Sam O. Bscure




Okay, But Seriously This Time. I Mean It.

Hey, guess what time it is?
 That’s right! Time for Sam to reappear from the void and act like nothing ever happened.  Yeah, I’m a real blogger. I’m all about discipline and consistency. This blog is my pride and joy, I would never neglect it. 

Okay, fine. So I haven’t posted in five months, get off my case! I’ve been busy! I have school, and work, and dogs to pet, and food to eat, and people to stalk on Instagram, and a false persona to uphold on social media so people I don’t really even like will think I’m cool. Come on, you just don’t understand! It’s not like you have any personal experience with any of those things. 

Besides, everyone knows it’s not your past that defines you. It’s all about good intentions, right? Nothing else matters if you MEAN well. 

And, believe me, I mean so well. My intentions are so good. I’m like the Mother Teresa of good intentions. 

I’m totally not here just to quantify my worth with detailed WordPress statistics. They mean nothing to me, like I don’t even care if…..Wait, 3,488 views? Did someone actually just like my post? Thank God, I was worried I would have to delete it in fifteen minutes like that failed selfie on Facebook that nobody liked.

The Greatest of Tragedies

The day was Wednesday, October 26. It was brisk, probably 39.987 degrees Fahrenheit if I had to take a guess, and the sky was grey. On this day, a super cool and smart and funny and just generally amazing girl -let’s call her, oh, I don’t know, Sam. Just for the sake of easy reading, of course- had finished her classes for the day.

With a skip in her step, Sam joyously made her way through the halls. You see, Sam was especially happy today because she knew that waiting for her at home, in a safe and secure Styrofoam container, was a slice of spinach-chicken-mushroom-artichoke pizza with alfredo sauce. Indeed, she was quite the pizza connoisseur.

She stopped by her locker to grab her math book, because of course she was very studious, and then she continued to the doors. As she neared the exit, another student saw her approaching and quickly rushed to open the doors for her, bowing slightly as she passed.

“Thank you, kind sir.” Sam said graciously as she passed because she was no savage and she prided herself on her manners. Continue reading “The Greatest of Tragedies”

Ha! Martia


While it sounds like a reasonable response to a mildly humorous joke told by your friend’s mother, Martia, a hamartia is in fact a fatal flaw leading to the downfall of a tragic hero or heroine (credit to the kind folks of Google for the definition).

Now, I’d like to smile smugly while you all applaud me for being so educated and knowing such a delightful word. But, the truth is, I’m only aware of it because of a recent paper I was required to write for a class.

Let me tell you, it was not a simple task.

With a mere five minutes left in class, my English teacher announced to us that we would have a creative writing assignment to complete by the following Friday.

“This is my favorite assignment,” he exclaimed. Which, remarkably, is what he has exclaimed about all assignments previously. “All you have to do is think of three of your own fatal flaws and express them through a metaphorical scene.”

Oh, yes. We all know how English teachers love their metaphors.

Initially, I’ll be honest, I thought that perhaps it would be simple. After all, I’ll be the first to tell you I have flaws. The hardest part would be narrowing it down to the most fatal, the top three.

However, as is the classic pattern of the Hero’s Journey, I quickly realized that this Hamartia paper would be a challenge. Continue reading “Ha! Martia”

This Stupid Little Blog

It’s been five months since I’ve posted on this blog.

Now, that’s not to say it’s been five months since I’ve been on WordPress. In fact, it would be a stretch to say that there’s been even a month-long stretch of time between my visits to the platform itself.

You see, every month or so, I would come across some inspiring quote on Pinterest or Facebook or even in a good old-fashioned book. And, fueled by whatever wisdom I happened to stumble upon, I would find myself eagerly logging in and watching that ever changing Reader load on the screen before me.

I would browse through a few posts, looking to see who had held out and continued to blog after I’d quit.  I would like a few things, maybe comment on the blog of someone I was particularly fond of. Then, I’d click over to the stats page.

Of course, my stats were always bottomed out. Even during the period of time where I was consistently posting, my stats were far from noteworthy.

I was okay with that. I’ve never been a big fan of numbers anyway. If I was, perhaps I would have a promising career in the STEM field instead of planning on how to get by as an English major.

Regardless, at that point in the process, I would click to view my site itself in browser format. I would scroll through my own posts. Continue reading “This Stupid Little Blog”


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There was a girl, her name was Nadine. I don’t know her, other than her name. Yet with how things played out, I can’t forget her. Our paths had crossed a couple of times, we happened to be involved in the same event and attending at the same time. This event being a religious retreat for youth.

For me, religion has always been a somewhat uncomfortable part of my life. A piece that just doesn’t seem to quite fit into the puzzle of who I am. But, at the time, I had convinced myself it was what I needed. I thought I could gain something from it, although I wasn’t entirely sure what. Perhaps stability, something constant, or maybe I thought I would find the love I felt was missing. Whatever the reason, I was wrong. Religion didn’t fill any void. Continue reading “Epiphany”

Blogging is hard.

Said the wimp who’s been back to blogging for one day to the hardcore bloggers who’ve been posting for eons.

But it is.

How does one find that inspiration? How does one find that gloriously illuminated light bulb above one’s own head? There’s certainly no simple flicking of a switch to solve such an issue.

I’ve employed multiple strategies in my vast experience with blogging (believe it or not, I’ve actually been at it since December the 3rd, 2014 when I wrote this gem). And, thus, I have decided to impart upon you fortunate souls my wisdom.

I present to you…


It’s a Comeback, Kids

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I’ve often been told I shouldn’t leave things to sit. When I mess up, when things seem to be going downhill, when I’m not entirely sure where to go from my current spot, I shouldn’t step away and let it fester.

And that’s true, I suppose, in terms of certain things. You certainly shouldn’t allow things to sit when there’s something you can do about it. Say you’re sorry, fix a miscommunication, get things done when you can.

But, sometimes you can’t. Sometimes, the only thing you can do is step back. Stop. Let it sit. Let it fester. Hell, let that thing rot so badly that even God himself can smell its decomposing flesh from his throne up in the sky. Continue reading “It’s a Comeback, Kids”

Ghost Towns

I pick up my keys from where they hang beside the door, slip my arms into the sleeves of my jacket, and lock the door behind me. The air is still, its inky depths absorbing me as I walk to my car which slumbers just beside the curb.

As ease into the driver’s seat, I hesitate before closing the door, wanting to preserve the silence. Holding my breath, I pull on the handle and cringe as it reconnects and encloses me. When I put my key into the slot and start the ignition, the radio immediately springs to life. It’s something loud, with a pulsing beat and indiscernible lyrics. I turn it off and restore the silence. Continue reading “Ghost Towns”

Young Dreams

Picture Prompt 8 moon
Property of Charlie Speratis

When I was young, with an untainted mind, I used to dream. They were intricate creations that redefined the possible and impossible. They were full of magic, imagination, pure happiness. But it lasted for a short time, a time that I’ve come to miss more and more as I age.

As I lost my innocence, as I was forced to face the truth of the world, my dreams turned. It was not a slow process; it did not gradually rise like the sun each morning. Instead, it began beneath the surface, an infection festering, before bursting suddenly to the surface. Continue reading “Young Dreams”

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