Why am I awake?

Actually, the title of this post is a rhetorical question. I now exactly why I'm awake. I think. Mostly... Let me explain.

I'm still up now because my cinnamon bread is about to go in the oven. I was still up before because, at about 2:30, I decided: hey, since I'm up, why don't I make bread for bible study and puppets? (puppeteers, actually, but whatever) Before that, though? I'm not really sure. I was probably up because everyone one else was, but I don't think that's really reason enough. Is it?

Lately, this has been happening alarmingly often. It's like I have second hand insomnia, which I must say is quite annoying. It's one thing to stay up when no one else is awake, to listen to the house creak and the wind blow, to let my imagination run wild. On nights like those, I write like a madmen; although, sometimes I clean and brood. But when EVERYONE stays up late... Then I end up sitting around eavesdropping, or listening to music by myself; either way, I'm not doing much productive. (I think I may be over using semi-colons here? I don't even know anymore. It seems the tireder (Is that even a word?) I get, the sloppier my sentence structuring becomes. Or maybe that's just my imagination.) This actually how I seem to be whenever I'm in the presence of people: I lurk in the background—doing general lurky things—whilst trying not to be noticed. At times, it's extremely frustrating. Especially when I'm actually trying to interact, but failing…

And that paragraph got away from me. It should probably be broken up. Or cut up. My internal editor isn't on the clock this late—probably one of the reasons writing is so productive when I'm up by myself.

Anyway, the fact is I am awake, and I am baking. In fact, if you'll excuse me one scend… There, bread is in the oven! Mmmm, if only you could smell what I'm smelling.

What else? 3 more hours and church starts!

Is there even a point to this post?

Methinks not.

Good morning—or night, as the case may be.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Taking Time

So obviously I'm not very good at this blogging thing, especially keeping to a schedule. (Which might be why I have so few readers, most of whom are probably family—if they even bother with it.) But that isn't discouraging. I know the best way to get at something is to practice.

Anyway, IT'S SNOWING!!!!!!  ALL THE FEELS!!! Yes, I know I just used all caps and multiple exclamation points, and I know it's annoying(at least to me), but there was no other way to express my excitement. I've been waiting for this snow forever, so: thanks, God!!!!

This day has actually been double delight awesome. Square-tailed cat awesome (shh, It's a thing.) The hustle bustle and wonderful joy of Advent and Christmas have been slightly subdued, but are still lingering. And new years is fast approaching. So, I needed to recharge my batteries. I didn't realize this consciously, of course, but I needed to nonetheless. I've been working, I haven't been writing, I haven't been exercising, I haven't been reading the Bible as often as I should… Life was spinning out of control, and I was in the backseat.

So, when fifth brother asked if I wanted to take a walk, I agreed. He went to his girlfriend's house, and I carried on to the park just down the street. I'd never been there before, and new parks awesome to explore.

There was a barely visible foot path leading into the woods, a fallen tree that led over a small gully. I spent an hour or so there, trudging around in the woods searching for clues, dodging patrols, reconning, and talking to Sí—the imagination games I used to play often, but don't have much time for anymore. I climbed trees. I acted like a complete madman, and loved it.

I discovered the magic I'd been missing for so long.

After I was too tired to carry on(and someone else showed up at the park), I started the long walk back. As I was going, I got to thinking about how blessed my life really is. How I've been taking everything for granted, especially the wonderful gift that Christ is to this world. I haven't let life get in the way of my joy—that's just an excuse. I've merely forgotten the reason I'm alive.

If you're like me, then the holiday season is almost as stressful as it is joyful. And throughout the merrymaking, you might forget the reason for merrymaking. It's not gifts, it's not family, it's not holiday vacation; although, all those are good reasons to be happy. No, it's God. God was born into this world as a man. He died on cross, rising from the dead so that our sins would be forgiven. He is why we are joyful this holiday season. He is the reason for gift-giving and getting together with friends and family. So I suggest you take a moment out of all the festivities, sit back, and give thanks privately. Count your blessings, and see what God has done for you. And have fun.

Merry Christmas, and a happy new year to you all.

Go mbeanaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Book List 2012

Yes, I am actually back, just not as soon as I thought. My last post wasn't simply me messing with internets (no, really. I promise.). But my poor time management skills have sucked away the time I had originally intended to put towards new posts.

Anyway, explanation is not the purpose of this post. No, this post is about my favorite books read this year (2012, for anyone who doesn't use the gregorian calendrical system.)

So, without further rambling, I present my "Book List, 2012," which may or may not be complete.

1. Thieftaker, by D. B. Jackson. Although this book came out in July, I came to it late (Octoberish?). This is the first book of a new urban historical fantasy series set in pre-revolution colonial boston. Yes, it's as awesome as it sounds. And if it doesn't sound awesome... what's wrong with you? The author, David B. Coe, is stealthily publishing these books under the assumed identity D. B. Jackson. It's called author branding, or something like that (sounds sketchy to me. And Painful.) Anyway, regardless of the name he uses, this book has reaffirmed him as one of my favorite authors.
2. This is actually two books, neither of which  came out in 2012. The Name of the Wind, and The Wise Man's Fear, both by Patrick Rothfuss. These were my september books, which I devoured in the course of two weekends. These two books are absolutely brilliant—fantasy at it's finest. If you like fantasy and somehow haven't read them, pick them up.
3. Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. I picked this book up in may, I think, and was quickly disappointed I'd never read it before. Somehow, I'd watched the BBC miniseries twice with my older sister without reading the book. Jane Austen's satire is delicious and, as shown by the fabulous Lizzie Bennet Diaries, can be applied to the 21st century.
4. Bakuman, by Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata (authors of Death Note).  Over the span of this year, I have read the first 14 volumes twice. The series follows Moritaka Mashiro and Akito Takagi on their quest to become manga artists. As an aspiring author, this may be may favorite shõnen manga.
5. Miki Falls, by Mark Crilley. Another graphic novel series, this one by the Crill-Master Mark himself. If you haven't already, check out his how to draw videos. I discovered this series at my local library back in January, and read them then. Unfortunately I have not yet had the chance to read Brody's Ghost, but seeing as the world is not ending on friday, I still have time.

And that's all for today. I'm running out of time, so I need to wrap this up There are probably some things I'm forgetting, but these are my top 5 (that I can remember).

In case I don't come back in time, have a Merry Christmas this year.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

12/12/12

December 12... NaNoWriMo, Thanksgiving, the beginning of Advent, and dozens of other significant happenings all happened without a single peep on this blog. I have been absent longer, and to a greater degree, than I had intended. But that is the way of things: the longer I go without doing something, the harder it is to get back into it.

But back into it I will get, and in time for Christmas, too. :) Yes, I use emoticons. Occasionally. So what? I'm just rambling here because I don't actually have a subject.

Anyway, 12/12/12. Cool…

While I was gone, I realized that I haven't been doing much wondering or wandering, at least,  not on my blog. So I'll try to get back to doing those things.

I've also realized that I could very easily go on doing nothing but music post. In fact, I  could probably do three posts a week. But not on this blog, no. I will start a second blog dedicated to music—which I will link to just as soon as I actually get around to creating it.

What else… Middle sister's back in town! (and now, because I never told you she was gone—or, even, that she exists(if my memory serves me correctly)—you are really confused (and that last sentence was a mess)) She was down in Arkansas helping out our grandmother, but now she is back. This is especially cool because she is my main writing buddy/proof reader.

Anyway. I'm rambling. I should probably stop before I reveal any classified secrets. ;) Yes, I haven't slept very much recently.

So goodnight and farewell (for the time being).

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Explanation of Absence

So I didn't get around to posting last week. I've been dreadfully busy with house work, work work, writing work, parkour/conditioning work, and self-education. And a friend is back in town until the 31st(day after tomorrow). And I've been trying to get out more to enjoy this wonderful fall weather. And NaNoWriMo is looming ever closer on the horizon—it's almost on top of me now.

Unfortunately, there are only so many hours in a day, and posting seems to have drawn the short straw. Along with sleep. My apologies.

I don't want to, but I might have put posting on hiatus until after NaNoWriMo. At the very least I'll have to stop until the current phase of housework is over.

Again, my apologies. I'll try to think down some ideas for posts.

In the mean time, heres a nifty webcomic you can waste your time on (don't worry, the art gets better.)

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Writing Progress Report

I was supposed to post this earlier, today, but for some reason I just didn't get around too it… oh well. It's not midnight yet. It's not late. (nodd) Though if I keep mistyping, it will be.

Okay, let me tell you how this is going to work. Come November, I'll be posting Weekly wordcounts for NaNoWriMo and talking about what I've written. Probably.

In the meantime, though, I'll use this to keep track of projects started and (hopefully) finished. I'll post progress wordcounts as I go, too.

Alrigh, now that it's explained…

Project's Began: 0 (nothing new)

Projects Continued:

Artificial —  This is the story of an artificial human who is found by love and escapes the bonds of slavery. It's cliched, but alos Sci-fi.  I like it, and that's all that matters at the moment.

1,100 new words, all written it one sitting directly after reading a Magical Words post (seriously, that blog is awesome, as are all the authors on it. Go see for yourself, I'll wait.) It brings the total word count up to 2,100. Another 2-4 thousand words to go, I think.

 Escape — This is another personal piece — I'm not even sure how to begin explaining it. I got inspired by running barefoot and coatless through a thunderstorm. That night, with it's awesome lightning flashes, hail, and sharp concrete (ouch) pretty much set the opening scene. Now I'm just exploring with my imagination.

Roughly 300 new words, written in a night of desperate war against writer's block. Victory, however small. Total word count: 7,300. Exactly.

Hick's Wood

This isn't so much a story as a series of vaguely story like ideas and random scenes. It's about this magic infested forest place—Hick's Wood—which is in part due to Old Man Hick (I know, I suck at names. I'll probably save them later on.), a slightly mad super-magician with more power than is probably good for anyone. Magical and malign creatures are drawn to this forest, partly because of him, and partly because of the natural magic—the same reason Hick makes his home there.

Hick employs a force of rangers, the Wardens, to protect the forest from invaders and invaders from the forest. These are ordinary (well, almost ordinary) men and women who have been armed with training and whatever magic they can get their hands on…

Yeah, I could go on for quite some time with this last project, but I probably shouldn't. And I don't have the time if I want to get this posted while it's still sunday here.

360 words, written while tired and feeling slightly sick (I'd skipped a meal or two. One of the many risks of being a cliched absent minded creative type. I'm totally re-rolling myself as a dashing rogue.) Another complete scene, but a random one. Evil unicorns.

Total word count: ? Um, I'm not really sure. I have two or three scenes floating about, dealing with different monsters, and another longer thing following on one of the Wardens.

And that's all. Hope I didn't bore you too much.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Friday Music Post Reboot #1

So, keeping to schedule, here's a post about music.

Last night I was watching music video's, and one of them I watched just happens to be a favourite from a few years ago (and one of my theme songs), so I thought I'd share it.

Billy Currignton's people are crazy:

This song has three truths. First, God is great; second, beer is good; and third, people are crazy.

Some people are against alcohol, and I understand that, but it isn't alcohol that's evil—Christ himself turned water into wine. It's the drinking to excess that's sinful. All good things can be misused.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this song as much as I do. In the words of Mark Crilley, "I'll be back with another one… real soon."

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Busy — Setting a Schedule.

Apparently, I'm too busy to maintain a blog with any regularity. This really isn't being surprising to me, what with work, writing, NaNoWriMo coming up, music, familial obligations, sword practice, lack of sleep, etc. It doesn't help that I never actually had a schedule, choosing instead to post whenever I felt like it.

So, if I want to keep this blog alive—and some small part of me that does (though I don't know why)—then I need a plan; though, planning goes against all my instincts. (Wow, that last sentence was a mess. Sorry.)

Anyway, the friday music posts I used to do were the closest I ever came to schedule, so I'll revive them. Additionally, I'll try to do writing progress reports on alternating sundays because, if I put up my progress for all to see, hopefully I'll be motivated to write more. I don't think I'll be able to post much more than that, but I promise I'll try to come up with something creative and/or interesting to post at least once a week.

If anyone actually reads this blog, then I apologize for my sporadic output. I'll try to do better in the future. But feel free to berate me anyway. I like being reminded of my flaws—it reminds me I'm still human.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Late…

I'm late. I meant to post something a couple days ago, but… Best laid plans don't always work out, and it's difficult to keep a non-existantant schedule. And I don't know what to post about. I had a couple interesting ideas, but have since lost the thread.

So, have some muddled thoughts.

 I'd fallen into a recent slump, writing wise, as I've had difficulty putting my B in C. After a few days of writing nothing, it got to the point that I started to worry if I could create with the same creativity and skill I had before. I worried that I'd ruin my projects if I tried working on them. If you've ever been in this sort of mental state, you have my sympathies.

Inorder to fix myself, my sleeping schedule had to take the bullet. I sat down around my normal bedtime, said a short prayer, and dove write in. I had a vague idea of the next scene I needed, a memory of what came before it, and the trust that, even if it was crap, I'd be able to fix it later.

It worked.

I looked up after the scene was finished, and found it to be three hours later. I'd written about three hundred words. That's slow, extremely so, but it still made me happy. It reminded me that whatever worries I had keeping me from writing, they would melt away the moment I started stringing sentences together.

Rather like now.

I don't know if you'll walk away with anything after reading this; I don't care if you do read this. Sometimes you just need to forget about your cares and write. Look in a mirrior and see the story, not yourself. It feels better than beating yourself up. Trust me.


Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

NaNoWriMo

So, we're in October now… I knew NaNoWrimo was drawing closer, but it still managed to sneak up on me. Just one more month of freedom before my mind melts in the chaotic frenzy of writerly abandon.

This will be my third year battling the novel demons. I hope for triumph, but I never really know what's going to happen until it's happened.

In 2011, I went with carefully laid plans. I lead an army of loyal characters, men and women armed with a plethora of strengths, weaknesses, and conflicts. I armoured myself with a plot of epic proportions (for me, atleast), and took up the sword of language. But even the best laid plans go to hell once the combat starts.

For the first fifteen thousand words, victory seemed assured. But the enemy was crafty; he turned my characters and plots against me. Amidst growing doubts, I floundered onwards. I refused to give in, but my desperate actions only dug me deeper. After 30K of hard fighting I was forced to face defeat.

I'd killed my story…

Yet, despite that, I can still remember my first NaNo. I remember how bodly I strode, a prayer my only weapon, daring the winds to stop me. Oh, how I wrote recklessly. Words rewarded my courage, giving me more than I had thought possible. I conquered.

So, then, this year is the tie breaker. This year makes or breaks my NaNoing soul… Except it doesn't, because I know that, in this game, one win is worth the suffering of a dozen losses.

So, win or lose, I will continue NaNo. I will continue to write, even if a prayer is all that drives my pen, even if Christ is all I have left. Because when it comes down to it, Christ is all I need.

Are you up to the challenge? Will you walk with us into the shadows? NaNoWriMo is a month away, but the time to prepare, if preparation suits you, is now.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

My Return

First, I'd just like to say that, like in the Monty Python, "I am not yet dead."

Yes, I know I've been away from this blog for ages, but there were many reasons for that. Reasons which, if I were to put them all down, would likely bore you to death. As I wouldn't want to be charged with homicide, accidental or otherwise, I'm going to skip that portion of my return party.

Suffice to say: I thought about just letting this blog thing fall to the wayside permanently, but have since decided to attempt resuscitation—if it be possible.

Now then, we can move on to subjects of import—or lack of import, depending on how you look at it. (passes out appropriate paper-and-ink party hats and bacon)

Story Crafting (Or: This is the part where I bore you with what I've been up too.)

Recently, I haven't been writing much—at least as far as word counts are concerned. A pithy thousand words a week I now consider a triumph. And yet, with my current WiP—Work in Progress, for all you non-writers that might stumble across this blog—I feel like that is enough. This is because I've changed my approach.

Once upon a time, I wrote what I thought was cool without paying much mind to the craft; now, though, I've begun to explore forms, to find my own limits and push them in a pursuit of mastery. (I hope that last doesn't make me sound like a maniacal villain)

Which brings us back to my current WIP. It is very unlike my vanilla projects of the past, which were past tense and third person limited (sometimes first person, I'm not that much of an extremely limited newb), written with the intention to market. I have shunned that form (temporarily) to explore present tense with two viewpoints—one of which is first, the other third.

This form is proving to be challenging but exciting. It is so unlike anything else I've ever attempted; there is something almost fay about it. I'm exploring the ways in which two viewpoints can foreshadow and feed off of each other, experimenting with dropping the tension in one as it rises in the other, and playing around with language. (When to use cliches, and when not to. Descriptions. Creating phrases unique to the world—that sort of thing. I'm not Tolkien; I don't invent languages.)

This all sounds sickeningly literature like, now that I think about it; and I certainly wouldn't have even dreamed of doing something like this eight months ago. But it's a good exercise, and extremely fun. And gritty post-apocalyptic-noir-sci-fi to boot. So i'll take it as proof that I'm growing as a writer.

What about you, doing anything different? Ever get that urge to experiment, but don't? If you haven't yet, I strongly suggest you give it a try. Let your imagination run free. Because doing different things is refreshing sometimes.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Awesomeness

Gaelic Storm Concert. Too Awesome for words. So much fun I nearly passed out when it was over. I can't think right now.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!
Yay life!

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Music Spotlight — Favourite Bands pt 2

Better Than Ezra. I may not count myself as an Ezralite, but I still love this band. Introduced to them through two sources (the fabulous film Empire Records, and my wonderful big brother) to which I am very grateful. They are rock, or alternative rock, or something.

It was hard to choose just one song, but here's Lifetime. Enjoy. (it was either this or Just One Day, which you should totally look up on your own if you like this song)

I absolutely adore this song; in fact, I absolutely adore most of their songs. I think they are not as popular as they deserve to be, but popularity never goes to those that deserve it—except when it does, never is too strong a word to use (i'll try not to use it again).

Anyway. Here's their website. Their store, amazon, and itunes.

And now, as it is getting late and I must rise early for church followed by work, it is time I was to bed. Goodnight and "Go mbeannaí Dia duit,"

M. S.

PS Wow, the lightning, rain, and wind are absolutely brilliant—I don't know if I'll able to get to sleep very easily. But rain is a good thing: it is beautiful, soothing, and exciting all at once. And we've been having a drought here in St. Louis. So again, thank you, God, for all your wonderful gifts.

Music Spotlight — Favourite Bands pt 1

. So instead of putting a music post up late, I didn't get it up at all. Bad me. I could provide a never ending list of excuses, but excuses are just that—they never do any good. Besides, the truth is that I was too busy knocking a story idea into an outline (which I still haven't finished), and watching Game of Thrones Researching… What? I'm a writer, aren't I? Not all research is non-fiction…

Anyway, seeing as I still don't know who to do a music spotlight on, I'm going to list some of my current favourite musics. Because you don't know me, and don't have a clue as to what I listen to on a regular basis, this might tell you a little about me. Which is dangerous, I know, but I'm not quite as paranoid as some people I know.

Without further ado:

• Gaelic storm
• Kenny Wayne Shepherd Band
• Better Than Ezra
• Switchfoot
• The Letter Black
• Orianthi
• Led Zeppelin
• Stray Cats

Is there anyone of these you do not recognize? Just in case, I will proceed with telling you a little about them.

Gaelic Storm (listed first) just so happens to be my favourite band. They are a fun party band, especially live, with music ranging from boisterous drinking songs and sea shanties to heartfelt songs about lost love and being far from home. Their general style is sort of folksy celtic band with heavy irish influence (Pat Murphy) but they aren't traditionalists, and their variety is much beyond what many similar bands are capable of. (They've been known to cover their songs in another artist's style during live performances.) Here's my favourite tune, Scalliwag: (sorry, not the simlish version)

Okay, this post is getting a little long, I think I'll cut it short. I'll tell you about the other bands later. In the meantime I have chores to get done (No rest for the injured)

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,

M. S.

PS the sky is very pretty right now, reminding me of the supreme artist. Thanks, God :)

PPS: I just realized I forgot to provide links. If you like Gaelic storm, you can find out more about them at their website, where you can purchase their cds. You can also find their music on itunes and amazon.  Have fun!

Tears — A Sign of Weakness?

Today I'm going to say a few words about heroes that cry. You've been warned.

Why, does it seem, that so many people view weeping as unheroic? Why is a character, real or imagined, often considered to be weak or vulnerable because he or she displays their emotions openly? It doesn't make any sense to me. Why should characters be considered weak because they feels strongly for something? Why do some people demand cold, robotic heros?

Grant it, there is something to be said for heroes that bear their pain under a stoic mask, silently keeping their cares to themselves; but are they any greater than those who do not? After all, Jesus wept, and there's none greater. I'm tired of people implying—or outright saying—that a strong character (male or female), is any weaker, any less heroic, because of tears.

The truth is that some obstacles are too great, some terrors too terrible, for people to just take in stride. And heros are people—always remember that. It isn't their prowess that makes them heroic, it's that they find the strength to carry on, even when they'd rather give up and go home. And if the problem a character faces doesn't test them, I'm going to put down your book (or movie, or tv show, or whatever it is), and walk away. 'Cause I don't like being bored.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. Now that I've subjected you to them, I'm going to sign off,

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

PS I still hope to do a Music Spotlight post today, but I've been sorta busy, so it'll be late.

Music Spotlight — The Protomen

The Protomen is a band that plays music inspired by Mega Man. What's not to like about that? Their music has been featured in the awesome webseries "VGHS," which is actually where I found out about them. Youtube, bring me Protomen!

Thank you, youtube.
I hope you liked this music spotlight, and I'll be back with a new one next week.

Music Spotlight — Malukah

First, "Happy birthday Carlos Santana!"

Now then, on to buisiness—I mean music. Malukah music.

If you're a Mass Effect or Skyrim fan—or follow the video gaming world in general—then you probably already know about Malukah. If you don't, then one wonders what do you use the internet for? On second thought, I don't want to know…

Anyway, I could tell you about how awesome she is, but I think it would take less time to just show you a video.

This tribute to Mass Effect is hauntingly beautiful, one of my all time favourite songs even though I'm not a huge Mass Effecter. It also happens to be one of the few songs I can run on loop for an hour without getting bored.

You can download this—and other songs by her—from her website, here: http://www.malukah.com/FREE/

I hope you enjoyed this music spotlight. I'll (try to) post another one next week. In the meantime, what music have you been listening to? My ears are always eager for new sounds.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Headphones!

I have headphones now. They make me smile. Now I can enter my happy writing place even when I'm in rooms with siblings, television, or other distracting commotions.

That is all. I'm going back to my word smithing now.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Parkour Places — New Eyes

For ages, the traceur/freerunner in me has been bummed out…or so I thought. It turns out he was only sleeping.

I've been upset because I didn't know of anywhere close by—within easy jogging distance—to practice parkour. There were walls to run on, some rails to vault over and balance on, trees to climb, but that was pretty much it…or so I thought. (that seems to be the theme of this post. Perhaps I should've titled it "…or so I thought")

As it turns out, it really is true that all you have to do is open your eyes. There's this little alley I walk by, and some times through, multiple times every week, but only tonight did I realize there's a spot with walls close enough together to body prop. There're drain pipes made of sturdy metal that are easy to shimmy up. There's a wall I can climb…

The traceur woke up, and now it's as if I'm seeing the world with new eyes. Parkour eyes. I'm even seeing ways to move in training spots I previously  thought exhausted and boring. There are countless ways to move under, over, and through obstacles, and there are obstacles everywhere. Jumps. Climbs. Balance opportunities, etc…

I've also had a break through in writing creativity as well. I thought I got a lot of story ideas before, but now it seems my thought well has doubled in capacity. I'm seeing stories in everything. Whether at work, on a walk, listening to siblings discuss television shows, or sitting in a tree—the stories come.

So relax and Jump, Reach. Opportunities come with awareness, when you're looking for them. Practice, determination, and belief will get you through, but first you have to seize start looking.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

P. S. Yeah, I realize I'm a bit flaky right now(perhaps that is not the word I mean), but I'm really tired. (It's a wonder I can still type coherently.) *yawn* I think I go bed now..

Music Spotlight — Ginjineko

Recently, through the wonders of youtube, I've discovered the tunes of Ginjineko. It seems no matter how wound-up, angry, depressed, or tired I am, his playing makes me smile. Because of this effect, I've taken to calling his music "Happy Guitars.

 Anyway, this is my favourite song so far, and it is (in my humble opinion) five minutes of undiluted awesome. Enjoy.

Ginjineko's music can be purchased from Itunes, amazon, or (if you want cd) cd baby.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Random Piece of Writing

Alright, that last post was exhausting to write. It was Serious. I hate being serious, but it is good exercise every once in a while. Now that I'm done with Serious for the week, I can now move on to other, not so serious subjects. Like writing!

Okay, so writing's still sorta serious, but not the way I do it. What's the point of writing if not to have a little fun, putting imagination into words? True, at times writing can be emotionally or mentally painful. Sometimes I sit and bleed onto the page… but in doing so I find release from whatever emotions had hold over me. Nothing is so comforting to me as a prayer, a pen, and few hundred sheets of empty paper longing to be  filled with beautiful flowing letters and drawings…

So here's a little writing for your reading pleasure (or displeasure, if you happen to dislike it). It's just a scrap. I have many scraps filed away. Still, I'd welcome critiques from anyone that gets the urge.


*Matthew did not always make a habit glancing over his shoulder, but there was something about this place that felt utterly disquieting. Part of him rationalized that it was merely his anxiety acting up again, that there really wasn't someone—or some thing—watching him, waiting for him to let down his guard…


No, stop that thinking! He shook himself, but it didn't do anything towards stilling his inner paranoiac. 
There was something out here. He knew there was. Why hadn't he believed the villagers? Why did he always have to see things for himself? Sometimes it seemed the battle between curiosity and paranoia left no room inside his mind for rational thought.


Angels defend me, he pleaded, fighting back a fresh wave of fear. He felt the flight urge forcing its way in, but his curiosity stood unyielding, would not let him move.


Something clattered in the darkness, echoing in the open space, and Matthew spun, knees bent and ready to run at the first sign of danger.


"Who's there?"


The darkness refused to answer.


After a moments silence, Mathew began to relax. There was nothing out there. It was just his his imagination acting up again… He nearly choked on the relief, but then he heard it. A second clatter.


In an instant he had the shockbow unhooked from his belt and ready for action.

"Who's there?"

The darkness… giggled?

Matthew cursed himself, cursed the darkness. Obviously, it was simply children playing some prank on him. It was not the first time in his search…

With a weary shake of the head, he returned the weapon to his belt. "You children should know better!"

He turned to the light of the entrance way, fully intent on not wasting another breath here. He had barely gone two paces when it dawned on him that the light was no longer there. Impossible, he thought, it's high noon outside.


The darkness giggled again; Matthew cursed. He spun, hand going to unhook his shockbow, but it was already too late.  The shockbow was gone. He was disarmed. There was nothing he could do to defend himself now. With that realization, all the fear melted away, and he laughed. If he was to die anyway, what use was fear?

He laughed, and the darkness said, "Um,  you're supposed to be afraid."*




And that's all I have of this s-crappy bit. Again, I'm open to critiques from anyone that feels the urge.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Edit: Unlarged font size on writing scrap because it was a little hard to read once posted. Marked beginning and end with asterisks.

Adulthood

Dear Reader, whoever you might be,

Now that I am recovered from the festivities and labor activities of the previous week, I feel up to tackling a serious subject … or attempting to, anyway.

What is adulthood?

There is the biological definition: one who is fully grown and developed.

And there is the legal definition: one who has reached the age of majority, which is in most contexts either 18 or 21.

But there is also a third definition that does not always go along with those mentioned above. This is a maturity of behaviour, of thought, of recognizing and accepting responsibilities. Some people think, or seem to think, that this form adulthood is magically granted by the Maturity Fairy, when one turns the age of 18. As such, they do not allow people below that age to make decisions for themselves, disapprove of people who do allow them.

This is illogical. Behavioural and mental maturity does not come from being told how to act. It comes from independence, from being allowed to make your own decisions and suffer the consequences of them. To learn from mistakes.

How is one to obtain the independence and the maturity of this adulthood if they are not allowed to think and act for themselves? If they are not trusted to make mistakes and grow from them, then how will they grow at all? How can they be relied upon? Trust is a two way street.

How do you raise responsible adults? You do as my parents did, and allow children to be responsible. Let kids be kids by allowing them to think and act for themselves, to grow naturally in mind as well as body. Do not tell them what to think; instead tell them what you think and why you think it—use logic. Listen to them. Respect them, even if you do not respect their beliefs, even if they are wrong. Especially if they are wrong. Because if they are truly wrong, and you respect them and allow them to act on their beliefs, then they will eventually come to realize their wrongness without a divide forming. And who knows, you might be the one who is in the wrong. Remember that possibility, that you are not infallible simply because you are older and have experienced.

Actually, I think this is how we should treat all people—not just children.

An aside: two hundred years ago, there were sixteen-year-olds in navies being given command of prize ships. In the middle ages there were fifteen-year-olds fighting and dying in battles—and not just because people lived shorter lives. In fact, if one survived the diseases and the war and reached forty years; then they were likely to live to sixty or seventy, some even reached eighty or above.

Anyway, these are my thoughts, the wonderings of Scribe Traceur. You might disagree, or you might agree. Either way I'll be respectful towards you, just so long as you are respectful towards me. If you become insulting, however, then I'll ignore you.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

P. S. Yes, I'm aware I used the Brit spelling of behaviour. I often do the same with colour, grey, and many other words. I also use oxford commas. I'm sorry if that offends you, but I think they are more aesthetically pleasing than our American spellings. Shallow, I know, but sometimes form and function go hand in hand. And leaving out the oxford comma can cause unnecessary confusion.

All Spent

So I've not posted in a little while (not that I have any reader's—guess I'm just boring). Believe it or not, I do have a reason for this.

Following the late night of the fourth, I got up early, had a job interview, picked up cousins from airport, and then went over to cousins house to help them move furniture and stuff from their old house. This was followed with a late night of swimming, not getting to bed until two in the morning. The next day (the sixth) I again woke early and helped them load up and move even more stuff and swam a little more after the unloading. Today, I slept in slightly, but again wore myself out with sword training followed by battle gaming with foam swords.

I didn't get any writing done, but it was much fun and I met several cool new people. Now, though, I'm completely exhausted and should probably take nap… Yes. I think I'll get right on that. Writing will wait until next week.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

…

Another holiday has come and gone… Good times. Laughter. Family. Party. Barbeque. Beer. Celebrations…But no fireworks this year—fire hazard, no burn order thingy. That's okay. Don't need fireworks to remember those who fought and earned our freedom, those who made this the greatest country on earth.

Now I'm left feeling empty, spent, and yet strangely content. Life is good. God has blessed me in many ways. He has blessed this country, and all in it—even if they do not all realize it. We have it good here in America. Very good.

Anyway, I should probably go to bed now. I'm using fragments… And I have a job interview tomorrow…

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

I'm in heaven…

Okay, not really, but that's not not the point. The point is that my experimental baking has once again paid off :)

At least once a month, I like to go to the counter without a specific plan or recipe to follow. That's what I did to day. I ended up starting with a basic whole wheat yeast dough enriched with eggs, milk, and butter. Then I decided I wanted to add oats to it.

I'd used a honey oat filling a couple times before (just last month, in fact), but not in a whole wheat dough. Still, I didn't want to do the same thing. So instead of mixing honey and oats, I used 2 parts trad. oats, one part brown sugar, and enough heavy cream to create a spreadable mix. As I was spreading the filling onto the rolled out dough, I got the idea to add a little nut meg, too. So add I did.

The bread came out of the oven a few minutes ago, and I got the idea to glaze the crust with honey. It was simple, nothing special, but after devouring almost half the loaf by myself, I'm very pleased. It's like candy, and I'll probably be making it again some time. My new favorite creation.

Sorry, no pictures. I don't have a camera at the moment, but maybe next time I will. In the mean time I'm going back to the second best part of baking: eating the finished product.

What about you, bake or cook anything delicious? Any creations or achievements you're particularly happy with? Any woeful tales of failure? Surprising results?

Happy Baking, have and nice week, and
Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

We are failure…

I haven't posted anything in ages.

Fail. No excuse.

Though, the fact that I couldn't think of anything interesting to post here about says much about my life right now. I haven't gotten any work done on any of my current writing projects, I haven't baked anything since last week, I haven't really improved on my parkour training… Wait!

Yes. There. I has subject—training.

(clears throat) Not long ego, I sustained some sort of injury to my wrist—a minor sprain, I think—whilst doing diving cartwheels. This has provided yet another obstacle to overcome. It hurts whenever I put weight on it, which means that hand is pretty much out of commission when it comes to vaults. Also, I made the injury worse by continuing to practice. Now it gives out when I try quadrupedal movement as well.

Unfortunately, it impedes sword training even more than it does the parkour. Whereas in parkour I can still do one handed moves, such as safety vaults and speed vaults, the only longsword practice I can do effectively is footwork.

So, for the foreseeable future, I'll be doing a lot of running and footwork. In a way, this is good. I need vast improvement in those areas. I guess the injury, then, might be looked upon as a blessing in disguise? That's how I'm looking at it anyway. Sings: always looking on the bright side of life!

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Editing

is tedious. And annoying. If you're like me, then editing is the hardest aspect of writing. BIC? Easy, if I have time. Rejections? I'll live. But editing?

NOOOO!!!!! Spare me.

What is it I dislike so much about editing? Is it because I think everything I've written is golden and doesn't need cleaning up? Ha!

No, editing is difficult for me because… well, because it's difficult. Digging into the novel and finding the flaws, the things that don't work, and then correcting them, is a mountainous task.

Some are frozen with fear at the sight of said mountain, but that's not the case with me. I find it easy to make the first steps; I attack the first draft eagerly. However, as the task draws on I get worn down.

Stamina is a trait that I just don't have when it comes to editing—or writing, for that matter—so I have to take frequent breaks. Flurries of progress are followed by bouts of do-nothing. And the longer I push myself, the longer the lapses seem to last, the more demoralized I become. By the time I draw close to the end of a round of edits, there's nothing I want to do more than throw the entire MS into next week (or the garbage, as the case may be).

Somehow, I know, I have to find the strength to go on. I need help.

"Help? Never!" Oh shut up.

Sure, playing the Fate Spider of your fictive world is fun (at least, I think so), but some obstacles are so great one cannot overcome them on his own.

This help can come in a variety of forms. Simple things like prayer, staying active, and taking time off to think can do wonders. Also, keep friends informed of progress, including the lack thereof. Even if they don't care, and they should if they care about you, the shame of not getting enough done can keep the motivation flag flying long after the winds have passed.

Finally, if you need to take breaks (like me), then take them before you burn out.

These are just a few methods I use. What do you do to combat editing/writing fatigue? Or are you one of those people for whom writing and editing is as easy as breathing? (do those people really exist?)

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Writing — I Can't Move On

Recently I've experienced doubt as to whether or not I'll ever be a REAL writer. I've never been published, I've hardly even finished anything. I feel that if I pursue this dream, then the thought police will show up in their dark glasses, dark expressions, and all black SUV's.

I fear I'll never make it… But I still can't give up. This is something I have to do, because it's part of me.

And here's something else that's part of me.

"The Book of Aelus" was my first major writing project. I spent years on it (5ish?), while writing other things, but this story I was determined to finish. And finish it I did, finally, late last year. With around 110,000 words, much of it rewritten or scrapped completely. Then I sat back, looked at what I had created, and was disappointed. It was a mess, and my aimless re writing, I felt, had cut the heart out of it.

So I tried to move on… But it wasn't that easy. Time and again, something kept me coming back to it. The characters called to me, the story cried out to become something beautiful.

I planned and attempted a major revision this past February, but lost steam. This was due to 2 things: 1,  unreasonable goals that I couldn't possible keep (once you fail a goal, it makes it easier to fail the ones after it.); and 2, I'd lost the heart of the story, I'd forgotten what it was, what I'd intended it to be.

I decided the story was dead. I forced my bloody, guilt ridden hands away, and tossed it in a file to collect dust. I moved on to other things, other projects. I wrote a couple flash pieces, a short story, and got several thousand words done on several different projects.

But today something changed again. Another reversal. The call back to "The Hot Gates" and her crew has again reached my ears. I know what I'm getting into is a long and dark tunnel (one that will probably be filled with pain), but that will not keep me from searching for the light.

I want this story to be told. I want it to be something I can point to, to say: "you should read this." Because this story was more than a learning experience, it is a part of me—and I don't want it to die.

That's not to say that I'll abandon my other projects in the process—I don't have the kind of one track mind required for that. Nor will I try to rush through it like it did in my previous attempts. I'm taking it slow, knowing that it's more important to do something write than to do something fast. Ideally one does the job both fast and right; but hey, I'm still learning.

Maybe I'm just crazy, maybe I'm wasting my time. But I've tried to move on, an that's something I just can't do. I truly do think this tale is worth the telling. I'll never give up hope.

Am I deluded? Is this just story just holding me back? Perhaps, but that is a risk I'm willing to take. You have to take risks for what you love, don't you?

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

New Music!

Music is awesome. I love music, especially new music—by which I mean music I've recently discovered, not music that's come out recently. (Not that there isn't a lot of good music coming out recently. There is.)

Last week I stumbled across an excellent cd at my local library: "The Road…" by Keiko Matsui. I'd never heard of the artist, but it looked interesting so I checked it out. An aside: I discovered Méav and her gorgeous album "Silver Sea" in a similar manner a couple years ago. These discovers really make me feel blessed.

"The Road…" is, in my most humbled opinion, brilliant. It's smooth jazz and new age and just amazing to listen to while writing, cleaning house, taking a drive, or anytime. Like magic, it has the power to melt away stress and take me on an mental journey to lands far—

Okay, I'm gushing, which means I should probably stop. But If you're interested in jazzy stuff or new agey stuff, then give it a listen.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

The Fact Is Fiction

History is far from certain. This is true whether you take cynical views or not. The further back one goes, the more one has to rely on opinions and guesses. Because history is either written by the winners (in which case it's prejudiced), the losers (in which case it's still prejudiced), an independent source (rarely, and who's to say the source is truly independent?) or it isn't written at all (in which case you can only guess).

The more accounts one looks to, the more clouded history becomes. Almost everyone seems to have their own beliefs to support, their own spin to put on the past, and the farther back something happened, the more people there were to muddy the waters. But the reverse is also true: the closer in time one gets to the actual event, the harder it is to see through one's cloud of personnel experiences and beliefs. And it takes time for all the facts to be gathered and come to light —if they ever do.

If this is true, then everything is clouded. Only a true scholar would be able to root through everything to find what little truth there is. And how does one tell a true scholar apart from writers with degrees merely following political or religious agendas, writers who only show you the part of the tapestry they want you to see (if they even bother looking at the full tapestry themselves)?

It's hard. I read as much as I can from as many different sources I can get my hands on, taking everything with a spoonful of salt. And I look at the sources that are referenced, and the sources of the sources if they have any. But still there's no guarantee that what I learn is the truth. It's a long and tedious process, and sometimes I wonder: is it worth it?

The cynic in me says: no, you'll never know the truth. But the writer in me says to look at all the story possibilities! History is riddled with interesting characters, cultures, and situations which can be used in fantasy even if I don't know the truth.

Go mbeannaí dia duit,
M. S.

Here, Blog, have some content!

For some reason, I got to thinking about the Lord of the Rings. I realized how my perceptions of the characters have changed as I've matured.

When I was much younger, my favorite character was the lovable side character, Tom Bombadil. I enjoyed his silly songs, his infectious happiness. Also, the One Ring had no effect on him. While he's no longer my favorite character, I still like him much.

Then Sam became my favorite, without whom Frodo would've failed and Sauron would've reclaimed the ring. Much can be said about his loyalty and bravery.

Now, though, my favorite character is Boromir.

Why?

Because Boromir was an ordinary human. Honorable, brave, and good hearted he was, but also easily corruptible by evil. He tried to rely on his own strength, as many of us do, which is why temptation was able to sneak inside his heart and cloud his judgement.

And what happened afterwards, after he realized what he'd done? He was repentant, sorry for his actions. So sorry, in fact, that he gave his life trying to defend others. His death affected the other party members, and helped Aragorn to be the king he eventually became

He was perhaps the most flawed member of the party, but also the most human. And he died a hero. That is why he is my favorite.

Go mbeannaí Dia Duit,
M. S.

From the Storm

I love a good storm. There's just something about the wind, the rain, the lightning that just sparks the imagination and calls to one's soul. Something peaceful is to be found in the turbulent skies—it is an example of God's glorious majesty. Storms are better than foggy mornings, better than sunny days… well, maybe not better, but they're at least equal to them.

If anyone ever needed proof that I'm crazy, I like to walk the streets barefoot with neither coat nor umbrella. I never worry about lightning, I never worry about catching pneumonia; at least, not until after the fact. (Slippery little guy, pneumonia, my child self could never find where he was hiding.) If I lived in the world of Final Fantasy X, I'd probably make my home near the Thunder Plains, if not on them.

What about power outages? Eh. I've never really minded being without electricity. Sure, I'm without computer and internets, but I think that makes me more productive. Besides, candlelight is awesome.

Even if you dislike storms, remember: farmers need the rain.

Do you like or dislike storms? Why? What's your favorite weather? Why?

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,

M. S.

Skill

is what separates the master and the novice. Wikipedia defines it as "the learned capacity to carry out pre-determined results." Skill is learned, and it is honed with the sharpest wheel of all—Time. The more hours you pour into something, the better you'll become.

This is seen quite clearly in mock sword fights between my siblings. My eldest brother, handily beats me whenever we clash practice blades—only rarely do I score a hit on him. Many hours spent in training have given him the ability to deconstruct my defenses with ease.

Yet, there's one brother I'm able to defeat when wielding a sword in my off hand and munching an apple with my primary. Why? Because he doesn't practice, his swings are wild and uncontrolled; his form almost nonexistent.

When you're new to something, you aren't going to be good at it (unless you have natural talent, you lucky person). You can fail easily, and those failures either strengthen your resolve to learn, or they break you. Sometimes, you don't even begin for fear of failure. Your greatest enemy is yourself.

But if you can muster the strength and passion to begin, if you can clench that strength and persevere— then you'll acquire skill. Anything can be achieved with time. You might never become a grandmaster, but you don't know how high you can rise until you try.

I think this is true in everything we aspire to, whether it be martial arts, writing, baking, acting, parkour, gymnastics, drawing, painting, carving, etc. So don't let the fear of beginnings, the lack of skill stop you. Go forth, and know that skill will come with time spent in practice.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

P.S. Wow, is it really midnight? No wonder I'm so loopy :)

Baking Bread

happens to be one of my favorite activities, especially shortly after I awake. Working the dough provides something to do with the hands, a slow introduction to activity in the early morning hours. It's meditative as well, requiring me to relax, to get inside the dough and feel when it's ready to rise.

There's a quote, I'm not sure who said it,  that goes: "Clean out a corner of your mind, and creativity will instantly fill it." This is exactly what happens when I make bread. During the kneading process, thoughts of stories fill my head. Whenever I'm stuck, it helps me to work out plot problems, build backstory and character, even realize flaws I didn't know were there.

Then, when it rises, I sit down and write until it comes time to work the dough again. I write again when it enters the often, only stopping when it's time to come out. But even after it comes out of the oven, it isn't done helping me write. It provides me with a reward, a delicious treat at the end of a work period that soothes my mental muscles. It reminds me that I am truly blessed.

As I try to write more often, I also bake more often—it has become an essential part of my writing process.

Well, internets, what activities have become essential for you? What do you do that helps creative thoughts flow?

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Call to Wander

Sometimes, one gets the call to wander. It might be the sunshine slanting through the windows, or it could be the rain dancing on the roof; it may be a simple song, a memory, a feeling. You get the urge to shod your feet—or not, as the case may be—and hit the streets, the sidewalks, the dirt trails, the pathless ways. You want to put soft grass under your feet, to feel rocks and sand and bark tearing at your hands, to taste crisp clean water and misty air. To find a secluded place and just observe…

Well, I do, anyway. I want to run and scream, to dance and swing, to climb and fall. The door to my imagination opens. I want to enter.

I want to see something new everyday, if only a new angle of the old. I want to wander, if only in my mind. I want to dine with adventure worn heroes in smoky taverns, swap stories with bards, share bread with beggars, train with knights, serve.

I want to write.

Maybe I'm just crazy, but I don't have time to dwell on that. Adventure calls, and I must  heed it.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Saturday Swords

Medieval/Renaissance Weapon of Choice: Longsword

Here's a video by people more skilled than I:

The longsword was an extremely versatile weapon. It sliced, it diced, it did everything. No, really. It could be used in either one hand or two, cutting or thrusting. It could be gripped half-sword and used as a spear, it could be used as a war hammer. You could grapple with it, using it as a tool manipulate your opponent's body, to disarm, trap, or throw him.

It is a weapon of both elegance and power, simplicity and depth.

Johannes Liechtenhaur said that "there is only one Art of the sword" and it is "the basis and core of all the arts of fighting." 

John Clements wrote an interesting article which I have recently rediscovered: Centrality of the Longsword in Renaissance Martial Arts

Anyway, I love the longsword. Specifically, I like hand-and-a-halfers.

Many people in today's society seem to like to compare it to the katana, often touting the katana's superiority. These comparisons are often more "East vs West" than they are "Longsword vs Katana." They offer false mental pictures of hulking europeans in bumbling armor vs graceful samurai. These people are idiots. Now, I'm not going to claim the longsword is necessarily better—they are two different animals, reflecting the armor and technology of their respective cultures—but I do prefer the longsword.

If you like the katana; fine, tell me about it. But please, don't bring up the east vs west argument mentioned above. If you do, I'll simply mention planes, tanks, and nuclear weapons (western inventions all), and walk away.



What about you, vast internets, what is your favourite (why am I using the brit spelling of that word?) weapon?

It doesn't have to be M/R. Fantasy and Eastern weapons are welcome here, too. All are welcome! (Though, I'd prefer it if guns stay at the door. Yes, they're awesome and totally deadly, but they're kinda like the planes, tanks, and nuclear weapons—they don't exactly fit the theme.)




Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
Gorby

A Breakfast Experience.

Day old scones make an excellent breakfast, if I do say so my self (I've never understood the purpose of that phrase, it seems redundant) especially with good, and by good I mean decent, orange marmalade and a cup—or two—of strong black tea. It wasn't anything special, but it was delicious, refreshing, and filling. (why did I make them so massive?)

And to think, I came so close to killing those scones yesterday—thank God I didn't make any fatal mistakes. First, I added way too much milk (an easy fix—just doubled the dry ingredients); then, I forgot to rotate them in the oven, so the ones on the bottom rack burned on their…bottoms.

Anyway, they're still very much edible, and butter or marmalade makes the burnt ones equally yummy, maybe even more so. Perhaps it's a square-tailed cat. Again, thank God.

I think I'll bake ordinary bread today. I can't stand store bought stuff, and I feel like having a sandwich tomorrow.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
Gorby

Writer's Block

is something I sometimes have trouble with, but often it's not, "normal," writer's block—whatever that is. Sure, there are loads of times I can't get writing done on a project, but it's not what I've heard most people describe as "block."

See, I'm most often afflicted by something a brother once called, "writer's log jam." It's not that I can't think what comes next, or even that I just can't get myself to write. No, my head gets so overfilled with ideas that I don't know what to work on next, thus blocking the flow of words. When I'm afflicted, I rapidly think up new projects, barely having time research an start work on any one of them. I bounce back and forth, never focusing on one thing for more than a day or two at a time, and never getting more than a few hundred words in at a time. It frustrates. Immensely.

How do I solve it?

I don't know; nothing I've tried works. Luckily, it's not a constant affliction. It comes and goes with time.

Of course, there're a few other kinds of block I get: "Hate," in which I hate the story and/or main characters so much that I forget the potential or redeemable characteristics that drew me to them during creation; "Life," in which life stuff gets in the way; and "Couldn't-Be-Bothered", when I just don't care.

Of the three, "Hate," is the most frustrating, as it usually signifies there's some inherent flaw in the story I'm unaware of—or there's no flaw and I just need time away to clear my head. There's nothing, really, that I can do to overcome life, except to pray—something most of us should probably do a lot more of.

Couldn't be bothered is probably the worst, though, as it's fundamentally impossible to fight. How can you fight something when you don't care? No, the only thing you can hope to do is: preemptively avoid. You can do this by reminding yourself daily of why you're writing, what it means to you. And, of course, praying that you don't fall into that particular mire.

Anyway, if my problems seem at all familiar to you, then you have my condolences. If you know of a way to overcome them, then feel free to tell me.

What about you? What sort of writer's blocks do you get? What do you do to overcome them?


Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
Gorby