, complex publishing industry that isn’t yet a sharp image, you’ve probably read some advice columns and writing blogs. One needn’t dig deep to uncover the ambivalence of published authors towards academic writing programs. Perhaps most disturbing, and discouraging to prospective scholars, is the less-than-restrained negativity of certain authors. Some even claim that the best way to avoid getting published is to take a creative writing class.

So why did I decide to ignore the internet?

Story First Review: Watch Dogs

Story First Review: Watch Dogs

E3. Packed seats. Muffled coughs and the smell of stale sweat.

The stage goes dark. Laptops glow in staggered blue lines. Fans hum. Keyboards chatter.

A screen lights up. An athletic man in a heavy coat winds carefully down the street. He enters a crowd and slips past a guard. His target is close. He palms his weapon.

The world goes slow. Heartbeats boom. Our hero begins to sprint.

And then the trailer ends. The audience applauds and gets back to typing raves and glowing previews. Surely this is next-gen: the one true heir of plumbers past. So was it proclaimed in conference halls, so echoed in card shops and GameStops the world over.

Assassin’s Creed: the future of gaming.
Watch Dogs: the future of gaming.

Yes, Ubisoft has done it again.

Summertime...

Summertime...

“…and the living’s easy.”

Yes, the calendar might be stuck in May, but for we denizens of library labyrinths and hushed classrooms, the end of finals week is call for celebration: often intoxicated, always loud. In Madison, Wisconsin, this period—during which the winter children are shuffling out, and the summer folk are filing in—is observed with electronic revelries and a superfluity of red-tinted Solo® cups. No other color will do.

Sleep, I hardly knew ye.

A Penslinger's Manifesto

A Penslinger's Manifesto

My name is Samuel J. Kempka, and this is my blog, Have Pen – Will Travel. 

Who?

If you’re reading this, allow me to thank you—not only for leaving the comfy, pine-carpeted grotto of Facebook and Twitter to view this site—but for witnessing the outset of my career as a professional writer. I am not a published author. At the time of this post, I have completed one thirty-page story: a science-fiction thriller entitled Day of the Oyster. I have a horror novella and sci-fi novel in the works, and I am actively pursuing freelance work and editorial opportunities with local and online outlets.