I don't really have anything to say, but I've come to enjoy this song a lot recently and I figured I'd share it. Enjoy.
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
Monday, March 28, 2016
Chrysalis
Today - less than an hour ago, actually - I put one of my treasured fanfictions to rest. I wrote up an author's note explaining why I couldn't continue, included all my ideas that I'd hoped to put into play, and then posted it as the final chapter (probably, I could go back to it but I don't think I'll intend to).
What surprises me the most is how little it upset me. I've been pondering ending it for a while now; it hasn't been fun to write for a long time, but I didn't want to let the people reading it down. I didn't want to let myself down. And I'm still upset but I'm too busy being relieved to be too upset, if that makes sense. It's been coming for a long while, I just haven't been willing to admit it.
A friend of mine who also has a blog posted a quote a little while ago: "The things we fear the most have already happened to us." -Anonymous. I've been terrified of losing my fire for that story, but I think I'd already lost it long ago. I just couldn't admit it.
Part of me's happy, actually. I'd planned to write that fanfiction alongside my original works, but I think the end result would have been the same, somewhere down the line. And now I don't have to worry about it anymore. It's one less obstacle to being able to become a published writer. Another crack in my chrysalis.
Soon, hopefully soon, I will fly.
What surprises me the most is how little it upset me. I've been pondering ending it for a while now; it hasn't been fun to write for a long time, but I didn't want to let the people reading it down. I didn't want to let myself down. And I'm still upset but I'm too busy being relieved to be too upset, if that makes sense. It's been coming for a long while, I just haven't been willing to admit it.
A friend of mine who also has a blog posted a quote a little while ago: "The things we fear the most have already happened to us." -Anonymous. I've been terrified of losing my fire for that story, but I think I'd already lost it long ago. I just couldn't admit it.
Part of me's happy, actually. I'd planned to write that fanfiction alongside my original works, but I think the end result would have been the same, somewhere down the line. And now I don't have to worry about it anymore. It's one less obstacle to being able to become a published writer. Another crack in my chrysalis.
Soon, hopefully soon, I will fly.
Friday, March 25, 2016
Concept Corner #9
Concept Corner #9 - Tri Layer
In a futuristic Earth where virtual reality has revolutionized all aspects of human life, e-gaming reigns supreme. Corporations all over the world have turned to these games and the young adults that play them to scout and recruit people with great potential in traits such as leadership, communication, and quick thinking. Teams from around the world compete in various competitions, the winners of which go down in history as legends. The team known as Tri Layer dreams of joining these ranks one day, but against national teams who've trained their entire lives, do they have a prayer?
The concept of a story about professional gaming came from my dad, who heard an interview about it on the radio and suggested it to me. I dismissed it at the time, since I know little about pro gaming and it doesn't interest me, but I think I could at least come up with something interesting about it. I imagine this would be a relatively real-world story - no 'the game is secretly real' twist, just a team trying to become the best. It'd be a lot like a sports story in that way, I figure.
The two biggest obstacles will likely be figuring out how the pro scene works (I could probably interview some people) and coming up with a game(s) that the characters could play in-universe. It can't be a real game, for obvious reasons, but I'm not sure how to come up with one that seems like it could be real. We'll see.
In a futuristic Earth where virtual reality has revolutionized all aspects of human life, e-gaming reigns supreme. Corporations all over the world have turned to these games and the young adults that play them to scout and recruit people with great potential in traits such as leadership, communication, and quick thinking. Teams from around the world compete in various competitions, the winners of which go down in history as legends. The team known as Tri Layer dreams of joining these ranks one day, but against national teams who've trained their entire lives, do they have a prayer?
The concept of a story about professional gaming came from my dad, who heard an interview about it on the radio and suggested it to me. I dismissed it at the time, since I know little about pro gaming and it doesn't interest me, but I think I could at least come up with something interesting about it. I imagine this would be a relatively real-world story - no 'the game is secretly real' twist, just a team trying to become the best. It'd be a lot like a sports story in that way, I figure.
The two biggest obstacles will likely be figuring out how the pro scene works (I could probably interview some people) and coming up with a game(s) that the characters could play in-universe. It can't be a real game, for obvious reasons, but I'm not sure how to come up with one that seems like it could be real. We'll see.
Thursday, March 24, 2016
Unbound at last
Tomorrow, I get my bands loosened again. I don't think I'll get them fully removed for a couple more weeks, but I'll at least be able to take them off myself and open my mouth to eat. I'm really looking forward to eating more than soup.
I've actually had them loosened before, so I've been in that stage already, but I had to get some more work done because my jaw was a little off-center. Apparently with this operation they have to eyeball things a little because of the swelling, and sometimes the jaw isn't aligned quite right. So they had to put me back under and retighten the bands on my jaw for a little longer.
That was on Monday. It feels like it's been a whole lot longer than three days. I guess that's the frustration talking - it's tough going through a backslide like that. Hopefully things go smoothly from here on in. I've got some ideas of what I'll want to eat first once I can chew again. Maybe a nice taco ring...
I've actually had them loosened before, so I've been in that stage already, but I had to get some more work done because my jaw was a little off-center. Apparently with this operation they have to eyeball things a little because of the swelling, and sometimes the jaw isn't aligned quite right. So they had to put me back under and retighten the bands on my jaw for a little longer.
That was on Monday. It feels like it's been a whole lot longer than three days. I guess that's the frustration talking - it's tough going through a backslide like that. Hopefully things go smoothly from here on in. I've got some ideas of what I'll want to eat first once I can chew again. Maybe a nice taco ring...
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Rage on
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1mRec3VbH3w
For those who don't like to click a link without knowing where it'll take you, that's a reading of Dylan Thomas' poem "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" - a piece about living boldly even in your final years.
Strange as it may sound, I used to hate messages like that, ones that told you to live without regrets and fight for your dreams. I think I wanted to be a writer - a creator of my own worlds, and not just a fanfic writer - long before I was willing to admit it to myself. I had a lot of reasons not to want it; it was too much work, I didn't want to fail, I didn't have any good story ideas... the list goes on.
So I forced myself to be content with what I had. But looking back, as content as I was I never really felt satisfied. I think there's a difference, one to do with the short and long-term. So dissatisfaction bubbled under my exterior for a while, and it was hard to listen to messages about having no regrets when I had a big one buried within my chest.
I did stop lying to myself eventually - over last fall break to be specific, but the details are another story - and I'm honestly happier now. Messages like Mr. Thomas' don't get under my skin anymore, or if they do, it's in an inspiring way, one that invigorates me instead of making me feel guilty. I think it's a change for the better.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. It may not be all fun and games, but if it's worth doing you'll be glad you did it.
For those who don't like to click a link without knowing where it'll take you, that's a reading of Dylan Thomas' poem "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" - a piece about living boldly even in your final years.
Strange as it may sound, I used to hate messages like that, ones that told you to live without regrets and fight for your dreams. I think I wanted to be a writer - a creator of my own worlds, and not just a fanfic writer - long before I was willing to admit it to myself. I had a lot of reasons not to want it; it was too much work, I didn't want to fail, I didn't have any good story ideas... the list goes on.
So I forced myself to be content with what I had. But looking back, as content as I was I never really felt satisfied. I think there's a difference, one to do with the short and long-term. So dissatisfaction bubbled under my exterior for a while, and it was hard to listen to messages about having no regrets when I had a big one buried within my chest.
I did stop lying to myself eventually - over last fall break to be specific, but the details are another story - and I'm honestly happier now. Messages like Mr. Thomas' don't get under my skin anymore, or if they do, it's in an inspiring way, one that invigorates me instead of making me feel guilty. I think it's a change for the better.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. It may not be all fun and games, but if it's worth doing you'll be glad you did it.
Saturday, March 19, 2016
Quiet place
This is a short creative fiction story I wrote for my Creative Writing class, as well as a bit of an
exercise in present tense. Enjoy.
He keeps his quiet place a secret from everybody else, save his parents. They’re the ones who brought him there when he was a boy, and taught him to skip rocks on the surface of the water. Now that he’s grown up, he doesn’t need them to take him there anymore. He’s an adult – he can go whenever he pleases. His parents understand why he enjoys going there so much, so they don’t discourage him.
Running underneath the overpass, tucked away within the trees, is a creek. Or maybe it’s a river. He’s not clear on the difference but it doesn’t really matter. Sometimes it’s one, sometimes the other, but what matters is that it’s there.
The riverbed is rocky, and stones cover the bank all the way back to the trees. Constant exposure to the sun overhead cooks them into a pale white, regardless of their original color. The darker ones haven’t spent as much time on land, and he enjoys going down to the creek after a storm to see how the rocks have been shaken up. They’re smooth enough to skip, and he spends a lot of time setting and breaking small records. He skipped one six times a while ago, and he’s been trying to replicate it ever since.
For some reason, he prefers the dreary days to the sunny ones. Days when the skies are gray, the wind is blowing, and the air hovers between being temperate and slightly nippy are the best days to him. He can’t explain why, but he thinks they’re comforting. Perhaps it’s the universality of those kind of days; if it’s gray for him, it’s gray for everybody. Or maybe he just likes the color of the sky those days. That’s probably a factor as well.
After skipping rocks for a while, he usually goes for a walk down the riverbank. Near his favorite skipping spot is a fallen tree. It’s been there for years, and it always looks the same to him, even though logically it should be rotting by now – perhaps that’s the nostalgia coloring his view. A ways past the tree, the creek widens into a definite river and swallows the riverbank, forcing him to start going through the trees. Fortunately, there’s a well-worn footpath running alongside the river that serves his purposes well. As he travels farther down the path, the riverbank inclines upward above the river, and the trees gradually thin out. This part of the river is especially beautiful come sunset, and when he was younger the sight of those last golden rays over the flora and the water made him think of Africa – or least, his vision of Africa.
He lives a good life, he thinks. His parents love him, he gets good grades, he isn’t popular (not to his knowledge) but he has friends, and he has hopes for the future. But the world is still a harsh place, and sometimes he needs to go somewhere to unwind after a difficult day. That’s why he cherishes his quiet place so dearly, why he keeps it close to his breast even though he’d risk little by showing it to others. They’ve probably already been by at least once before, anyway. But he’s fine with keeping it to himself for now. Maybe someday he’ll find somebody special, somebody he wouldn’t mind giving his life to. Somebody with whom he can share anything.
When that happens, he knows exactly what he’ll show them.
exercise in present tense. Enjoy.
He keeps his quiet place a secret from everybody else, save his parents. They’re the ones who brought him there when he was a boy, and taught him to skip rocks on the surface of the water. Now that he’s grown up, he doesn’t need them to take him there anymore. He’s an adult – he can go whenever he pleases. His parents understand why he enjoys going there so much, so they don’t discourage him.
Running underneath the overpass, tucked away within the trees, is a creek. Or maybe it’s a river. He’s not clear on the difference but it doesn’t really matter. Sometimes it’s one, sometimes the other, but what matters is that it’s there.
The riverbed is rocky, and stones cover the bank all the way back to the trees. Constant exposure to the sun overhead cooks them into a pale white, regardless of their original color. The darker ones haven’t spent as much time on land, and he enjoys going down to the creek after a storm to see how the rocks have been shaken up. They’re smooth enough to skip, and he spends a lot of time setting and breaking small records. He skipped one six times a while ago, and he’s been trying to replicate it ever since.
For some reason, he prefers the dreary days to the sunny ones. Days when the skies are gray, the wind is blowing, and the air hovers between being temperate and slightly nippy are the best days to him. He can’t explain why, but he thinks they’re comforting. Perhaps it’s the universality of those kind of days; if it’s gray for him, it’s gray for everybody. Or maybe he just likes the color of the sky those days. That’s probably a factor as well.
After skipping rocks for a while, he usually goes for a walk down the riverbank. Near his favorite skipping spot is a fallen tree. It’s been there for years, and it always looks the same to him, even though logically it should be rotting by now – perhaps that’s the nostalgia coloring his view. A ways past the tree, the creek widens into a definite river and swallows the riverbank, forcing him to start going through the trees. Fortunately, there’s a well-worn footpath running alongside the river that serves his purposes well. As he travels farther down the path, the riverbank inclines upward above the river, and the trees gradually thin out. This part of the river is especially beautiful come sunset, and when he was younger the sight of those last golden rays over the flora and the water made him think of Africa – or least, his vision of Africa.
He lives a good life, he thinks. His parents love him, he gets good grades, he isn’t popular (not to his knowledge) but he has friends, and he has hopes for the future. But the world is still a harsh place, and sometimes he needs to go somewhere to unwind after a difficult day. That’s why he cherishes his quiet place so dearly, why he keeps it close to his breast even though he’d risk little by showing it to others. They’ve probably already been by at least once before, anyway. But he’s fine with keeping it to himself for now. Maybe someday he’ll find somebody special, somebody he wouldn’t mind giving his life to. Somebody with whom he can share anything.
When that happens, he knows exactly what he’ll show them.
Friday, March 18, 2016
Concept Corner #8
Concept Corner #8 - Beckoning
In the time before time, there was only nothing... and the All and One, who reached into the nothing and formed it into reality. From the All and One came gods, who continued their creator's work, coming down from their plane of existence and bringing light and life to a desolate planet. Among this life, standing closer to the gods than any other, were humans.
But as humanity grew, the gods fell victim to infighting and grudges that escalated into all-out war. This war between the gods touched down onto the humans' soil... and they took up arms as well, to fight among some of the gods against the others.
Far from being proud, the gods were frightened at what the humans had done, how much they had grown. They feared the humans' capacity for further strength, and abandoned the plane of existence they had inhabited for so long, leaving the humans behind. Over millennia, the existence of the gods was forgotten, and humanity grew into many vast civilizations.
In the present day, the remnants of the gods have been rediscovered at last, and that discovery became a beacon - a call to the gods to return to the creations they had left long ago. But the old gods are not the only ones to heed the call, as old enemies and new ones emerge from their shadows once again to threaten the ones who locked them away...
This is another old idea I had. It's meant to be a story about a fictional pantheon of gods who come to their earth and form partnerships with humans by granting them some of their power. I was stuck on it for a while, but over spring break I made some great strides on the backstory and setting (it's not on our Earth, but I imagine it's on a planet much like ours in the modern day).
Duality plays a large role in this pantheon, and to that end each god or goddess represents a pair of diametrically opposed or complementary concepts (i.e. Emotions and Stillness, Creation and Sterility, Land and Sea, Sky and Forest, etc.) When coming to their earth, they disguise themselves as humans by granting one of those halves of power to a human, forming a bond with them in the process. The humans teach the gods about their civilization, and the gods act as companions, protectors, and possibly more.
This could open up a large number of possibilities, I imagine. What role would the concepts play in the gods' characters? Would being given these powers affect the humans somehow? How would the gods feel about their creations? What kind of enemies could there be - gods of other, more modern religions? Perhaps other creations of the gods, meant to replace humans but abandoned once the call to return came? It's so wonderful when an idea bears such fruit!
In the time before time, there was only nothing... and the All and One, who reached into the nothing and formed it into reality. From the All and One came gods, who continued their creator's work, coming down from their plane of existence and bringing light and life to a desolate planet. Among this life, standing closer to the gods than any other, were humans.
But as humanity grew, the gods fell victim to infighting and grudges that escalated into all-out war. This war between the gods touched down onto the humans' soil... and they took up arms as well, to fight among some of the gods against the others.
Far from being proud, the gods were frightened at what the humans had done, how much they had grown. They feared the humans' capacity for further strength, and abandoned the plane of existence they had inhabited for so long, leaving the humans behind. Over millennia, the existence of the gods was forgotten, and humanity grew into many vast civilizations.
In the present day, the remnants of the gods have been rediscovered at last, and that discovery became a beacon - a call to the gods to return to the creations they had left long ago. But the old gods are not the only ones to heed the call, as old enemies and new ones emerge from their shadows once again to threaten the ones who locked them away...
This is another old idea I had. It's meant to be a story about a fictional pantheon of gods who come to their earth and form partnerships with humans by granting them some of their power. I was stuck on it for a while, but over spring break I made some great strides on the backstory and setting (it's not on our Earth, but I imagine it's on a planet much like ours in the modern day).
Duality plays a large role in this pantheon, and to that end each god or goddess represents a pair of diametrically opposed or complementary concepts (i.e. Emotions and Stillness, Creation and Sterility, Land and Sea, Sky and Forest, etc.) When coming to their earth, they disguise themselves as humans by granting one of those halves of power to a human, forming a bond with them in the process. The humans teach the gods about their civilization, and the gods act as companions, protectors, and possibly more.
This could open up a large number of possibilities, I imagine. What role would the concepts play in the gods' characters? Would being given these powers affect the humans somehow? How would the gods feel about their creations? What kind of enemies could there be - gods of other, more modern religions? Perhaps other creations of the gods, meant to replace humans but abandoned once the call to return came? It's so wonderful when an idea bears such fruit!
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Where I'm From
I'm from a musical interrupted halfway through for a life-changing event.
I'm from childhood innocence, or perhaps obliviousness would be a better term for me.
I'm from fishing in a pond at the park, and never being able to stomach unhooking the fish.
I'm from learning to ride my bike on the tennis courts and always falling down, only to finally figure it out. I'm still not sure how.
I'm from waking up early on Saturdays to watch cartoons. Lilo and Stitch was my favorite.
I'm from seeing the same people at school, always lingering at the edge of my sight and occasionally crossing fully into my vision.
I'm from long visits up to South Bend in the chilly north, where the rest of my kin live.
I'm from buttons and joysticks, bright colors and fun.
I'm from slipping on a white gi and burning katas into my mind.
I'm from tickling the ebonies and ivories.
I'm from blowing into the same alto saxophone that my sister used to play.
I'm from collections of old Calvin and Hobbes comic strips.
I'm from learning just how my autism sets me apart from others.
I'm from sitting at the lunch table, watching people laugh together.
I'm from playing around with computers in my Tech class.
I'm from snowball fights and forts with the neighborhood kids.
I'm also from watching those same kids grow older alongside myself.
I'm from voyages into a much larger city than my own, and watching it grow smaller in recent days.
I'm from jumping up and down on my old trampoline in the warm weather.
I'm from watching anime in my high school club.
I'm from lingering feelings of dissatisfaction, vainly ignored.
I'm from coming undone after lying to myself for too long.
I'm from getting better, finding the answers I need.
I'm from somehow not minding the greatest challenge still before me.
I'm from standing up and facing the future.
I'm from childhood innocence, or perhaps obliviousness would be a better term for me.
I'm from fishing in a pond at the park, and never being able to stomach unhooking the fish.
I'm from learning to ride my bike on the tennis courts and always falling down, only to finally figure it out. I'm still not sure how.
I'm from waking up early on Saturdays to watch cartoons. Lilo and Stitch was my favorite.
I'm from seeing the same people at school, always lingering at the edge of my sight and occasionally crossing fully into my vision.
I'm from long visits up to South Bend in the chilly north, where the rest of my kin live.
I'm from buttons and joysticks, bright colors and fun.
I'm from slipping on a white gi and burning katas into my mind.
I'm from tickling the ebonies and ivories.
I'm from blowing into the same alto saxophone that my sister used to play.
I'm from collections of old Calvin and Hobbes comic strips.
I'm from learning just how my autism sets me apart from others.
I'm from sitting at the lunch table, watching people laugh together.
I'm from playing around with computers in my Tech class.
I'm from snowball fights and forts with the neighborhood kids.
I'm also from watching those same kids grow older alongside myself.
I'm from voyages into a much larger city than my own, and watching it grow smaller in recent days.
I'm from jumping up and down on my old trampoline in the warm weather.
I'm from watching anime in my high school club.
I'm from lingering feelings of dissatisfaction, vainly ignored.
I'm from coming undone after lying to myself for too long.
I'm from getting better, finding the answers I need.
I'm from somehow not minding the greatest challenge still before me.
I'm from standing up and facing the future.
Saturday, March 12, 2016
The turning hands
So, spring break's almost over. It seemed to move a lot faster once I hit the halfway point - before then there was still plenty of time for things, but after? Everything blurred by. I wonder if it's like that for a lot of people. Wouldn't surprise me.
Can you believe there's literally less than two months left in the school year? About half of March left, then all of April, then a week in May, and that's it. And here I am, still lacking a summer internship. I'll have to dedicate some time to that in the coming weeks.
What are you guys planning to do over the summer? I'm hoping for my internship, of course, but I also want to get my driver's license if I have time, and maybe even start working on my first book. I'm going to be busy - odd how I don't seem to mind. Hopefully you all have big plans as well.
Can you believe there's literally less than two months left in the school year? About half of March left, then all of April, then a week in May, and that's it. And here I am, still lacking a summer internship. I'll have to dedicate some time to that in the coming weeks.
What are you guys planning to do over the summer? I'm hoping for my internship, of course, but I also want to get my driver's license if I have time, and maybe even start working on my first book. I'm going to be busy - odd how I don't seem to mind. Hopefully you all have big plans as well.
Thursday, March 10, 2016
Concept Corner #7
Concept Corner #7 - Lucidity
A YA series about a group of people with the power to enter people's dreams and manipulate them to solve problems.
This is one of my earlier story ideas, but it's not particularly developed as of yet. I have a vague image of it - kind of Harry Potter-esque, although I'm not sure what kind of setting would suit the story best without being too unoriginal. Harry Potter has an academy, Percy Jackson has a summer camp... what kind of setting could I apply to this? A civilization within the dream world itself, perhaps?
A YA series about a group of people with the power to enter people's dreams and manipulate them to solve problems.
This is one of my earlier story ideas, but it's not particularly developed as of yet. I have a vague image of it - kind of Harry Potter-esque, although I'm not sure what kind of setting would suit the story best without being too unoriginal. Harry Potter has an academy, Percy Jackson has a summer camp... what kind of setting could I apply to this? A civilization within the dream world itself, perhaps?
Monday, March 7, 2016
My double spring break
So as Mrs. Homan knows for sure - I'm not sure how many other people who read this - I had to miss the week preceding spring break to get some surgery done on my jaw. I've had an underbite since as long as I can remember, and my family has been working to make my teeth look better for almost a decade now.
In middle school and maybe high school, I had braces - only on my top teeth, since my lower jaw was still growing. It didn't stop until maybe my junior or senior year of high school. I got the braces off for my first year of college, then got them back on for my top and bottom teeth (for symmetry's sake, I suspect) the next summer.
Exactly one week ago, I was in the operating room under anesthesia with a bunch of tubes down my throat while the surgeons broke and realigned my jaw. They screwed a couple of bolts into the sides to keep it in place. As far as I can tell, those bolts will be in my skull long after the bones heal. The operating room was cold, but the people in it were nice, so that was a comfort.
When I woke up maybe four or five hours later, my jaw was banded shut and I had an icepack wrapped around my head and a mask blowing moist air to help my sinuses. My face was heavily swollen, my throat stung like needles (from both dryness and the tubes from the surgery), and my nose and mouth bled everytime I tried to sit up.
My parents were there, though, and they remained there while I tried to relax and suck water, Sprite, and apple juice through my teeth to soothe my throat. I stayed in the recovery room overnight, during which time I used the bathroom a lot from all the fluids, tried to read a couple of books, and cried a lot more than I thought I would.
Now I'm home, and the swelling has gone down enough for me to go from all liquids to nonchewables. Good for me. It's been tough, but I'd like to think I survived well. Hopefully I'll be back to situation normal in time.
In middle school and maybe high school, I had braces - only on my top teeth, since my lower jaw was still growing. It didn't stop until maybe my junior or senior year of high school. I got the braces off for my first year of college, then got them back on for my top and bottom teeth (for symmetry's sake, I suspect) the next summer.
Exactly one week ago, I was in the operating room under anesthesia with a bunch of tubes down my throat while the surgeons broke and realigned my jaw. They screwed a couple of bolts into the sides to keep it in place. As far as I can tell, those bolts will be in my skull long after the bones heal. The operating room was cold, but the people in it were nice, so that was a comfort.
When I woke up maybe four or five hours later, my jaw was banded shut and I had an icepack wrapped around my head and a mask blowing moist air to help my sinuses. My face was heavily swollen, my throat stung like needles (from both dryness and the tubes from the surgery), and my nose and mouth bled everytime I tried to sit up.
My parents were there, though, and they remained there while I tried to relax and suck water, Sprite, and apple juice through my teeth to soothe my throat. I stayed in the recovery room overnight, during which time I used the bathroom a lot from all the fluids, tried to read a couple of books, and cried a lot more than I thought I would.
Now I'm home, and the swelling has gone down enough for me to go from all liquids to nonchewables. Good for me. It's been tough, but I'd like to think I survived well. Hopefully I'll be back to situation normal in time.
Quota
Screen glows, charges.
A blue sea behind trailed with wispy white.
tap-click-click-tap
Gray and white page, tabbed on top with five others.
A white 'B' in an orange square.
Scroll, scroll.
Time to view the Memories of a friend.
click
New tab.
Green grass and blue sky pattern. White worded name.
Below, words from the bard.
Admiration. Amusement.
Submit thoughts and click out.
click
A cosmic Symphony.
Musings on a dark map.
Destination? Unverifiable.
Docks and flowers. Land and sea. Familiar words.
Then, unfamiliar with the familiar.
Land and sea converge.
Close enough to brush fingertips...
And then away again.
Memories. Vivid thoughts.
Thoughts spoken. Moving on.
click
Down a new Highway.
A window frames a mountain.
Rain flecks.
The room fills with questions, dark thoughts.
Shadows staining a bright light from within.
Demons cry from a formless mass in a locked cage.
And then, a question.
And a painful answer.
A curtain that almost closed but was drawn back.
Shock. Sadness. Understanding.
Darker feelings.
Response - inadequate?
click
Two comments asked for. Four given.
Quota has been met.
What words will this Stone sing?
Three posts asked for.
One.
Quota unmet.
A blue sea behind trailed with wispy white.
tap-click-click-tap
Gray and white page, tabbed on top with five others.
A white 'B' in an orange square.
Scroll, scroll.
Time to view the Memories of a friend.
click
New tab.
Green grass and blue sky pattern. White worded name.
Below, words from the bard.
Admiration. Amusement.
Submit thoughts and click out.
click
A cosmic Symphony.
Musings on a dark map.
Destination? Unverifiable.
Docks and flowers. Land and sea. Familiar words.
Then, unfamiliar with the familiar.
Land and sea converge.
Close enough to brush fingertips...
And then away again.
Memories. Vivid thoughts.
Thoughts spoken. Moving on.
click
Down a new Highway.
A window frames a mountain.
Rain flecks.
The room fills with questions, dark thoughts.
Shadows staining a bright light from within.
Demons cry from a formless mass in a locked cage.
And then, a question.
And a painful answer.
A curtain that almost closed but was drawn back.
Shock. Sadness. Understanding.
Darker feelings.
Response - inadequate?
click
Two comments asked for. Four given.
Quota has been met.
What words will this Stone sing?
Three posts asked for.
One.
Quota unmet.
Friday, March 4, 2016
How middle school drama club relates to my present-day life
We're all the main characters in our own stories, right? Isn't that how most people see it?
So when other people show up, sometimes we tend to view them as side characters. Not necessarily unimportant, but not as important as we are.
I don't think that's entirely anybody's fault, though. We can only empathize with other people so much - we can't really understand them the same way we understand ourselves. So we can't call them main characters by the definition of the phrase which we use to define ourselves as main characters. Perhaps 'deuteragonist' would be a better term, in contrast to our 'protagonist.' Still important, but not as central.
Still, it's interesting how every now and then, a supporting character shows up who doesn't stay so minor. Maybe they become your best friend. Maybe your significant other. Perhaps both. But what is it about the direction of our lives that dictates who plays a supporting role and who turns out to be so much more important?
And then there are some people - I don't know any personally, but I'm sure they exist - who identify themselves more as a supporting character than a main character. I feel that way sometimes, but I try to regard myself as a protagonist. Maybe a protagonist in-training, at this point.
Anyway, I think life would be a whole lot more lonely if it was split solely into main characters and side characters. It would make people a lot harder to identify with and care about. I wonder who I know who could become a deuteragonist. Maybe they already are and I'm not aware of it.
So when other people show up, sometimes we tend to view them as side characters. Not necessarily unimportant, but not as important as we are.
I don't think that's entirely anybody's fault, though. We can only empathize with other people so much - we can't really understand them the same way we understand ourselves. So we can't call them main characters by the definition of the phrase which we use to define ourselves as main characters. Perhaps 'deuteragonist' would be a better term, in contrast to our 'protagonist.' Still important, but not as central.
Still, it's interesting how every now and then, a supporting character shows up who doesn't stay so minor. Maybe they become your best friend. Maybe your significant other. Perhaps both. But what is it about the direction of our lives that dictates who plays a supporting role and who turns out to be so much more important?
And then there are some people - I don't know any personally, but I'm sure they exist - who identify themselves more as a supporting character than a main character. I feel that way sometimes, but I try to regard myself as a protagonist. Maybe a protagonist in-training, at this point.
Anyway, I think life would be a whole lot more lonely if it was split solely into main characters and side characters. It would make people a lot harder to identify with and care about. I wonder who I know who could become a deuteragonist. Maybe they already are and I'm not aware of it.
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