A cozy song for winter nights

I've always loved the music from Kirby's Epic Yarn. It's a game that's getting up there in years now, but the music is still some of the most soothing I've heard from a video game. Can you just imagine snuggling up next to a fire with a song like this on the radio?

XOR

"One half of knowing what you want is knowing what you must give up before you get it." - Sidney Howard

There are times when I look at my dream of becoming an author and feel like it's more trouble than it's worth. Today has been one of those times, and it's turning out to be an extended episode. I suppose what's good for TV shows really isn't good for people with anxiety.

I listen to a podcast - Writing Excuses - where a small group of authors, including one of my favorites, gets together and discusses a certain part of the writing process. I make a point of listening to and taking notes on a few episodes a day. For example, today's episodes were about writing endings, using story formulas, and plotting along the three-act structure. The thing is, I really am learning some great stuff from this podcast, but from listening to it I'm starting to realize what a Herculean task becoming an author is going to be ("Herculean" - that's a fun word). There's a lot of aspects that have me troubled, but one in particular has been bothering me for an upsettingly long time.

In at least one episode, the writers were talking about how when you become an author, you will almost certainly have to give something else up, at least for a while. For me, it seems as though that something will be my fanfictions. I've been writing fanfics for the past three years or so, and reading them for even longer, and I'm working on a couple right now. The problem is that fanfictions, due to their non-mandatory nature, are frequently left unfinished by their authors - not all of them are, but a lot of them. It's always upset me when a story I really like is ended prematurely, or when a story I'd like to get into turns out to be abandoned; I don't like reading stories if I know they'll never reach a satisfying conclusion.

But as things are, I might wind up becoming one of those authors who has to turn his back on his fan stories to create his own original works. I don't want to be, and I'd like to avoid that if possible - and I know I can, I've met at least one author who's writing both fanfiction and original works simultaneously - but I'm not sure if that would work out for me.

I guess I'm just down, is all. Have any of you guys ever had to choose between two things you loved? It's a lot harder than I realized.

(Also, for those wondering, the title of this journal refers to a logic gate that's only true if one but not both of the inputs is true - in other words, one or the other but not both. It seemed fitting.)

Concept Corner #3

Concept Corner #3 - Daemonium
A delinquent stumbles upon a strange key that unlocks a mysterious, magical library underneath the one in town - a library frequented and staffed by monsters, demons, and other creatures from stories and mythologies. The main character, upon being discovered, is set to work at this strange library, making sure the books stay on their shelves and the characters inside don't get any bright ideas...

This would probably be a teen series. It would draw a lot of inspiration both from existing stories as well as from my imagination - a mix of familiar and not-so-familiar. I don't know yet what kind of existing stories I would focus on if I ever write this - they'd have to be public domain, and ideally something not done to death just yet (so with Rick Riordan's hold on the mythologies, for example, it'd be difficult to use those in an original and non-derivative manner). Arabian Nights, maybe...?

(Edit: Now that it's on my mind, the Arabian Nights would make an awesome theme. The main character could be related to Scheherazade or something. I don't think the idea's been overdone yet - or maybe even done at all - and I'd have plenty of characters and stories to draw from. Don't you just love the rush a good story idea gives you?)

Creative Writing - Short Story #2

Because I like the idea of posting my work in Creative Writing on here for all to see, I figured I'd throw this up next - another short non-fiction story in the same vein as my Notre Dame story from a while back. It's a little more personal than that one, but the subject matter is something I've been ruminating on for a while now and I couldn't resist the opportunity to get it down on paper. I hope it's to your satisfaction. 

_________________________________________________________________________________

Jacob Biggs

My Mind

            When I was young, my books taught me that time moved in a line – a timeline, as they say. You walk to the right, then look back to the left where everything that’s come before has been organized in a linear fashion. I never thought too hard about it, because it never seemed important. But recently I came to a realization – one that still isn't important but which is much more apt.

            My mind isn't a timeline. It's not a line in the ground that I can walk down, look back and see my life behind me in neat, reverse chronological order.

            Instead, I'm standing next to it, looking at its side. And it’s not a line but a brick wall.

            My memories are all graffiti drawings. They're painted on the side of the wall – the side I can see – in shapes and colors of varying size, vividness, and the like. Every new memory adds a new drawing. The basest drawings in this wall are of the important things I learned while I was young – like how to ride a bike, how to spell and talk and read, manners, and my name and the names of people in my family. These memories are me. Without all of these base memories (or core memories, to use a term from Inside Out), I wouldn't function properly, and all of the other memories painted over them would flake off without a base to keep them on the wall. Sometimes a more recent memory sinks into the back and joins these core memories, but this is uncommon; most of these painted memories remain on the front layer.

            But this wall has been a canvas for two decades now, and it’s gotten cluttered, and so the drawings all overlap and replace each other. As one drawing gets smothered by other, newer drawings, it becomes harder for me to recall it. Sometimes, however, a bit of the original drawing manages to show through the new – like an older coat of paint under a new, different hue. Annoyingly, these lingering drawings tend to be ones that I'd rather keep buried – particularly ones where I screw up and get into trouble. New memories are never not being painted, to the effect that what should be a static piece of art is more like a film – always in motion without a second of stillness.

            Also, like I mentioned earlier, these drawings are all very different, not just in design but in longevity. I have certain memories that start to fade almost as soon as they've happened, and some that are almost entirely gone, like most of what I've learned in Chinese class (dui bu qi, Yuan Lao Shi he Jiang Lao Shi. I did my best). Others tend to be much more long-lasting (such as jokes from various TV shows, that Backstreet Boys song I've had off and on in my head for the past two months or so, the names of every Cybertronian character in Transformers: Prime – I could keep going). I can never know, when I'm in the middle of gaining a memory, whether it will be longer-lasting or disappear sooner. Only by looking back later can I figure that out.

            Also, because I'm standing away from the wall, and it's going away from me in both directions, my perception of time is a little jumbled when it comes to the past – even the recent past. I can tell with relative ease when something happened, whether it came before or after something else, but that doesn't play a huge role in my thought process; it's more relevant that it did happen, rather than when. The details tend to be rather foggy upon recollection, as well. There are days when I can’t even remember what I had for lunch a few hours after the event.

            All of this adds up to a living and constantly evolving painting – arguably more an organism than a work of art – that somehow embodies me as a whole, the entirety of which I'm never allowed to see because it stretches on so far and because much of it is buried under other aspects of me that are always being added on.

            That's probably for the best, though. I have a feeling that I'd lose my mind if I ever saw the whole thing at once. I can be satisfied with only a partial snapshot, as long as I get some say in what comprises it. 

My arms feel like paper bags now

So I just got back from Tabata class, and I think the title of this post speaks for itself.

A quick bit of backstory: I haven't been getting as much exercise these days as I used to, because it's cold outside and my daily allotment of exercise usually consists of walks around campus. I've tried using machines - i.e. steppers or treadmills - but those have never done it for me. I don't feel right working out on them.

Around the start of this week, I saw an ad for Tabata classes every Thursday this month, and I figured it'd be a nice way to get in some working out for the month. I had no idea what I was getting into.

As it turns out - and I didn't realize this because I didn't bother looking it up - Tabata is a form of high-intensity interval training, consisting of 20 seconds of incredibly intense workouts alternated with 10-second rest periods for either a set time or number of cycles. It was far beyond anything I had expected, and judging by the comments by the other people there I wasn't alone.

Now I'm worried about when my muscles are going to give out - I heard somebody mention in two days, which would be nice because it'd mean I wouldn't miss classes tomorrow. Figured I might as well get my blog posts in while I can still lift my arms. I'll keep you all updated on how I'm feeling over the next few days.

For now, on a scale of one to ten of exhaustion, I'd say I'm about a three, but I've had time to relax a little. I might have been a four a little while ago.

It moves so quickly, doesn't it?

Can you believe it's February already? It feels like the school year started just yesterday. 

Time's a funny thing, isn't it? In the middle of things they feel so long, but looking back you really realize how short most of life is. They say life's really short, but when you think about it life's actually the longest thing you'll ever experience. It's just broken up into so many smaller things that all go by so quickly. 

It's like a school project - you get the whole thing at once, but broken down into chunks it goes by more easily. Life works the same way. 

Funny, I didn't expect to think about this before I sat down and started writing. Sometimes it's surprising where the mind goes when you let it wander, right?

Tortoise and hare

Last Saturday, as some people on campus know, I sprained my ankle real bad. It's been healing ever since - I can put weight on it now - but I've still got some ways to go. I went to the health center on campus yesterday, and thankfully there isn't a fracture or anything, but it's still a bit of a nuisance. You never really realize how much you use certain parts of your body until you injure them. I've heard that this is especially true with your ribs.

So I walk with a limp now, at least until my foot's better. I have to keep it turned outward when I walk or else it feels tight and I can only take small steps; I'm a little worried that's going to have a lasting effect. I can't run either, because that puts too much pressure onto my ankle. That's especially annoying because for whatever reason I really enjoy running. 

I'm not sure why that is, but I like to run everywhere. I have a hard time making myself walk to places, even if I'm not in a hurry. I guess I get bored somewhere along the way and want to move a little faster. It's good exercise if nothing else. 

But I can't do that anymore until my ankle's healed up. Boo. Hopefully it doesn't take too long.