Inside the Mind of a Nathan

So I'm not sure if I want to write Werbel, write random thoughts, write a random creative-writing sketch, or write nothing. Thus, I am writing a random stuff. I don't even think I can justify sharing this on Facebook or what have you. I'm distracted by various activities around me. I should probably eat or drink something. However, I do always tell my students to write and read at least a little bit every day, so I'm following my own advice finally barely! Nutella is so delicious, but it leaves an aftertaste that is lacking something. Chocolate milk makes everybody happy. You're probably related to Genghis Khan. Brushing teeth is nice; they don't even have to be your own teeth. Werbel has definitely seen worse days, but he's still a bit feeble. In this case, I'm talking about his story and not the boy himself. His story is feeble. The scenery is lacking, bare, or nonexistent. The only real distinction between most of the characters is their names a...

Starbucks is a nice place. Some say that the products are overpriced. Last time I checked, this country is overpriced. In any case, Starbuckses have comfortable atmospheres, high standards, and cordial employees. Free wifi is quite the bonus. Every day at my dayjob (Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday), I go for a walk during my lunch break. One Friday a few weeks ago, I ambled into "The Art of It," a charming art gallery/store. (At least I feel it is charming. I've ambled into so few art galleries; I wouldn't know how to compare.) After wandering for about a minute (I feel like I wrote about this before), a curly-haired redhead named Amy appeared from a classroom/sideroom and invited me to observe the small lesson. Loooong story short, I now visit The Art of It on my walk every Friday and chat with Jane, Joann, and Amy about art and life. Last week (maybe the week before that), I learned about color and how to start understanding it. It just struck me that understa...

There were a bunch of things that I wanted to write, but I forgot them all. A lady called today who was worried about her son specifically in regard to how much he was struggling with writing essays. Really truly, if you want to improve your writing, start by writing every day – no frills, nothing fancy. Just write every day. I understand that it seems kinda arbitrary, and that might unsettle some people. My stronger suspicion, however, is that it's not a quick fix, and people don't like the responsibility of being consistent. If you want to write better, start by writing more. I already talked about this . Write more. In the interim, read more. This is even less strict. For a time, I tried to anticipate what would be good  literature versus bad  literature. I would read the synopsis on the back or on the removable cover. I might check a review. Now, I just tell people, "If you put a book in my hands, I will read it." If I see a book that has a catching ...

Gah! I tried it again! Facebook. I know: I use it to disseminate my little scribblings. It's a necessary evil. I am gradually envisioning how to spread my scribbling stuff through more avenues. Yes. I know the avenues; the main barrier is the energy required to employ those avenues properly. Not today. Not today. It just struck me that dogs are at a disadvantage. For the most part, the only sounds they can make are negative: barking, growling, and whining are the primaries. In contrast, cats have purring, guinea pigs have those cute little squeaks, and, while birds have a high potential for being squawking little beasts, they can often do lovely chirps and such. The best sound dogs can use is that strange, grunting groan. They mean well, but their sounds don't recommend them. I like Dexter though (my parents' dog). He tries hard to be agreeable; typically, he ends up being obnoxious – just like a lovable Rudolph. I often recall better times, but then I doubt mys...

Buggers! Now I don't know what to do with myself! I reread Werbel and continued it a bit. They're going to war! Obviously – inside the story – this is no good, but I'm glad it's going to happen. It seemed too thin, too small. Now, they're going to contact other villages and defeat the evil lizard emperor once and for all. Plus, this gives Werbel time to become a truly badass little dude. It gives more breathing room for everything. So I don't know what to do with myself. I paid a few bills because I downright have to. Oi. There's a lot of stuff – especially early on in the story – that's cumbersome. I began it in high school. I refurbished a lot of it in the past few years, but it's still not as crisp as I've become recently. That's ok I suppose. Draft one is supposed to be rough. Werbel's going to be badass. Sturga gets to regain his true smith's heart. His daughters will probably become excellent smiths too. They don't h...

I have regularly tutored at Valley Forge Military Academy. In the grand scheme of things, it's no better or worse than any other school. However, it's one of the few places where I instantly feel dirty if I touch anything – and I mean just plain physically dirty. I feel the essence of unwashed, non-deodorized, military-esque, teenage boy grime clinging to the tables and chairs and even floating in the air. I wash my hands frequently, and I try to open door handles with my sleeves. This is not to demean the school itself or any of my students. I have encountered some of the most admirable, respectful, intelligent young men during my years of tutoring there. Nevertheless, on the whole, they're a reliably grimy lot. Just before coming here (to blogger.com), I figured I'd give a quick glance over Facebook. Just like with some of my students, I always have hope for it. Receiving all the data, one should logically infer that there is no hope; no progress will be made. S...

This time, I feel like writing, but I again do not know what I want to write. I had a good day. Lately, days have been pretty fantastic actually. I'm a little tense about the miscellaneous transitions that are taking place or need to take place, but God's goodness has been washing over me, and I am consistently filled with gumption? Maybe hope. Peace? Joy? Lightheartedness? I'm not sure, but it's dandy. I want to brush my teeth, but that means I'd have to get up. So, Werbel has been printed, but I haven't read him at all. I'll get there. What's next? Back exercises? Gah! Whenever I do it, I feel dramatically better. Whenever I don't, I feel customarily worse. I'll get there too... My knuckles have been drying out. It makes me proud. Isaac's knuckles always dry out in the winter, and, in many ways, I really want to be like Isaac. In many different ways, I really want to be like all my brothers. (In many other ways, I very much don'...

I did my back exercise and took a shower. Strangely enough, I feel pretty good. And I cannot get over this song . This excerpt from The Hunger Games just popped into my mind: “I don’t know how to say it exactly. Only…I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?” he asks. I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself? “I don’t want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I’m not.” I bite my lip, feeling inferior. While I’ve been ruminating on the availability of trees, Peeta has been struggling with how to maintain his identity. His purity of self. “Do you mean you won’t kill anyone?” I ask. “No, when the time comes, I’m sure I’ll kill just like everybody else. I can’t go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to…to show the Capitol they don’t own me. That I’m more than just a piece in their Games,” says Peeta. Lately, with abortions as frequent as ever, I've been thinking about life and death. I've be...

This time, it's not even that I don't feel like writing; it's that I'm not really sure what I should write. I had an exceedingly fantastic day filled with encouraging words of different types, and I'd love to share all the details I can remember, but I don't want to gloat. I suppose I can summarize vaguely: I was complimented at work. I have graciously been given a financial relief. !!! It's exciting stuff. I may perhaps talk more of it in the future. For now, I plan to print Werbel and reacquaint myself with him. I'm quite excited about that. I finished 1984 . It did a fine job of identifying many dangers. The end seemed rather abrupt though. Winston simply gave up. I'm not at all bothered that he gave up; the miseries they poured upon him must have been all kinds of unbearable. However, the ending was too quiet if you will. He drank some gin, he was miserable, and he loved Big Brother. The Party had assimilated him, so I gues...

It is both reassuring and frustrating: whenever I start writing, the desire to write increases. It is reassuring because my dream is to be an author. It is frustrating because I often have to do things besides writing. I like free refills by the way. I have drunk quite a large amount of green tea. I also have to read more. How can a man read everything and write everything with finite time?! I'm looking forward to eternity; I'll get to read and write all the things. Once again, I have this nagging inclination to write creatively, but I feel something akin to guilty because – or such is the feeling – I should be writing about Werbel instead. But I still have to reread his story! And I haven't gotten to a printer yet! And a printed copy would be much easier to read! I like tutoring. I want to tutor, but I really would prefer to write. I have a little under half an hour before my student arrives. I think, once I've moved, I shall devote Wednesdays to writin...

Life is burdensome, but it is still lovely. I know our fallenness has wrought havoc, but God's goodness still reverberates in space-time. My eye is twitching; I don't know why. Also, my iPad is ratchet – as they say. I should probably be reading or writing about Werbel. Perhaps after I've finished 1984, I'll replace it with Werbel. I don't feel like writing. I don't feel like moving either, but I still managed to put a lot of stuff in my car. I miss Man-Time Poetry Time. We only met so very few times, but they were powerful. I remember one Valentine's Day where we went around taping up a high-quality poem next to some feeble poem that some bloke had posted. I remember a number of times when we went strolling along the nearby stream to find a place to share our poems. Steven and I are beginning to reconnect. I have heard that Randall is nearly through a certain season. We may get to reconvene in the near future. I hope. 1984 is dange...

The nearly-frozen rain only just stopped trickling on the roof. I like the sound of rain, especially the nearly-frozen kind. It almost crackles, but that's not quite the right sound. Normal rain – which is also lovely – patters. Near-frozen rain tinkles a bit like hail; it's a bit sharper, a bit higher, but just as soothing. Strangely enough, I have a pretty good job. I'm always expecting something apocalyptic to happen: I'll make some blunder and THEN they'll finally realize I'm not fit for the job and boot me right out. "Always" was not the right word. I am uniformly decreasingly expecting. I think I might even be relatively competent, but I think man has a habit of fearing. WERBEL. I'm becoming a little infatuated with my elementals, but I really have to complete Werbel first. Even then, I still have to complete Jacob Jacobsson. My excuse is that the excerpts have just been general exercises – even if they have been about elementals. Don...

I spoke with a friend earlier today. We discussed the distinction between "objective" and "subjective." For sake of anonymity, the friend's name is Anna. I am going to make some inferences; I apologize if they are incorrect. As far as I could tell, Anna's concern was that another person was having trouble considering a thing from a different perspective. Anna thought the other (we'll name the other Joe) needed to be more subjective or open to other interpretations of the thing. Thus, we chatted about which word would be right: subjective or objective. As Anna and I chatted, we agreed that the situation was a dash more complex than that. At one point, Anna distinguished between her truth and Joe's truth. That's the essence of "subjective": in this sort of case, "truth" isn't really a thing; rather, one person has perspectives that they believe are truth and the other does the same. This is subjectivity: the ...