Inside the Mind of a Nathan

Excuses are scary things. Each excuse is like one step deeper into the Matrix, deeper into a fabricated virtuality that could fall apart at any second. I've worked with a few students over these many years. Either the students' parents or the students themselves are paying me real, live money. Often, when I recommend some exercise, my students will retort by saying they're good enough at thus and such skill. In other words, they're paying me to tutor a skill they already have. Paradox much?

Holy moly cajoley! I blogged like five days ago, but it feels like forever. It's possibly because I was sick, so time got a little warpy. It's possibly because I've been thinking so much about my wacky story about Michael the Traveler .

Exciting news! But we'll set that aside for now. In other news, I haven't written for Meadowvale in a while. However, Michael the Traveler has had some vivid adventures. I'm not sure if he'll go anywhere properly, but it's been a freeing exercise. As I've been writing his erratic saga, I'm realizing how stifled Meadowvale can feel sometimes. In part, it's because I have nearly no rules for Michael the Traveler. In part, I'm writing more fluidly. In part, I began Meadowvale with a certain form, a certain tone, and I'm loath to change it. I think it will go well regardless; plus, I'll have to edit so much anyway.

Entropy is defined as "a measure of the energy that is not available for work during a thermodynamic process. A closed system evolves toward a state of maximum entropy." In other words, anything — left to itself — will run out of energy.

I'm feeling distracted, but I usually do at the beginning of a work day. I just made another comic for my strip United Shapes of Arithmetic. I feel it was weak, but some of them have to be. I just made a Facebook page for my little tutoring business. I already had a website , so there wasn't much to add, but I look forward to making videos and such. I imagine I could do miniature lessons, read some of my poems or stories, or even share some of my guitar songs. Publicity is the main end, and media are the main means.

Holy moly bajoley. I'm feeling distracted today—mostly my own fault. Plus, I haven't written for Meadowvale in so long! Like over a week! That's appalling! I started an interesting sketch last week though about Michael the abbey boy. It started off with interdimensional travel, dark creatures, and a sword. It transformed into a young boy doing chores all day at an abbey. I have no idea what I'm doing with it, but I like writing. Meadowvale is getting tough, but I probably only feel that way because I haven't written anything for it recently. It feels far away. Things are typically easy to continue once they've started and hard to start up again once they've sat too long.

'Tis a beautiful day: The rain is falling. Plants are growing. I'm listening to soothing music. I ate a large breakfast. Conversations are starting. Solutions are being found. Opportunities are being fostered. Support is abounding. My heart is resounding. God is in control. The only real downside is that I haven't had bacon in a long time.

Too many so many very many things! I'm ready for the next season. (Not literal season since I am quite content with this mild autumn.) I am ready for the next season of my life. I am nearly formally single; I don't even know what to do with that.

In the words of Marcus Kincaid from Pandora, "It's a fine day, full of opportunity!" "No refunds!"

I'm not feeling especially focused today. More honestly, I'm feeling particularly unfocused. I can't think of anything in particular that happened differently. The weather is fine. My job is pleasant. My health is average. My debt is static. My relationships are stable. My diligence in prayer is growing gradually.

By whom originally, it is not known, but insanity was once defined as "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." At first, one might observe such a behavior and quickly assume the person is insane. We should not forget, however, that so many challenges have been overcome by sheer persistence.

Saturday! Sadly, I've temporarily set aside painting to focus on writing among other things. I'm definitely going back, but I have some stuff to get in order first. For now, it's Saturday. I went to bed late, got up normal, ate breakfast, and took a nap. I could have been a little more productive, but I'm using my subsiding sinus infection as an excuse.

It is a fine day. I am still a bit slower than usual, but at least my sinuses are clear. I believe that the phrase "all clear" originated with people checking their health by blowing their noses: Person 1: *blows nose* Person 2: Any green? Person 1: Nope. All clear.

Dude, dawg. It has been forever since I've written—on my blog anyway. Maybe. Now, I'm not so sure. In any case, poor, ol' Werbel boy hasn't moved in quite a while. I had a sinus infection, and I did nearly nothing for a week. I slept—a legendary amount. The first few days were utterly wretched. The last few were just lots of sleeping. Sleep is a magical substance.

Dangerous stuff, but truth is often dangerous. I'm ready. I'm ready for a new universe. What I mean by new universe  is really just the next dimension to this universe, this world. It used to feel like an endless, futile battle. Now, it feels like a bloody, flowing battle. On short notice, it's not much better—probably worse. Deep down, however, it's blood and not pus. It's bleeding injuries, not festering diseases. Especially because of how we're saved, I've always esteemed blood and bleeding.

Well, shoot me in the leg and call me wobbly! Such progress has been made! And even just this past week! Even just today! I'm not even sure how I would summarize if I could, but it's been a productive, satisfying process.

It has been way too long since my last comic! I don't even remember when I made the last one; I don't want to. In any case, here is my most recent, inspired by trying to get my life together: Mature Content On that topic, however, I have been extremely productive these past few weeks, especially these past few days. My website is almost complete, I've been writing a lot more (for my book of course but also other areas), I recently helped host an art project at a school, and a bunch of other things.

I learned something magically profound today! I cannot tell the full extent of the matter, for it would make some people angsty. However, I can tell just enough. Basically, the realization I had was that so much of my energy used to be locked up inside my expectations for or frustrations with other people. I used to think that things should be a certain way or at least that things should make sense.

So many things to do, and I'm excited. These past few years—past few months even—I've gained a lot of focus. I've shed so much fear. I've also gained a lot of impatience. Impatience might not be the perfect word. Indignance might be right. It's probably a combo of impatient, frustrated, indignant, focused, relentless, excited, determined, and so many more. There has been such a vivid shedding of some old shroud. Shroud 1 was shed about 1.5 years ago. Shroud 2 was shed maybe a month or so ago. One was gaining a freedom I thought I'd never have. Two was realizing that naysayers don't know anything.

1604 words! That's a great count. I think I've been more focused lately anyway, but I also tried listening to very ambient music to muffle the Starbucks noises around me. I'm not sure if it's just how I feel, but it seems like Starbucks is an inappropriate place for conference calls or other such business calls. If you have to provide a quick bit of information, cool; do your thing. If you're coordinating schedules and relaying updates, just bloody step outside. There's something magically different about voices talking to voices and voices talking to phones. One sounds like a voice; one makes me feel like Chirrratka.

First things first: I got a new personal email address. ZadokNauthiz@gmail.com served well, but it started to feel juvenile. This was striking, however: As I was transferring everything from ZadokNauthiz to my new email address, I noticed so many transitions taking place in my life. It was like I was shedding an old identity and stepping into something deeper, something truer.

I've had the last line for a long time, anticipating some special mantra. Today, I wrote it. It may undergo some changes for the final draft, but it's already epic:

The Renaissance Faire! It had been so long since I last went to the Ren Faire. It was such a lovely time. It was primarily lovely because of the friends who joined, but the Faire itself holds so much charm.

It's a fine day. I have an inexplicable headache though. I think I slept with my neck at a funny angle. It's a bit distracting, and I think it's making me think too hard. I almost tried not to ramble in my rambling blog. I think I've been overthinking it these past few entries, but I must go back and remember why I called it rambling in the first place. I just saw a man wearing the strangest kind of shoes.

Dreams. I still have this fascination with dreams. It makes me think of the book "The Cloud Spinner" or the game "Psychonauts." It makes me think of how the elves in "Eragon" sung their homes out of the trees. It makes me think of Einstein who would always laud imagination over knowledge. It makes me think of people who spurn fiction because it's a "waste of time." It makes me think of all the truths that evade us because we're too comfortable thinking we can understand the universe.

1028 words: solid progress. More and more, I know how much I'll need to redraft so much of my book, but, at the same time, I sense the strength of the story more and more. Tensions are rising between Chirrratka and Rrraktotrrraka. (I know: I may have to change their names. For now, I am content with their titles "the slaver" and "the librarian" respectively. Hopefully, that will suffice.)

It's still a funny planet. 2016: the year of petty politics and Pokemon Go. What are we doing? I mean, collectively, what are we doing? We're so dupable. We're like children: when offered A, B, or C, we fail to think about the twenty-three other options. What's even better is, when offered Trump, Clinton, or Sanders, we think we're defying the system by voting libertarian. We've found the hidden option: clever, clever us. Even the candidates themselves aren't so surprising; we've been a self-obsessed, invasive country for a long time. There are too many individuals, however, that seem to waddle right behind this or that individual without a thought in the world. "Brains? When am I ever gonna use this?" My apologies. In other news, it's amazing how flavors can be associated with colors. I have some kind of strawberry beverage; it obviously looks pink, but I thought to myself, "this definitely tastes pink." A sup...

I don't know about you, but sometimes I can be such a whiny, little female dog. I haven't quite learned how to preempt the whining, but I can occasionally rout it. I made a new comic. It stretches my original objective, but I don't think my comic has to stay inside strict boundaries. In other news, I am an extrovert. I know that most of you knew that. I know that I knew it, but I never knew it was quite like it is. When I spend time with people, good people, it splashes this wash of hope and energy and determination and focus over most of my life. The past few days have had pretty much the exact same circumstances that I've always had, but the conversations and joys I've shared with friends in the recent past have stuck with me. I still feel as tired as ever, but I don't feel weighed down by the grayness.

It's a good day. I had a good talk with a friend last night. I had a good talk with my mom this morning. It's a good day. Also, I got to move heavy things yesterday. I don't think I'm opposed to exercising so much as opposed to paying to exercise. I am regularly asking people to let me help them move. People are so surprised at that offer. It kind of makes sense: it's hard work, and many people are too busy being busy and important. However, it's some of the best exercise FOR FREE, and the people whom you move often feed you, and it makes them so happy, and why in the world would you not want to help someone move?! In other news, women are attractive. I don't know if you've noticed, but God made His daughters really good-looking. Another thing I've noticed: smiles make such a huge difference. You can have the stereotypical best features ever; if you have a grumpy frown, it's just not attractive. And I'm not talking about a sad face in...

I began a new painting today. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, but it is only a first draft, so it wouldn't make sense to like it just yet. I do like the swirling split between the blue and the yellow, but the red strands seem a little frail. We'll see what happens next week. In other news, conversations are nice: just normal, simple conversations about normal, simple things. I'm not sure how to distinguish. I think small talk is the talk people use when they don't want to talk. In contrast, however, there is simple talk that people use when having pleasant conversations. For the longest time, I thought I only ever wanted intense conversations because people were always telling me I only ever wanted intense conversations because I can rarely stomach small talk. Today, I vividly realized that small talk  is very distinct from non-intense talking. I'll have to make a chart. I love charts. !!! I just envisioned a venn diagram! It might even make s...

Unfortunately, there are other thingies I have to do, but I got a good chunk written in a reasonable amount of time. The plot is staying pretty solid. Some of the pieces have rough edges, but I think it's coming together wonderfully. Draft 1 will of course require a lot of work, but draft 3 is going to be a very compelling story. As I delve further into "the old words," I'm less and less opposed to the idea of having a sequel. Originally, I thought to myself that I just want to write Meadowvale and be done with that whole storyline; I thought that I would want to move onto something with dragons or cyborgs or full-on magical stuff. I even have another story I've been sketching together these past few years. However, Meadowvale is starting to provide an intriguing, mystical opportunity for taking that world farther. In a hypothetical sequel, I vaguely imagine Allison being a master rune-wielder of sorts; Alabaster and she might even be together. I could to...

I feel less tired than usual but more pensive than usual. I know God has good plans for me, but I still feel stuck or sticky. I feel as though I'm covered in some sticky substance: not quite a trap, but it still slows me down and feels uncomfortable. Yesterday was a lovely day—a really pleasant, lovely day. Sometimes, I think I might just have an ungrateful heart. I am grateful for my family. I am grateful for my friends. I am grateful for my job. For opportunities to write. Opportunities to paint. My car that still works. Journalism: I was telling a friend about how I want to write and travel and meet people and explore and write about people and write about what I see, and she mentioned journalism. I don't know how no one ever mentioned that before. Maybe somebody did; maybe my heart wasn't ready for such a notion at that time. It made so much sense though. I'd probably still get to write novels on the side, but I'd get paid to write stories about real-lif...

It's Friday. I'm feeling lazy. I almost had a respectably productive evening until I sat down for a few minutes. Now, I'm just tired. I haven't posted a new comic in a while, so here's one for the books: Line Evolution Science at its finest. Don't get me started on science. Don't get me started on logic either. Chocolate. You can get me started on chocolate. Maybe ice cream. Maybe a milkshake. Sadly, I really have to start going to the gym. This Monday, I moved a bunch of heavy boxes to rearrange the office, and I felt great the rest of the day. Last night, I exercised a bit, and I felt normal for most of today. I've been avoiding it so well for so long! I failed. Sigh. For now, I'm going to do something uneventful. Pip pip, cheerio.

Only 311 words. I was distracted by a lot of other things. It started with a kindergarten visiting Starbucks. It was way too adorable. The kindergarten principal, vice principal, and one of the teachers each read a book to the 20 or so kids. It broke my heart. I've wanted kids for a long time now. Besides that, I had to transcribe some notes for my upcoming vlog and ideas for publicizing my writing. I also started reworking my budget. I also had to jot some notes about a small article I want to write. Last night, I was playing Destiny. The game itself is nothing too spectacular. Somehow, though, it hooked me. Borderlands (another game) is 50% RPG + 50% FPS. In my mind, I've always said Destiny is 50% Borderlands + 50% FPS = 25% RPG 75% FPS. It's just enough RPG to appease me. In any case, it's a chaotic game full of space-jumping and explosions and guns and explosions. Mom asked what the point of such a game is. I asked her what the point of Yhatzee is. Sh...

I just want the world to write poetry all day long. That's not quite exact, but it's close. I want more quality poetry. I can never forget the comfort a dear friend brought to me when she identified a distinction: Some write poetry as a craft, with skill, with hard work. Some write "poetry" as a pseudo-non-prose emotional outlet. Regrettably, not many make that distinction. I'm a serious fan of poetry. I always want to share it; typically, people intimate that they don't really like poetry, that they don't even quite get poetry. I am proud to say that, on more than one occasion, I have shared a poem with said persons, and they've responded with, "Oh, I like that one!" If you're at all interested in dispelling your uninformed prejudice against poetry, read C. S. Lewis' work . Read G. A. Studdert Kennedy's work . Joyce Kilmer wrote one of my favorites . Even a few of my poems have turned out pretty well. ...

I don't quite feel like writing. I'm always tired, but I came home feeling especially tired. This morning, I woke up to my alarm! Usually, I zone in about an hour before I'm supposed to wake up and then toss until I get tired of waiting. I woke up to my alarm; I don't know if it's a good sign. In other news, Dexter often stands like this, just staring at the yard: Dexter Surveying "Everything the urine touches is my kingdom." That's what he said in my imagination anyway. Life is so weird. I-E and E-I are also weird. I before E except after C and when sounding like A as in neighbor and weigh.  And other, random exceptions. I don't even know where to begin. I should really just begin with getting chocolate milk and doing something lazy, but doing all that would require energy. Heartbreak is a strange thing. Although, I don't mind it. I'm not afraid of heartbreak. It is bloody exhausting, but I don't fear it. I fear for the p...

Life's a funny thing. It's also exhausting. However, when one is given the grace and mercy to see beyond the daily dross, each day is polished into a delightful, little adventure. As it turns out, I have been writing a good bit; I just haven't blogged in almost something like a forever. I hadn't blogged this whole month! *snicker* I can never write enough. I can never read enough. I can never sleep enough. I'm just insatiable. There's a provocative song called " Insatiable ," but that's not quite what I'm talking about here. This may sound weird, but work with me: The closer I draw to God, the greater this indescribable hunger grows. I wrote a good poem about it a while ago. Let me go rustle it up from my archives... Small Corridors I feel life’s weight, and I need Your strength To hold this feeble frame forever, For, as You know, all days are circumscribed By Your grace. If I were to sever Your presence in my life, my very mol...

Sigh. As always, a billion thoughts; I never know what to do with them—which is one of the biggest reasons I have this blog. Hahaha, even then I can't share half of them, but it's life. I almost wrote c'est la vie , but I really don't get why we have to turn perfectly sensible native phrases into some other language. French is a fine language and all, but whatever. In other news, the news is getting retarded. Yes, I said  retarded . No, I am not some evil hater. It used to be a perfectly functional word. There were still plenty who misused it, but since when have we been uniformly concerned about using our language properly? If ever this was the case, it is long gone. Thus, the news is getting retarded, "characterized by a ... limitation in intellectual understanding." That sums it up so succinctly. Again, though, I must admit that none of these shenanigans scare me. We humans have been murdering ourselves for a long time. We've been stealing f...

As always, I have too many thoughts, but these ones are a little more chill—on average anyway. I do love math; it articulates so many things so well. In other news, have you ever had the experience where you ask for something specific, and somebody provides you with something vague?

Well then. Welllllll then. A million and one. A million and one things. And then some. And then the universe spirals so bloody fast. And then the universe seems clogged in stasis. And then money, this weird substance that seems to offer no balance between struggling and glutted. Proverbs 30:7-9 "Two things I ask of you, Lord; do not refuse me before I die: Keep falsehood and lies far from me; give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, "Who is the Lord?" Or I may become poor and steal, and so dishonor the name of my God." Do not get me wrong. I am not impoverished. I eat more than I need each day. I sleep in a soft bed. I watch a movie every once in a while. I have clean clothing. I get to take showers every day. Nevertheless, there is some weird, looming burden that seems to draw even the stoutest of believers down. G. K. Chesterton wrote, "[Capitalism is] that ...

I only wrote 747 words. My brain is overloaded with thoughts. I need to transcribe Borillaflax. I need to jot thoughts about the dad-defeated alien invasion. I need to jot thoughts about my elementals. I need to write a new poem. I need to practice word-sketching a lot of things: I specifically see some some pretty violet flowers just outside the window. I need to complete the paperwork. I need to start testing videos for my upcoming video blog. I need friggin exercise. I need to grow up. I need to take a nap. I need to fold some origami. I probably should play the guitar, but I am focusing most of my energy on writing. I need to start memorizing Romans 5-8; that's going to be quite daunting. I need to clean my room. I need to sell my PS3. I probably need to get rid of my PS4. I should join a gym. I at least need to go running or swimming somewhat regularly. I need to get one or more glass fingernail files because they're utterly amazing. I need to start ...

It feels like such a long time since I last wrote for Meadowvale. I believe it was only last Wednesday, but Meadowvale feels so far away. However, I do measure time by the amount of emotional energy spent — joules specifically, or kilojoules more commonly in my case — and I did spend a lot of energy these past few days.

It's totally nap time or something along those lines. Maybe video game time. However, I haven't written in like one whole day, so I'm starting to feel antzy. As it turns out, Dexter is a pansy. He and I tussled for a good minute or two before he defaulted to running away. Besides that, not much. Work is good. Obviously, I would rather be dubstep dancing every day or cyborg pirate pillaging every day or—let's be honest—making babies every day. But work is good. Writing is a work in progress. My masterpiece will be unfathomably amazing!, but I have to write at least two books before then. My coworkers are amazing. I'm always tired (but that's almost 100% my fault). I am more and more contemplating joining a gym—not even a Pokemon gym but a real, live physical fitness gym. I know, I know: I've fallen to a pitiable state, but I really would totally dig being muscular again. Not today. Today, I'll probably take a nice, refreshing nap. I'm definitely...

Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light; I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. - W. B. Yeats I'm getting big into dreams lately. I have had so many that I've suppressed for so long. As soon as I gave up on suppressing and started pursuing dreams, support and opportunities starting popping up all over the place. I don't know how often our culture quotes that Albert Einstein — the man who established most of our most important mathematics — but I do know we hardly ever take the man at his word. I recently asked a bartender what her dream was. She said she dreams of having her own place, her own bar. I asked her what it would be called. "I haven't thought about that." I asked her what the the...

Only 732 words. I was pretty distracted, but I was productive in a few other areas. A tasty excerpt from today: "I know you all still have so many questions, but there's not enough time to go into details. Maybe after this war is won, we can linger in all the lore, but we've got to keep forging on." But Michael spoke up, "What makes the words work? What gives them these strange powers?" Skoar's face showed that he was torn between answering and moving on. He relented. With a deep breath and heavy sigh, he began, "The old words are just that: old. As far as the tales go, our ancestors spoke to the world, to the trees, to the rocks, to the earth. In an old language, they spoke with nature, and nature listened. When we use the words now, the world around us remembers and listens. Those are the rumors anyway, but, as far as I can tell, the rumors ring true. So, with the words, an arrow is no longer just an arrow but a friend or an enemy. Fire is n...

In the New York Times, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie wrote a fictional article about a party that was arranged by Donald Trump's wife Melania. In her work of fiction, Adichie wrote a number of terrifying implications about Trump's personal life and how he impacts the people around him — including his wife. The most terrifying inference Adichie made, however, was about Americans as a whole: "Americans were so emotionally young, so fascinated by what Europeans knew to be world-weary realities. They were drawn to Donald's brashness and bluster and bullying, his harsh words, even the amoral ease with which untruths slid out of his mouth. ... They had followed him from the beginning, breathlessly and childishly." Her words are reminiscent of the playground toady who follows around the middle school bully. I was recently chatting with a friend. This friend was telling me how I "have" to vote and that those that don't vote are the problem wi...

I have too many thoughts, but I can't share them now. In other news, I still have too many thoughts. I hope Horizon Zero Dawn helps redeem the PS4. Sony, I want to give you my money, but you've made such tacky games. You're breakin' my heart. Metroid Prime is nostalgic though. Swimming is a great thing. It is often lauded as one of the healthier exercises: no impact to your joints, exercise for each muscle, rinses you as you go. Plus, splashing is fun. I have recently watched random excerpts of Zootopia because my nieces and nephews have watched it numerous times these past few days. I want to watch the whole thing. I totally want children. I'm totally not ready or monied enough (not to mention a few other very imperative things), but, especially due to these past two weeks of hanging out with nearly all of my nieces and nephews, I want children! Curmudgeonly, snot-nosed, crying, giggling, irrational, destructive children. A million of them flocking like ...

The illustrious 4th of July. Independence Day. In honor of this vestigial holiday, I have made a new comic: Dependence Day #AmericanDream In other news, I went swimming pretty much all day yesterday! With nieces! And nephews! I hadn't been swimming in such a long time. I went swimming with my brother this past week. Then I supermuch swam yesterday! It was glorious. In any case, the kids are watching Despicable Me 2 , so I'm off.

Over 1100 words today. Not bad. I took the advice of an author and jotted down a very brief outline of what I hoped to write. I hope to implement the other sides of the writing triangle more thoroughly. Having even just the vaguest sense of what I wanted to write made it much smoother, but I can't quite imagine writing 10000 words—even on the best of days. Practice makes perfect I suppose. Here's a fun excerpt from what I managed today: The librarian stood up and walked slowly north toward the infirmary. Entering the door, he saw cots overturned, chairs broken, basins spilled, and an overall mess. "This is not our way," he growled quietly. He walked over to Werbel's chair and stood it upright in its usual place. A bit of the boy's blood stuck to his hand. "This is not our way," he growled again, more loudly this time. He recalled all the conversations he had shared with that poor, brave girl. He recalled the laughter she had caused, t...

Bikes! They're still fantastic. Fingernails! For the first time in a long time, I have them. I don't know if you've ever not had fingernails, but it's weird once they return. Most of the nails haven't connected to the nail beds, but my thumbs and index fingers look fantastic. In a small fit of choppy inspiration, I imagined Borillaflax the Fantastic Dragon. Instead of scales, he has streamers. Instead of claws, he has strobe-light fingertips. Instead of fire breath, he has confetti breath. I'm not yet much of an illustrator, but it evokes some crazy imagery in my mind. Speaking thereof, "Short Skirt Long Jacket" by Cake has great imagery: "I want a girl with shoes that cut and eyes that burn like cigarettes... With fingernails that shine like justice and a voice that is dark like tinted glass." Yesterday, a friend humored me as I ranted through my undying hatred for "Christian"/"Worship"/"Praise" ...

I am sitting in a place called Filter. It's not quite a Starbucks, but all coffee shops are charming in their various ways. I don't have access to WiFi; this changes only a little bit, but I don't really know what I'm rambling. Really, I'm just trying to do brain drain, trying to let out the cluttered thoughts to make way for Meadowvale. Since the tables are hightops, they're rather shallow. In other words, I have only about a foot and a half from where the table begins to where the wall begins. My little screen is to my left, and my keyboard is to my right. It works I suppose. I hope it's not too crazy for writing story stuff. In some sense, I feel it might be better: I can stare out the window as I type words, and it feels almost freer because I'm not locking myself up in the words or structure of them. I don't have a helmet, but I rode a bike to the coffee shop today! I may have mentioned that I'm visiting my brother in DC. I did; I remem...

My brain is full of thoughts. I don't feel like writing so much, but, typically just before writing, I don't feel like it. When I was little, my mom would tell me to go do something that I enjoy; swimming was a frequent example. She tell me to get in the pool; I'd whine about how I didn't want to go swimming. Finally, she just command me to get in the pool. I would then stay in the pool longer than everybody else because I really do love swimming. I don't know if it's just a handful of things or if it's most things in my life. Regrettably, writing is similar: in my mind, I whine about writing until I plain force myself. Then it's super enjoyable. I'm getting better at marching through that weird barrier. In my lazy heart of hearts, I'd rather be napping, drinking water, or maybe going for a walk. My eyes feel dry. I am in need of rest—physical rest is included of course, but really, concerning physical stuff, I just need to ex...

I am in DC visiting Aaron, Miriam, and their wonderful crazy kids. Miriam's brother graciously offered to let me visit his home during the day while he and his wife are away so that I can write! Family! It's awesome stuff. I have so much to say, so I don't have a lot to say. I think that experience is pretty common: as more and more thoughts clamor, it's harder to choose which one(s) to articulate. Meadowvale is progressing nicely. Last week's update was delectable (in my opinion). I really enjoyed the scathing hatred between Rrraktotrrraka and Chirrratka. I'm still debating with myself whether I should modify the lizards' names to make them more approachable, but, for now, I've decided I'll just give them nicknames like the librarian , the slaver , the mad emperor . In other other news, I miss poetry: real, live poetry. Not Jesus Jingles or Heathen Homilies. Let me explain briefly. By Jesus Jingles , I mean the repetitive, clichéd counter...

I wrote a good 1600 words! Some major plot points were developed too. Chirrratka (the psychotic slaver) and Rrraktotrrraka (the conflicted librarian) had a momentary standoff. Rrraktotrrraka has worked hard and has earned his rank, but Chirrratka is truly psychotic, so nobody really messes with him. A tasty excerpt from the most recent addition: "What the devil is the meaning of this?" bellowed the librarian, shoving Chirrratka back hard. The soldiers watched silently without moving. The slaver looked up. The mocking grin on his face was gone completely. In its place was a murderous glare. Chirrratka reached behind his waist and unsheathed his two daggers slowly. He spoke in a low growl, "For the time being, you may outrank me, but a dead lizard outranks no one." It's gonna be a mess. As was indicated by a friend, the first few chapters make the book seem suited for elementary or middle school readers. I may have to change a lot to bring it forward a few...

Ugh. Don't get me started. In other news, Metroid Prime is a classic game. I can hardly summarize it if you've never played it, but one fascinating aspect is the different beam types. Samus gets four main beam weapons (alongside lots of supplemental upgrades): her original weapon the beam cannon, wave beam, ice beam, and plasma beam. In the picture, if you look closely at the bottom right corner, you'll see hand symbols—almost like sign language. The beam cannon hand sign looks like pretending your hand is an airplane. The wave beam looks like an open hand. The ice beam looks like "rock on." The plasma beam looks a bit like "live long in prosper." What's extra cool is that, in the game, Samus gets a x-ray visor. When that's active, you can see her hand in the poses described above. I'm not sure what the feeling is, but I envision that there's power in words—even the words of sign language. I may have to use that concept so...

I don't feel like writing. I feel like napping or playing Metroid Prime. It was a pretty day today. Up until about 2 PM, it was a cool and sunny. In the early afternoon, it switched to balmy and cloudy. After dinner, there were a few, sudden showers. A friend asked me if moments like that inspire me to write—or if there are moments that do. For the most part, it's a craft to which I devote myself. I've studied. I've practiced. I seek criticism wherever I can get it. Most often, it's just plain-old hard work. Second most often, there's a sort of internal pressure that needs to be unleashed. I feel it, and I know I have to write something—not just a measly blog post but something more poignant. Lastly, there are sometimes when a thought or theme, a memory or feeling hit me just right; a few sentences form in my mind, and I jot them down before they flit away. If I pursue those times, they usually turn out quite well. A lot of my poems were written at su...

So yeah. Ice cream is nice. I also like these new things called Aussie Bites; they're some kinda granola muffin thingy: a lot of crunch and flavor and nutrition. I also bought Metroid Prime for GameCube again. I played it first probably when I was a teenager. It's strange going back to an old FPS / RPG like that after playing a number of modern FPS. I don't know how tactical I was back then, but I feel much more agile now. Who knows? In other news, I now have fingernails. My fingertips feel weird, and my fingernails clack on things. It's not like long lady fingernails; I just never had nails before, so it's odd. At least I'm sustaining plenty of other bad habits. I did, however, attempt a new geometric comic. I decided to call the series The United Shapes of Arithmetic. The title is half meant to be a satire of the USA, and it half just turned out well. "When am I ever?" That question(complaint) doesn't just occur in math classes. In oth...

I wrote just under 1200 words. Some good progress was made. Here's a recent excerpt: Pimsby turned around, opened his arms, and said, "Welcome to Firth." He let the visitors glance around, taking in the hidden buildings and quiet commotion slowly. Finally, Pimsby continued, "Skoar will want to speak with you and the other remaining elders." "What?" gasped Jeremy. "Do you know about what's happening in the east?" "Not all of it but enough to know why you're here." "Then why have you not already gathered your forces? Why have you not already headed east to help us?" asked Jeremy angrily. Pimsby watched as the arriving travelers were directed into the village where they could store their possessions, get food and water, and rest. "We have observations and rumors, but we cannot mobilize for every threat that whispers across the plains. Jeremy started, but Pimsby held up his hand to silence him. "...

No part of life is a s simple as saying "It's OK." Still, we often consume ourselves by thinking our differences or our flaws make us undesirable or unforgiveable. There are all sorts of brokennesses, but there is also healing. It's ok. It's ok to have problems. It's ok to have idiosyncrasies because that's all they are. It's ok to have sins because they're covered in Christ's blood. It's ok to have weaknesses because God's power is perfected in weakness. It's ok to have a little extra weight because our culture is a fuckup to say otherwise. It's ok to be selfish because God will draw us back to Himself. It's ok to be angry because injustices are real. It's ok to be afraid because God's still working on us. It's ok to give up because God doesn't. It's ok to be depressed because there is no shame in being overwhelmed by pain. It's ok to be ashamed because Christ mee...

I haven't written much in a while, but I've started a comic strip. I made a few more today. Comparatively, they're not very good, but I think it's a great start for a bloke who's never made comics before. I drew encouragement from a number of artists, but I was mainly inspired by poorlydrawnlines.com. The comics are simple panels with relatively simple colors and relatively simple illustrations. I've been churning thoughts about how I could start something. I guess I can give another sample. I know it's not very good, but a man has to start somewhere: Nobody Understands The overall approach still needs some work, but it's been a quaint, new hobby. Werbel needs to make some progress. I really gotta call his story something else though. I've been thinking about calling it "Meadowvale." That's where the story starts, it's the village where Werbel was born, and it's the village that travels to its neighbors to unify th...

"Time-snob." As with most convictions that require a heightened level of control, there is the danger of becoming excessive about it. Admittedly, I don't think I am a time-snob, but the phrase popped into my mind, and I had to use it. The principle, though, is that most do no seem to respect time in general or punctuality in particular. I could discuss for quite a long time, but the main issue is that people are, on the whole, late. In reality, "around 7:30" should mean some radius of time that is near 7:30. 7:15 to 7:45 is an ideal window. 7 to 8 is a reasonable window. 6:30 to 8:30 is no longer "around 7:30." Typically, in American culture and too many others, "around 7:30" means "between 7:45 and 8:15." Long story short, people aren't chronologically reliable. Bing bang boom. Yesterday, I was visiting my brother in Souderton. It was a relatively warm evening. Rather suddenly and briefly, there was a ...

So I wrote a little over 1200 words. All things considered, that's a solid amount, but it never feels like enough. The day I wrote over 2000 was good enough: many words were written, and many plot points were addressed. And still, the world is too big. I often wish the world were like math: complicated and sometimes esoteric, but, with sheer force of will and continuous, obsessive application, you can make it work. I often tell my math students that, at their age, I was no smarter than they are. The only advantage I had was that I enjoyed math enough to devote piles of hours to wrestling with it. Really truly, like I am with puzzles, I loved attempting and re-attempting problems for hours until I finally understood. Life, however, requires you to wait. I hate waiting. Here's the paradox though: I'm not formally impatient. If there's a task that requires repetition over a long period of time, I'm totally down with that. However, I hate plain waiting, the ...

Freedom. I know Jesus healed people full on while they were still alive on this planet, but, admittedly, I have long assumed it'd be my endless battle until I live anew. Logically, mathematically, that is not the case. I don't know if you've seen The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe – the one with live action humans, excellent computer graphics, and a really unconvincing lion. (Mufasa's death makes grown men cry.  I don't think  Aslan's death in that particular movie even ruffles an eyelash, but I digress.) Near the beginning of the movie, Lucy and Edmund have gone through the wardrobe and experienced some of the wonders of Narnia. Upon their return, Lucy is ecstacic about her adventure and shares her story excitedly. Edmund acts the scab and pretends as though nothing happened, as though they were just pretending. The four siblings take this dispute to "the professor," the man who is currently boarding them since a war drove them away f...