Inside the Mind of a Nathan

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...