Christmas time. It is early yet, but I'm starting to get the feel for the season.
Stayed up all night putting up the tree. It may seem a little silly, maybe even ill-advised for someone so insomnia prone, but there's a bit of thrill to be had from the look on my grandmother's face when she wakes up to see a lit and decorated tree. Is this the fourth year I've did this, or only the third? I swear, I only remember two previous, though I have been here for one Christmas more. The blog proves to be woefully inadequate at helping me figure this out, so since I can only recall going to "all this trouble" two other times, I'm going to assume that this is my third.
Was glad to post "With Apologies to Regina Spektor, and Aaron the Moor" last week. Felt good, like I might be getting a handle on writing again, even if just in short spurts, and even if, for the most part, what I was doing was just transcribing and editing things scribbled down in the old moleskin. That process was interesting to me - I noticed again I have this habit of editing over myself, by which I mean changing things actively, as I type them up, only to find much of what I change is actually present in the next sentence - that the work was now following the direction I was wondering moments before why I didn't think to put it in. I guess by the end, it feels a lot like I'm cutting myself off at the pass, but it's not really a bad thing. I just need to be more patient, and probably not try to edit while taking things from paper to the computer. Patience is important.
I was thinking of a friend I don't see as much as I'd like to. He and I share some similarities in our outlook on things, and in reflecting on that, and wishing we hung out more, I wrote up the skeleton for a short comic. Not entirely sure what's going to come of that - but I'd like to put it into proper format in the next couple of days.
Should have posted about this earlier - but one of my awesomely talented collaborators, Ander Sarabia, and my oft-linked comic-loving compatriot Eric Esquivel, have a Kickstarter going for their next book "Thor: Unkillable Thunder Christ," a loose continuation of their "Blackest Terror" outing, which I believe is due to be released soon. They've already made their goal, and doubled it [and then some], but realize that making comics isn't cheap [even without this level of penetration and the support of a label like they have, you're liable to spend a thousand dollars or more just to get a book to print], and any extra they get not only goes to making up the deficit the first comic put them at, but also assures funding to get the third in the series made.
The holidays are a great time for giving, folks, and it's a great project to get involved with. And us creatives need to look out for each other - who knows when we might need similar help?
More soon.
With apologies to Regina Spektor, and Aaron the Moor.
Matters of succession – you know, sire, these things all started with a sort of logic, a man becomes a king, takes a wife – a queen – and begets a son, and when the king dies, the son becomes king himself. And other sons and daughters, while complicating things, were sensible too, as after all, no king lives an… unaccompanied life, rather none should, and with the world as it is, other sons, other daughters, are, well, a necessary evil. Which, no, my lord, apologies, my lord, not that I’m suggesting you’re – not that I’d suggest anything of the kind, of course. Just illustrating, how something quite logical became not quite so, and thus, we can’t just think of it as such.
Though I suppose, if we could – if I could be very common for a moment, if you might humor that, and speak of these things logically, and we could consider them such again, as they were meant to be. You are, and again, sire, I mean nothing by this but what it is, but you are one in a line, and you were, let’s be generous – and truthful, my lord – set in that line as a contingency, a back-up, an “understudy” as I’ve heard the players it call it, if I may be so profane. And if allowed, while being profane, I might well point out the obvious, not to imply that you are not aware, but just for the sake of frankness that you are not the first, or second, or even third of said contingencies – you are, remarkable by the very nature of it, the thirty-second of the line.
Which is never to be taken lightly, as one thirty-seconds from the king is greater blessed than all but – yes, thirty-one others, well met, my lord. But despite that, your title will always come with its own privileges, its own rewards and responsibilities, the greatest of which, and perhaps, to some, not you sire, but perhaps to your brothers and sisters, the most burdensome, is that you, like them, have been tasked with the protection of your line, the kingdom – no, your kingdom, like your father, your king, and your country. And yes, all its citizens. Your citizens, sire. And so important it is to secure these things that even you, the thirty-second child of your father, our king, both as chosen by God, could be called, by great circumstance or terrible tragedy, to serve.
The weight of it! The consequence of king and country, that it needs not two, nor three, but thirty-two to safeguard itself. Thirty-two for the line to endure! Does anything better illustrate the importance of the throne? How you bear it, how you live with such a burden placed upon you, even with the illusion of being so many times removed – for I know you feel it as though you were first – I cannot fathom it, my lord. Yet I see you, and it, your onus, lying heavy about your brow every day.
And knowing how it weighs upon you, seeing you wear such worry on your brow – hidden so well, I might add, that only I, who humbly your lord must love so well as for you to drop your guard to – I must – no. No, I must not. To disparage your siblings – I couldn’t, though it’s just, no, sire I just wonder, for you have never said. And I, courteously, have never queried. So respectfully, I must ask, do you trust those who come before you, do you believe they grasp that? Do they know the responsibility that you so plainly see?
Apologetically, my lord – my prince, as you are the, and mine, of any of them, I must now speak honestly, tempered but honestly, and if that answer you would say is yes, that they know, that they appreciate it as much as you, why if any man but you would make such a claim I would think them a fool, if not call them such. And if sire, if you are of the mind that would say no, or even say yes with doubts, just doubts, then can you say truthfully that the order of succession should really, truly be managed just by order of conception? That men and women, even if of your own blood, who cannot, or will not – yes, who might outright refuse – understand their responsibilities do one day deserve to be placed on the throne? Superseding even someone who grasps the concept so fully, implicitly?
Which would be impudent of me to suggest, and I wouldn’t dare, of course, as it is not my place to speak of your family in such terms, and raising such questions, well that, that is the privilege of a king… and his children, I might think, but surely not one such as I. And you, you in your wisdom, so young yet, but already a man of intellect and breeding, I know what you would say of the manner, only because I know the measured, benevolent response – that when it comes to your siblings, your brothers and sisters, all of this which we speak is their right, and theirs alone. That they are your blood, and more importantly, the king’s blood, and they need to greater vindication than that.
And I know, my lord, that some, some of them you love. Others, I know of others among them that at least command your respect, your fealty. Their rank, more, their place as a part of the king’s line, of your line, rather, your family’s, demands loyalty. Protection. Submission. And the last, as thirty-two, you know much better than any of the others, and the rest, the privileges they have, which only you, if I may be so bold, have ever properly grasped as to why they are afforded to them, and to you at all.
But yet… their not grasping this, their… forgive me, shortcomings, they vex me, sire. As your servant, and as your friend, and as someone who sees you suffer stoically beneath them. And for you to see their abuses, which neither I nor anyone of my rank would – should indict them for, but rather in just recalling them, as instances – yes, that’s more proper, you’re right, these instances where they wield their power, their privilege, what you so aptly noted as their right, with no regard for the price that others must pay… do you never suppose such behavior, it threatens the line? Is not doing so, despite any other reckless disregard they commit, a danger to the line, nay the very crown and its dominion itself? For is not their very presence owed to it? And in not safe-guarding it is that not a debt that goes unpaid?
I hear the men in the square some days, criers for the church, talking about moral deaths. And how they befall families like waves upon the shore, engulfing many until the strongest among them, the rocks upon the coast, pushes back against the tide, and send the wanton roil back into the ocean. Moral deaths threaten them, your brothers and sisters, and I see from your face, you think perhaps they have befallen a few, maybe more. And you worry, my prince, I see it on your brow again, because you allow me to, I’m sure, wondering who the burden to be the strongest is upon now– who among them can hold the line, and push back to assure it perseveres, no matter the cost?
I am sorry for my forthrightness, but we both know you worry it is you. I tell you my lord, it is no cause for concern, for there are no worries in that which you already know. And you, I promise, even as the thirty-second child, indeed perhaps because of that, have always remembered what too many have forgotten – that the burden is yours, that is has always been yours, just as it has always been theirs. And no matter their actions, their dalliances, their character, you have never wavered. You are prepared if called upon to serve in succession, even when, if any, then you, could be lax.
No sire, again I say none of this lightly, though nor do I dare suggest treason. Some things are just not for me to say. You are my lord, more than even my friend, and though my love for you is great, I know my life rests totally in your hands, and I would take no such risk for a lesser a man. I only wonder – and worry, I worry too, sire, what the responsible, what the logical thing is to do? We seem to agree that the throne is in peril, and there’s no question it demands protecting, but who is its true protector? Even you, with your great knowledge of this burden, and your willingness to bear such responsibility, feel it is not a prince’s place. And I in my impudence, I can barely stifle myself to ask – should not these concerns fall to the King? Does not the shield beneath the swords we have both been raised under, does it not proclaim the King will guard his kingdom, the crown, his line? Is that not why the King keeps the line? And those swords, do they not mean that said protection must come from eliminating threats, be they man, or heretic, or even enemies that come from within?
Even if… they’re of the King’s own blood?
You know well, my lord, you know why no one speaks of you as thirty-three, that if one of those who precede you steps up to claim the throne before the King’s death – may he live long, of course – there would be no exile, no mercy on that day. They would be dealt with, and swiftly, as sure as the hangman would have a new set of boots on that day. For threats against the throne, the King must deal with summarily, be they from a single man, or ten thousand on the battlefield. And you sire, that is why you are here, and by your grace why I am blessed to speak with you, to safeguard something worthy of striking down ten thousand men, and if so called for, to strike down ten thousand more. And I know, you say, ten thousand, nay twenty, is but a small price to protect your line.
And you would be right to ask, if you dared to ask - just what is thirty-one more?
Though I suppose, if we could – if I could be very common for a moment, if you might humor that, and speak of these things logically, and we could consider them such again, as they were meant to be. You are, and again, sire, I mean nothing by this but what it is, but you are one in a line, and you were, let’s be generous – and truthful, my lord – set in that line as a contingency, a back-up, an “understudy” as I’ve heard the players it call it, if I may be so profane. And if allowed, while being profane, I might well point out the obvious, not to imply that you are not aware, but just for the sake of frankness that you are not the first, or second, or even third of said contingencies – you are, remarkable by the very nature of it, the thirty-second of the line.
Which is never to be taken lightly, as one thirty-seconds from the king is greater blessed than all but – yes, thirty-one others, well met, my lord. But despite that, your title will always come with its own privileges, its own rewards and responsibilities, the greatest of which, and perhaps, to some, not you sire, but perhaps to your brothers and sisters, the most burdensome, is that you, like them, have been tasked with the protection of your line, the kingdom – no, your kingdom, like your father, your king, and your country. And yes, all its citizens. Your citizens, sire. And so important it is to secure these things that even you, the thirty-second child of your father, our king, both as chosen by God, could be called, by great circumstance or terrible tragedy, to serve.
The weight of it! The consequence of king and country, that it needs not two, nor three, but thirty-two to safeguard itself. Thirty-two for the line to endure! Does anything better illustrate the importance of the throne? How you bear it, how you live with such a burden placed upon you, even with the illusion of being so many times removed – for I know you feel it as though you were first – I cannot fathom it, my lord. Yet I see you, and it, your onus, lying heavy about your brow every day.
And knowing how it weighs upon you, seeing you wear such worry on your brow – hidden so well, I might add, that only I, who humbly your lord must love so well as for you to drop your guard to – I must – no. No, I must not. To disparage your siblings – I couldn’t, though it’s just, no, sire I just wonder, for you have never said. And I, courteously, have never queried. So respectfully, I must ask, do you trust those who come before you, do you believe they grasp that? Do they know the responsibility that you so plainly see?
Apologetically, my lord – my prince, as you are the, and mine, of any of them, I must now speak honestly, tempered but honestly, and if that answer you would say is yes, that they know, that they appreciate it as much as you, why if any man but you would make such a claim I would think them a fool, if not call them such. And if sire, if you are of the mind that would say no, or even say yes with doubts, just doubts, then can you say truthfully that the order of succession should really, truly be managed just by order of conception? That men and women, even if of your own blood, who cannot, or will not – yes, who might outright refuse – understand their responsibilities do one day deserve to be placed on the throne? Superseding even someone who grasps the concept so fully, implicitly?
Which would be impudent of me to suggest, and I wouldn’t dare, of course, as it is not my place to speak of your family in such terms, and raising such questions, well that, that is the privilege of a king… and his children, I might think, but surely not one such as I. And you, you in your wisdom, so young yet, but already a man of intellect and breeding, I know what you would say of the manner, only because I know the measured, benevolent response – that when it comes to your siblings, your brothers and sisters, all of this which we speak is their right, and theirs alone. That they are your blood, and more importantly, the king’s blood, and they need to greater vindication than that.
And I know, my lord, that some, some of them you love. Others, I know of others among them that at least command your respect, your fealty. Their rank, more, their place as a part of the king’s line, of your line, rather, your family’s, demands loyalty. Protection. Submission. And the last, as thirty-two, you know much better than any of the others, and the rest, the privileges they have, which only you, if I may be so bold, have ever properly grasped as to why they are afforded to them, and to you at all.
But yet… their not grasping this, their… forgive me, shortcomings, they vex me, sire. As your servant, and as your friend, and as someone who sees you suffer stoically beneath them. And for you to see their abuses, which neither I nor anyone of my rank would – should indict them for, but rather in just recalling them, as instances – yes, that’s more proper, you’re right, these instances where they wield their power, their privilege, what you so aptly noted as their right, with no regard for the price that others must pay… do you never suppose such behavior, it threatens the line? Is not doing so, despite any other reckless disregard they commit, a danger to the line, nay the very crown and its dominion itself? For is not their very presence owed to it? And in not safe-guarding it is that not a debt that goes unpaid?
I hear the men in the square some days, criers for the church, talking about moral deaths. And how they befall families like waves upon the shore, engulfing many until the strongest among them, the rocks upon the coast, pushes back against the tide, and send the wanton roil back into the ocean. Moral deaths threaten them, your brothers and sisters, and I see from your face, you think perhaps they have befallen a few, maybe more. And you worry, my prince, I see it on your brow again, because you allow me to, I’m sure, wondering who the burden to be the strongest is upon now– who among them can hold the line, and push back to assure it perseveres, no matter the cost?
I am sorry for my forthrightness, but we both know you worry it is you. I tell you my lord, it is no cause for concern, for there are no worries in that which you already know. And you, I promise, even as the thirty-second child, indeed perhaps because of that, have always remembered what too many have forgotten – that the burden is yours, that is has always been yours, just as it has always been theirs. And no matter their actions, their dalliances, their character, you have never wavered. You are prepared if called upon to serve in succession, even when, if any, then you, could be lax.
No sire, again I say none of this lightly, though nor do I dare suggest treason. Some things are just not for me to say. You are my lord, more than even my friend, and though my love for you is great, I know my life rests totally in your hands, and I would take no such risk for a lesser a man. I only wonder – and worry, I worry too, sire, what the responsible, what the logical thing is to do? We seem to agree that the throne is in peril, and there’s no question it demands protecting, but who is its true protector? Even you, with your great knowledge of this burden, and your willingness to bear such responsibility, feel it is not a prince’s place. And I in my impudence, I can barely stifle myself to ask – should not these concerns fall to the King? Does not the shield beneath the swords we have both been raised under, does it not proclaim the King will guard his kingdom, the crown, his line? Is that not why the King keeps the line? And those swords, do they not mean that said protection must come from eliminating threats, be they man, or heretic, or even enemies that come from within?
Even if… they’re of the King’s own blood?
You know well, my lord, you know why no one speaks of you as thirty-three, that if one of those who precede you steps up to claim the throne before the King’s death – may he live long, of course – there would be no exile, no mercy on that day. They would be dealt with, and swiftly, as sure as the hangman would have a new set of boots on that day. For threats against the throne, the King must deal with summarily, be they from a single man, or ten thousand on the battlefield. And you sire, that is why you are here, and by your grace why I am blessed to speak with you, to safeguard something worthy of striking down ten thousand men, and if so called for, to strike down ten thousand more. And I know, you say, ten thousand, nay twenty, is but a small price to protect your line.
And you would be right to ask, if you dared to ask - just what is thirty-one more?
Quick note.
Still alive, still here. Not writing nearly enough.
Finished a book review today, way behind on something I promised I'd look at for a friend. Plus reading for myself, and I hope another couple books to review because getting paid is rad, plus reading for myself, plus... all kinds of other things. I've got a ton of non-writing stuff to do, and hey, you know what I'd really like to do? Write. That'd be awesome. Trying to dig myself out of this hole, and I imagine I'm failing at it spectacularly. But then again, I'm imagining the hole too, so...
I want to take the opportunity to thank everyone who weighed in on my previous post. I was actually hoping in my absence, some more responses would trickle in, and I got a couple of emails too. I might try and break up the broad strokes, and just have a single post with the best stuff in it, to stick in the sidebar for easy access. I appreciate everyone weighing in - the response was about what I expected, but not who I expected it from, mostly. And it's always nice to know who's out there, watching.
If you're reading this now, and would still like to add something, or respond to something someone else has said, then feel free. I'm... sticking to my story that I said my piece, so I won't be adding much myself, unless, I don't know, the Metatron appears to me with something that needs put out there.
I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Mine was beyond excellent, great food, the best company, Margaritas, and "The Muppets" and so many other good things. I usually do a fairly maudlin "what I'm thankful for" post, but hey, this year, I just unplugged from the internet and enjoyed myself. Even I can't be tortured all the time. It's exhausting.
And lately, not as productive as normal. But the fruit's still there, just gotta find another way to get the juice.
Finished a book review today, way behind on something I promised I'd look at for a friend. Plus reading for myself, and I hope another couple books to review because getting paid is rad, plus reading for myself, plus... all kinds of other things. I've got a ton of non-writing stuff to do, and hey, you know what I'd really like to do? Write. That'd be awesome. Trying to dig myself out of this hole, and I imagine I'm failing at it spectacularly. But then again, I'm imagining the hole too, so...
I want to take the opportunity to thank everyone who weighed in on my previous post. I was actually hoping in my absence, some more responses would trickle in, and I got a couple of emails too. I might try and break up the broad strokes, and just have a single post with the best stuff in it, to stick in the sidebar for easy access. I appreciate everyone weighing in - the response was about what I expected, but not who I expected it from, mostly. And it's always nice to know who's out there, watching.
If you're reading this now, and would still like to add something, or respond to something someone else has said, then feel free. I'm... sticking to my story that I said my piece, so I won't be adding much myself, unless, I don't know, the Metatron appears to me with something that needs put out there.
I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Mine was beyond excellent, great food, the best company, Margaritas, and "The Muppets" and so many other good things. I usually do a fairly maudlin "what I'm thankful for" post, but hey, this year, I just unplugged from the internet and enjoyed myself. Even I can't be tortured all the time. It's exhausting.
And lately, not as productive as normal. But the fruit's still there, just gotta find another way to get the juice.
Begs the question.
I want to know what you think [I fear this is going to wind up looking pathetic].
I don't have many rules here on the blog, but one of things I've said from the beginning is that it's my space, and I naturally have the time, so I'm always going to have the last word. Just one of those things I can exert some measure of control over, and it helps me feel comfortable here. Plus on the rare occasions crazies show up, I don't feel bad about moderating.
But here's a rare occasion - chance for anyone reading to chime in without me butting in, because I'm going to get my two cents in right off.
My last post I talked about struggling with some of my ideas that didn't really feel like they had any soul to me - just self-indulgent stuff, stuff without a reason, a message, or anything personal behind it. And if that is even self-indulgent, or if that's just fun.
Post prompted this comment from my good friend John [that's John Wiswell of "The Bathroom Monologues"], fresh off writing his novel, which I think deserves highlighted:
"The question of whether something is worthwhile if it's just self-indulgent will probably last another age, until we're all digital and things are decided by sub-protocols for us. But for now perhaps we can jerry-rig a second question onto it: is it okay to do something self-indulgent if you wouldn't do anything else with the time otherwise? Might be better to finish your own Hobo With A Shotgun by the end of the year rather than end the year with nothing finished. It's a conundrum that paralyzed me for a long time."
Now, first, let me just say "Hobo With A Shotgun" was excellent, and I'm sure John meant nothing by that comparison. Second, I personally don't have a ready answer to this question, and even John seems to only be leaning in a certain direction with his statement. About all I do feel comfortable saying on the subject, and I feel like I can say this quite adamantly, is that one of the reasons I write is to write things that I would want to read. And if I'm being perfectly honest with myself, I really just have no interest in reading heartless, soulless stories right now, and the thought of writing more of those, adding to the... pile, which I feel is kind of a fitting word, doesn't exactly spur me forward.
But that's all I've got. So, look, I know I don't have loads of traffic, but what I do have is fairly steady, and I'm just asking that if you read this post, no matter how you come to it, that you tell me what you think about the question. Especially if you're a writer, or an artist, but if you're not, if you're just a consumer of these kinds of things, I'd still like to hear your feelings, hypothetical, or actual, or otherwise. Feel free to comment anonymously. Feel free to write a lot, or a little. Just... chime in. I'd like to know what people think.
And make sure you visit "The Bathroom Monologues" in thanks to John, for asking the tough questions, or if you just want to read something good.
I don't have many rules here on the blog, but one of things I've said from the beginning is that it's my space, and I naturally have the time, so I'm always going to have the last word. Just one of those things I can exert some measure of control over, and it helps me feel comfortable here. Plus on the rare occasions crazies show up, I don't feel bad about moderating.
But here's a rare occasion - chance for anyone reading to chime in without me butting in, because I'm going to get my two cents in right off.
My last post I talked about struggling with some of my ideas that didn't really feel like they had any soul to me - just self-indulgent stuff, stuff without a reason, a message, or anything personal behind it. And if that is even self-indulgent, or if that's just fun.
Post prompted this comment from my good friend John [that's John Wiswell of "The Bathroom Monologues"], fresh off writing his novel, which I think deserves highlighted:
"The question of whether something is worthwhile if it's just self-indulgent will probably last another age, until we're all digital and things are decided by sub-protocols for us. But for now perhaps we can jerry-rig a second question onto it: is it okay to do something self-indulgent if you wouldn't do anything else with the time otherwise? Might be better to finish your own Hobo With A Shotgun by the end of the year rather than end the year with nothing finished. It's a conundrum that paralyzed me for a long time."
Now, first, let me just say "Hobo With A Shotgun" was excellent, and I'm sure John meant nothing by that comparison. Second, I personally don't have a ready answer to this question, and even John seems to only be leaning in a certain direction with his statement. About all I do feel comfortable saying on the subject, and I feel like I can say this quite adamantly, is that one of the reasons I write is to write things that I would want to read. And if I'm being perfectly honest with myself, I really just have no interest in reading heartless, soulless stories right now, and the thought of writing more of those, adding to the... pile, which I feel is kind of a fitting word, doesn't exactly spur me forward.
But that's all I've got. So, look, I know I don't have loads of traffic, but what I do have is fairly steady, and I'm just asking that if you read this post, no matter how you come to it, that you tell me what you think about the question. Especially if you're a writer, or an artist, but if you're not, if you're just a consumer of these kinds of things, I'd still like to hear your feelings, hypothetical, or actual, or otherwise. Feel free to comment anonymously. Feel free to write a lot, or a little. Just... chime in. I'd like to know what people think.
And make sure you visit "The Bathroom Monologues" in thanks to John, for asking the tough questions, or if you just want to read something good.
Laura Prepon is a Scientologist. And then it gets worse.
Haven't done a lot of work in the past couple days. Hence the long lull between posts.
I've actually kind of been sleeping like a normal person lately, a not uncommon occurrence when you think that the usual "up-all-night/sleep-all-day" lifestyle does occasionally lend to catch-up days where you find yourself crashing hard and waking up at seven or eight o'clock in the morning. Once you're awake at that time of day, it's kind of... difficult to not start dozing off around nine. Personally, the whole experience is a bit of a miserable one as far as I'm concerned, the morning not particularly being my friend, what with the nausea and the crabbiness [yes, yes, how can I tell?], and the weird sensitivity to light, sound I have anytime I stick my head out the door before ten o'clock.
Which, I guess is fine. I stick to my dark little cave of a room for the opening hours of the day, and that's not so bad because the cat is still settling in, and I figure as much time as I can take, bonding with him, that's good. I don't have a lot of experience with older pets, most of mine started as puppies or kittens or whatever you call baby hamsters, so this is all kind of new, and I don't really expect to change any of his habits at this point, I just sort of want him... comfortable here, and comfortable with me, and I want to be comfortable with him too. I have always been a coward at heart, and would not put it past myself to become gun shy about interacting with a creature who was physically smaller than me.
I've done a little writing. Had an idea for a comic that I wrote the opener too. I like writing openers, beginnings, even though a lot of mine look the same, there's something fun about carving out the world, or the scene, or trying to figure out how you're going to introduce everything. Halloween must have hit me, because this was kind of a horror-themed thing, and I got a couple pages out of it. And I think I could actually do all of it, but I'm just...
I mean, part of it is just the general hang-up I've talked about a lot here. And the other part is, since college, well since a certain point in college, I've kind of wanted everything I do to have some sort of message, or personal oomph behind it. I feel like it's important to have something to say, something that's a part of myself, even if it's just a little something in a much bigger something that doesn't have anything to do with that. And that doesn't necessarily mean that whatever I'm doing is about me, just that there's some bit of something personal in it. It probably sounds ridiculous, but that's the sort of thing that tends to separate my work from more mindless, Tarantino-esque rip-off pulp.
I don't know. It's that age-old question if something is worthwhile if it's self-indulgent, or just for fun. There will be tons of people who say it is, and there will be tons who say it isn't, and there will be a few - a blessed few - who don't think of it at all, and are probably better for it. And for their sake, I wouldn't bring it up at all, but those people probably also stopped reading a couple paragraphs ago when my hand-wringing started.
Anyway. I'm mid-book review, and I have more waiting-room intensive errands this week than usual, so who knows what kind of work could get done. Then again, I was also supposed to be sorting out some of the clutter in my life. Decisions, decisions. Have to wait and see.
Best.
I've actually kind of been sleeping like a normal person lately, a not uncommon occurrence when you think that the usual "up-all-night/sleep-all-day" lifestyle does occasionally lend to catch-up days where you find yourself crashing hard and waking up at seven or eight o'clock in the morning. Once you're awake at that time of day, it's kind of... difficult to not start dozing off around nine. Personally, the whole experience is a bit of a miserable one as far as I'm concerned, the morning not particularly being my friend, what with the nausea and the crabbiness [yes, yes, how can I tell?], and the weird sensitivity to light, sound I have anytime I stick my head out the door before ten o'clock.
Which, I guess is fine. I stick to my dark little cave of a room for the opening hours of the day, and that's not so bad because the cat is still settling in, and I figure as much time as I can take, bonding with him, that's good. I don't have a lot of experience with older pets, most of mine started as puppies or kittens or whatever you call baby hamsters, so this is all kind of new, and I don't really expect to change any of his habits at this point, I just sort of want him... comfortable here, and comfortable with me, and I want to be comfortable with him too. I have always been a coward at heart, and would not put it past myself to become gun shy about interacting with a creature who was physically smaller than me.
I've done a little writing. Had an idea for a comic that I wrote the opener too. I like writing openers, beginnings, even though a lot of mine look the same, there's something fun about carving out the world, or the scene, or trying to figure out how you're going to introduce everything. Halloween must have hit me, because this was kind of a horror-themed thing, and I got a couple pages out of it. And I think I could actually do all of it, but I'm just...
I mean, part of it is just the general hang-up I've talked about a lot here. And the other part is, since college, well since a certain point in college, I've kind of wanted everything I do to have some sort of message, or personal oomph behind it. I feel like it's important to have something to say, something that's a part of myself, even if it's just a little something in a much bigger something that doesn't have anything to do with that. And that doesn't necessarily mean that whatever I'm doing is about me, just that there's some bit of something personal in it. It probably sounds ridiculous, but that's the sort of thing that tends to separate my work from more mindless, Tarantino-esque rip-off pulp.
I don't know. It's that age-old question if something is worthwhile if it's self-indulgent, or just for fun. There will be tons of people who say it is, and there will be tons who say it isn't, and there will be a few - a blessed few - who don't think of it at all, and are probably better for it. And for their sake, I wouldn't bring it up at all, but those people probably also stopped reading a couple paragraphs ago when my hand-wringing started.
Anyway. I'm mid-book review, and I have more waiting-room intensive errands this week than usual, so who knows what kind of work could get done. Then again, I was also supposed to be sorting out some of the clutter in my life. Decisions, decisions. Have to wait and see.
Best.
Obscenely busy week. In its way.
Actually, that's only half true. I think at least one day was left solely to dicking around.
No progress has been made on the clutter, and I have failed - failed! - to type up that thing I said might show up... day before yesterday. I am remarkably ashamed of myself, almost as much as I am unmotivated. But if you pile on the unmotivated shame, it I think general pity and self-doubt win the day.
Or as the Randall Nichols status quo is concerned: "God's in his heaven, all's right with the world."
This week has been all about the nut orders - I may have mentioned this before, but my grandmother sells bulk nuts seasonally - peanuts, cashews, mixed nuts, and various other dry goods, your gummy bears, Bridge Mix, granola, lots of other stuff covered in chocolate. The sort of things you might have sold for fund-raising in school, but she actually turns a small profit on it, and has a pretty dedicated clientèle. Dedicated enough that despite claiming each year was her last, she still manages to clear about the same number of orders.
And all told, I don't mind the work. There's something about playing the collection agent and the delivery boy, there's something... I wouldn't call it satisfying, but it's not like other work I've done. It's like the book reviews - it's tolerable, sometimes even enjoyable. Strange, and not how I typically think of work. But I can't hate everything, I guess, right?
I also have a cat, now. A three year old rescue, named Loki. Well, it was just "Ki" but that was because it was the only sound he'd respond to [I'm guessing because of "kitty"], but a one syllable pet name, that just can't stand. He's a long hair, black and gray... a real sweetheart, though a little jittery, as you'd expect for cat who has been uprooted and kept at a vet's around dogs for so long. It's only day four with him, but I think he's settling in well.
It's weird. I have... a part time job [nothing extravagant, or even enough of anything to hold anything in the way of finances up], a cat, a new, amazing woman in my life. Of course, there are other things that can improve, and will. Even though I'd rather not, I'm going to try and pick up driving this fall, and even though I'm not putting a lot of money back, I'm holding at a comfortable place, for the first time in my life. Not "oh god, oh god, I need an operation or I'm gonna die" comfortable, but... ah, I don't worry about it quite like I did. And yeah, I really wish that I could catch up on some of these correspondences that I've fallen so far behind on, and I want to thank everyone who has written, who has been in touch, and who hasn't been able to get a hold of me. I haven't forgotten any of them, and they're all amazing, and writing, talking to them, it makes everything better, but I'm just playing catch up. I wish I had more time, too, to maybe get a little more involved in the Occupy movement - if, for no other reason, than to sit and talk with some of the people, students, ex-students, non-students, workers, citizens, consumers, activists - all thinkers, in their way, in different ways. Missing that bothers me. But all of that stuff, all of that stuff that I feel like I'm missing, or isn't there, I feel like it will be. If it can be. I feel confident in that.
About all that's left is the writing. I just... dammit, I'm just not getting the work out like I want to. And I don't know if it's just because there's been other stuff to do, or if I just haven't had it there. I've worked on stuff, but not every day. The consistency, the regularity, the output... it's just not there right now. I'm just frustrated, and tired. Maybe there's something I'm missing, or maybe I'm still fighting my rut. I don't know.
More's the pressure. That I'm at that age that I'm supposed to be doing everything. Impressing everyone, or at least anyone I can get to look at me. Maybe not success, but inklings, indicators, support systems. I might be inventing all this. Writers hit their strides, become big in their 30s, 40s, 50s mostly. Right? Just seems like all my heroes, were doing... not their best work, but some of their most interesting now, at my age.
I should just, you know, kick into gear, right? Stop bitching, and just do it. There's really no excuse, not even the usual "no inspiration" - I have literally pages of work, handwritten, just needing transcribed, and edited. We're talking outlines, short-stories, complete comic scripts, short scenes... that would be enough to get me working again.
Lighter note. Pictures went up of my kid brother's graduation at Ft. Benning. Occurs to me we never got one with just the two of us. Bummer, about that. But these two, with our mom, they're quite good, and something small gave me a chuckle.
Unseasonably brisk, that day. So, here we are, and then...
We pass dour expressions and slight looks of disgust like most brothers pass footballs. I guess some people would see the switch as a negative, but it made me, strangely enough, happy. It's... remarkably easy to forget our similarities, and there's something about just... having a nice reminder that we may not share fathers, but we still share something.
When it comes to family, it's always complicated. But I hope no one would begrudge me this.
Best.
No progress has been made on the clutter, and I have failed - failed! - to type up that thing I said might show up... day before yesterday. I am remarkably ashamed of myself, almost as much as I am unmotivated. But if you pile on the unmotivated shame, it I think general pity and self-doubt win the day.
Or as the Randall Nichols status quo is concerned: "God's in his heaven, all's right with the world."
This week has been all about the nut orders - I may have mentioned this before, but my grandmother sells bulk nuts seasonally - peanuts, cashews, mixed nuts, and various other dry goods, your gummy bears, Bridge Mix, granola, lots of other stuff covered in chocolate. The sort of things you might have sold for fund-raising in school, but she actually turns a small profit on it, and has a pretty dedicated clientèle. Dedicated enough that despite claiming each year was her last, she still manages to clear about the same number of orders.
And all told, I don't mind the work. There's something about playing the collection agent and the delivery boy, there's something... I wouldn't call it satisfying, but it's not like other work I've done. It's like the book reviews - it's tolerable, sometimes even enjoyable. Strange, and not how I typically think of work. But I can't hate everything, I guess, right?
I also have a cat, now. A three year old rescue, named Loki. Well, it was just "Ki" but that was because it was the only sound he'd respond to [I'm guessing because of "kitty"], but a one syllable pet name, that just can't stand. He's a long hair, black and gray... a real sweetheart, though a little jittery, as you'd expect for cat who has been uprooted and kept at a vet's around dogs for so long. It's only day four with him, but I think he's settling in well.
It's weird. I have... a part time job [nothing extravagant, or even enough of anything to hold anything in the way of finances up], a cat, a new, amazing woman in my life. Of course, there are other things that can improve, and will. Even though I'd rather not, I'm going to try and pick up driving this fall, and even though I'm not putting a lot of money back, I'm holding at a comfortable place, for the first time in my life. Not "oh god, oh god, I need an operation or I'm gonna die" comfortable, but... ah, I don't worry about it quite like I did. And yeah, I really wish that I could catch up on some of these correspondences that I've fallen so far behind on, and I want to thank everyone who has written, who has been in touch, and who hasn't been able to get a hold of me. I haven't forgotten any of them, and they're all amazing, and writing, talking to them, it makes everything better, but I'm just playing catch up. I wish I had more time, too, to maybe get a little more involved in the Occupy movement - if, for no other reason, than to sit and talk with some of the people, students, ex-students, non-students, workers, citizens, consumers, activists - all thinkers, in their way, in different ways. Missing that bothers me. But all of that stuff, all of that stuff that I feel like I'm missing, or isn't there, I feel like it will be. If it can be. I feel confident in that.
About all that's left is the writing. I just... dammit, I'm just not getting the work out like I want to. And I don't know if it's just because there's been other stuff to do, or if I just haven't had it there. I've worked on stuff, but not every day. The consistency, the regularity, the output... it's just not there right now. I'm just frustrated, and tired. Maybe there's something I'm missing, or maybe I'm still fighting my rut. I don't know.
More's the pressure. That I'm at that age that I'm supposed to be doing everything. Impressing everyone, or at least anyone I can get to look at me. Maybe not success, but inklings, indicators, support systems. I might be inventing all this. Writers hit their strides, become big in their 30s, 40s, 50s mostly. Right? Just seems like all my heroes, were doing... not their best work, but some of their most interesting now, at my age.
I should just, you know, kick into gear, right? Stop bitching, and just do it. There's really no excuse, not even the usual "no inspiration" - I have literally pages of work, handwritten, just needing transcribed, and edited. We're talking outlines, short-stories, complete comic scripts, short scenes... that would be enough to get me working again.
Lighter note. Pictures went up of my kid brother's graduation at Ft. Benning. Occurs to me we never got one with just the two of us. Bummer, about that. But these two, with our mom, they're quite good, and something small gave me a chuckle.
Unseasonably brisk, that day. So, here we are, and then...
We pass dour expressions and slight looks of disgust like most brothers pass footballs. I guess some people would see the switch as a negative, but it made me, strangely enough, happy. It's... remarkably easy to forget our similarities, and there's something about just... having a nice reminder that we may not share fathers, but we still share something. When it comes to family, it's always complicated. But I hope no one would begrudge me this.
Best.
Clutter.
As expected, I crashed pretty hard after my "trip." Slept something like... 18 hours, I guess.
The graduation was good... I find myself more and more impressed with my kid brother each day. I don't think I'll go into it here, but there are things, maybe things I only worry about because I'm a deluded, communist hippie, but there are things about the military that worry me, even more than the risk he was undertaking. I'm not really worried about those things now.
The ceremony was nice - hard to really describe, a bit like a football game half-time show high school, except everyone on the field had the same haircut, and there was live artillery. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if that described someone's high school experience. Still, it was fun. It all felt fairly sophisticated, and epic. Naturally, Aaron was very busy during this time, and since I road along with mom and her boyfriend, I spent a lot of the three days by myself - maybe not physically by myself, but definitely a lot of stuff was going on solely in my own head.
Despite the extra time, I didn't get to read as much as I wanted, nor was there any great wellspring of writing done. Came up with another little prose thing that I might try and have ready by Friday. It is a tough squeeze - I have a book review deadline on Wednesday, and then... I have yet another book already in hand, though I believe I have until around the 15th to get it finished. Maybe not Friday with that prose piece. But soon.
Also saw a couple movies while I was gone. Skipped out on Hugh Jackman and giant fighting robots twice, to see "Moneyball" and "50/50." Moneyball was a no brainer for me - yes, I'm far from any kind of sports fan, but this thing is a sports movie penned [at least in part] by Aaron Sorkin. And yeah, I, who knows next to nothing about sports, was a pretty big fan of Sports Night at the end of the 90s [I think most people who liked that show weren't that into sports, actually], so I was pretty anxious to get Sports Night guy back writing about sports again. And you know, I think also I've sort of been hung up, since my Bennington days, since the Red Sox/Yankees arguments, about just how money plays into what looks to me to be a competitive sport, where skill and such should be the major thing. I don't think I ever really was able to draw a line to what the extra greenbacks some teams got meant for those teams, or even that winning a game could have anything to do with the size of your wallet at all, until I started hearing about rich teams buying all the good players, and even then... Oy. It all seems fairly obvious now, and I suppose it seemed fairly obvious then, but now I just feel like I have a grasp on it.
I dig teaching through drama. It's about all I've got. Ending of the movie has been surprisingly haunting to me as well. Weird way to go out, and one of those cases where one flick had a lot more going on in it that it's advertised as having. Maybe as it can handle having. Would need to see it again. Still, enjoyed it. Rarely do I get to see these things as they come out. And I like Jonah Hill.
"50/50" I liked too. Lot of trepidation going into that, I think getting to scope Rotten Tomatoes before deciding helped a lot [actually, both things I saw were the only chart grossers that were in the 90+ place]. Couple of parts were far from perfect, but I've always dug the adult comedy genre - the "Punch Drunk Love" types, uh... "Bandits" springs to mind. "A Serious Man." We're talking a wide array here. Stuff that's funny, but you might not be laughing out loud the entire time. Maybe not at all, but that doesn't mean it's not funny [It's weird that we have designated only certain actions as appropriate indications as to how we feel]. I don't know, I also have a lot of respect for comedies who dive in and do drama. You see that a lot the other way around, a drama throwing you some comedy, but this is a different way in. Levitt has a bright future, still... weird, thinking how long I've actually been watching him, and Anna Kendrick - I just find something about her to be charming. Also, something about her, surprises me she gets work. I am not sure why on either of those. Rogen, meanwhile, is just still damn good at what he does. I think over-saturation is making people a little sick of the guy, but I think just taken work to work, he's actually pretty impressive.
Plus, some stuff in it just hit kind of close to home. I was a little surprised.
Still, came out with some of the same questions, mostly why there isn't a market of 20-something movies with female leads, more women roles, more women cast. Certainly if there are omega males, there must be omega females. I feel sure of that.
Anyway. Cancer comedy. Can be done. And I'm glad for that.
I read a neat comic book called "That Salty Air." From Top Shelf, by Tim Sievert, would recommend it, especially if you just enjoy marveling at art work. Not that the story isn't there, it very much is, there's just some exceptional layouts, paneling, stunning art, surprising because from the style you expect it to be sort of minimalistic.
My life has felt very cluttered lately. Might need to do some cleaning... even Twitter, Facebook, my blog roll and RSS, it all just seems awful and cramped and too much. Same with the room, same with... most things. I should probably look to that soon.
I feel weird, bad for not talking more about the graduation. My priorities always seem askew. Just proud - probably not in a way I could make anyone understand, probably not like those mothers, or my mother, or anyone else there that day. Well, not anyone else. And the only thing else I can think to add is that it was fucking cold in Georgia, and I didn't bring a proper coat, so I couldn't enjoy it nearly as much as I wanted to. I gotta start trusting myself more, so as to avoid things like three days spent in a suit jacket.
To the grad from Bennington, and his brother, the grad from Ft. Benning.
The graduation was good... I find myself more and more impressed with my kid brother each day. I don't think I'll go into it here, but there are things, maybe things I only worry about because I'm a deluded, communist hippie, but there are things about the military that worry me, even more than the risk he was undertaking. I'm not really worried about those things now.
The ceremony was nice - hard to really describe, a bit like a football game half-time show high school, except everyone on the field had the same haircut, and there was live artillery. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if that described someone's high school experience. Still, it was fun. It all felt fairly sophisticated, and epic. Naturally, Aaron was very busy during this time, and since I road along with mom and her boyfriend, I spent a lot of the three days by myself - maybe not physically by myself, but definitely a lot of stuff was going on solely in my own head.
Despite the extra time, I didn't get to read as much as I wanted, nor was there any great wellspring of writing done. Came up with another little prose thing that I might try and have ready by Friday. It is a tough squeeze - I have a book review deadline on Wednesday, and then... I have yet another book already in hand, though I believe I have until around the 15th to get it finished. Maybe not Friday with that prose piece. But soon.
Also saw a couple movies while I was gone. Skipped out on Hugh Jackman and giant fighting robots twice, to see "Moneyball" and "50/50." Moneyball was a no brainer for me - yes, I'm far from any kind of sports fan, but this thing is a sports movie penned [at least in part] by Aaron Sorkin. And yeah, I, who knows next to nothing about sports, was a pretty big fan of Sports Night at the end of the 90s [I think most people who liked that show weren't that into sports, actually], so I was pretty anxious to get Sports Night guy back writing about sports again. And you know, I think also I've sort of been hung up, since my Bennington days, since the Red Sox/Yankees arguments, about just how money plays into what looks to me to be a competitive sport, where skill and such should be the major thing. I don't think I ever really was able to draw a line to what the extra greenbacks some teams got meant for those teams, or even that winning a game could have anything to do with the size of your wallet at all, until I started hearing about rich teams buying all the good players, and even then... Oy. It all seems fairly obvious now, and I suppose it seemed fairly obvious then, but now I just feel like I have a grasp on it.
I dig teaching through drama. It's about all I've got. Ending of the movie has been surprisingly haunting to me as well. Weird way to go out, and one of those cases where one flick had a lot more going on in it that it's advertised as having. Maybe as it can handle having. Would need to see it again. Still, enjoyed it. Rarely do I get to see these things as they come out. And I like Jonah Hill.
"50/50" I liked too. Lot of trepidation going into that, I think getting to scope Rotten Tomatoes before deciding helped a lot [actually, both things I saw were the only chart grossers that were in the 90+ place]. Couple of parts were far from perfect, but I've always dug the adult comedy genre - the "Punch Drunk Love" types, uh... "Bandits" springs to mind. "A Serious Man." We're talking a wide array here. Stuff that's funny, but you might not be laughing out loud the entire time. Maybe not at all, but that doesn't mean it's not funny [It's weird that we have designated only certain actions as appropriate indications as to how we feel]. I don't know, I also have a lot of respect for comedies who dive in and do drama. You see that a lot the other way around, a drama throwing you some comedy, but this is a different way in. Levitt has a bright future, still... weird, thinking how long I've actually been watching him, and Anna Kendrick - I just find something about her to be charming. Also, something about her, surprises me she gets work. I am not sure why on either of those. Rogen, meanwhile, is just still damn good at what he does. I think over-saturation is making people a little sick of the guy, but I think just taken work to work, he's actually pretty impressive.
Plus, some stuff in it just hit kind of close to home. I was a little surprised.
Still, came out with some of the same questions, mostly why there isn't a market of 20-something movies with female leads, more women roles, more women cast. Certainly if there are omega males, there must be omega females. I feel sure of that.
Anyway. Cancer comedy. Can be done. And I'm glad for that.
I read a neat comic book called "That Salty Air." From Top Shelf, by Tim Sievert, would recommend it, especially if you just enjoy marveling at art work. Not that the story isn't there, it very much is, there's just some exceptional layouts, paneling, stunning art, surprising because from the style you expect it to be sort of minimalistic.
My life has felt very cluttered lately. Might need to do some cleaning... even Twitter, Facebook, my blog roll and RSS, it all just seems awful and cramped and too much. Same with the room, same with... most things. I should probably look to that soon.
I feel weird, bad for not talking more about the graduation. My priorities always seem askew. Just proud - probably not in a way I could make anyone understand, probably not like those mothers, or my mother, or anyone else there that day. Well, not anyone else. And the only thing else I can think to add is that it was fucking cold in Georgia, and I didn't bring a proper coat, so I couldn't enjoy it nearly as much as I wanted to. I gotta start trusting myself more, so as to avoid things like three days spent in a suit jacket.
To the grad from Bennington, and his brother, the grad from Ft. Benning.
Out 'till Friday
Writing this in a bit of a rush.
I'll be gone until late Friday night, and you might well hear from me when I get in then, or I could be so wiped out from the trip that you may not see dazzling words about other words until several days after then. My kid brother [can't say little anymore] Aaron is graduating from boot camp at Ft. Benning, so I'm taking a long, promised-myself-I'd-never-take-a-car-anywhere-under-these-conditions long, 10 hour trip to see him off. It's an ordeal, but like most ordeals, it is well worth it to be there for his big day. Or perhaps just the start of his big days.
So here I am, but only momentarily, and then off I go. For now, trying to work out some final packing things, scratching my head over why a suitcase isn't made to hold suit without wrinkling it. Someone look to that for me, if you would.
I will probably be sans internet for the next three days. If for some reason you need to reach me, text messages and my phone number will serve you the best, and if that's not information you're privy to, and Direct Message on Twitter with some way I can get in contact with you will go straight to my phone. I will miss you all.
Best.
I'll be gone until late Friday night, and you might well hear from me when I get in then, or I could be so wiped out from the trip that you may not see dazzling words about other words until several days after then. My kid brother [can't say little anymore] Aaron is graduating from boot camp at Ft. Benning, so I'm taking a long, promised-myself-I'd-never-take-a-car-anywhere-under-these-conditions long, 10 hour trip to see him off. It's an ordeal, but like most ordeals, it is well worth it to be there for his big day. Or perhaps just the start of his big days.
So here I am, but only momentarily, and then off I go. For now, trying to work out some final packing things, scratching my head over why a suitcase isn't made to hold suit without wrinkling it. Someone look to that for me, if you would.
I will probably be sans internet for the next three days. If for some reason you need to reach me, text messages and my phone number will serve you the best, and if that's not information you're privy to, and Direct Message on Twitter with some way I can get in contact with you will go straight to my phone. I will miss you all.
Best.
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