A while ago I might have said, "Oh yes we're finally done!" what I meant was with a climatic arc. Technically you could leave the story there, but it'd be kind of a mean thing to do. If it was a manga volume thing then it'd be a cliffhanger, "Wtf is going to happen next" ending after the 21st chapter.
I have been working on the 22nd, along with a lot of concerns of content that is to come well after that chapter. The over all editing and ironing of the earlier chapters of this experiment has been put on hold and only recently got picked up again. Art was slowed, and the chapter put on hold till decisions were made.
None of which was updated, and constant updates seem to be trendy thing these days... or well, necessary to stay relevant. Haha ^^;
Anyways, the latest chapter has been worked on. I don't like to give away too much so for those readers that have somehow stumbled upon this that enjoy ED, then I'll be happy to say, please look forward to the next chapter and the few to follow.
There's going to be a monster brawl.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Late night basics.
I'm not really sure if anyone reads these things, but for those that it may be useful for let's have a late night post.
There are times a person working on a project (whether writing, art, w/e) may think to themselves, "Oh, I work best burning the late night oil." Working late has it's moments, and the evening hours are known to not have too many distractions (well, usually). So working late has its allure, and yet when the morning comes and you look at last night's evidence you'll see just as many errors as if it was done in the day. That's part of creating, so really the word of advice is to not be pinned to the idea of 'only being able to work at x times', really it's about the time you set aside to work on the thing. Heard it before? It's good advice. Sounds silly or strange to you? Like anything, each person has their own methods, but I have a rather strong gut feeling that this is one of those maxims that are universal.
Take for instance the post I threw up here called, "It costs a heart." It was done in April 1, 2014. The length in time between that post, this one, and all my posts should indicate either two things.
1) I'm doing nothing.
2) I'm doing something.
There are times a person working on a project (whether writing, art, w/e) may think to themselves, "Oh, I work best burning the late night oil." Working late has it's moments, and the evening hours are known to not have too many distractions (well, usually). So working late has its allure, and yet when the morning comes and you look at last night's evidence you'll see just as many errors as if it was done in the day. That's part of creating, so really the word of advice is to not be pinned to the idea of 'only being able to work at x times', really it's about the time you set aside to work on the thing. Heard it before? It's good advice. Sounds silly or strange to you? Like anything, each person has their own methods, but I have a rather strong gut feeling that this is one of those maxims that are universal.
Take for instance the post I threw up here called, "It costs a heart." It was done in April 1, 2014. The length in time between that post, this one, and all my posts should indicate either two things.
1) I'm doing nothing.
2) I'm doing something.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
It costs a heart.
It flickers, and its light dances in that dark night. It fights off the beasts, yet draws them near. It whispers songs into your deaf ears. An illusion of sight that burns with warmth; comforting, crackling, converse-as in conversation, you'll have one, three, many more by its side. It'll last throughout time, yet its fuel burns finite.
Perhaps you imagine that I am talking of a campfire. A flame that wards off danger, yet welcomes strangers. But no, I speak of writing.
Specifically, phrases and thoughts that speak of its 'value'.
I have often heard the line, "words are cheap" taken out of context and then used to determine value of words in general. I find that revolting, personally, but my point of view comes from the angle of context. If anyone can recall the phrase "words are cheap" is usually spoken near or alongside or even after something that sounds like "actions are louder than words" or "a picture is 1000 words". Which is fine, and truthful. Striking a gong is going to be louder than me saying that I strike a gong. Likewise the foundation of comprehension when one looks at a single image can often conjure up a dictionary of words by description and association.
But that isn't what I find troubling.
What I find troubling is that these phrases are often used to devalue written work, or to describe one's stance on apples and oranges.
Over the puzzling years I've spent going up and down the slides of life, I've found myself at the framed gates of other minds. Those that I wish to collaborate with, or those that I admire (as in their works, I hardly know them as persons). Sometimes (not all the times) I come across a gated community whose perception of reality is to my Van Gogh to their Picasso. We speak in completely different languages (of art) which is to be expected of our evolutionary paths; yet the system of values truly doesn't branch both ways. Those gates were closed to the value of writing, which was apparent beyond just their phrases on the matter. They threw around words with hardly a thought. Their concepts left mute to rot without a sentence, nary a word or phrase that could gild their picture frames. Nay, the space for words were often left barren. A desert for speech with a mute presentation. "Let it speak for itself!" And how! Could we get a word or two to go with this piece? Perhaps something other than the jingle of a sponsor that tries to sell us on the secret of a mother that the IRS will really hate?
Here, let me shoot down this flying sheep. Cut away the wool, let's get to the meat.
On my mind has been the relative value of the written word. Try to pitch the writing craft and it seems that one hits a rebounding wall, a barrier that doesn't accept your currency.
You go around in our entertainment rich world and you'll probably hear, "I don't have time to read" this, that, a book, what have you. Try to hand off a book for free, a manuscript, a gem in the making and you'll likely get a healthy plate of rejection. It's like the plague, or perhaps raw meat.
Don't have time to read... or for those fellow writers who are struggling they might decree that they don't have time to write! And yet I am sure that you are doing it at every moment! The reading! The writing!
It may not be a book, but it's probably something on your computer, phone, etc.
The 'why' of not having enough time isn't what I'm going to cover at the moment. Let's continue the conversation of value.
So no one wants the thing for free. You pass it around and get blocked or ignored. Then you get these quips back, spun like gold by their owners yet you know that these words they say are hollow. Beyond the statement of 'no time', there is often the rather knife wound phrases like, "It's not worth anything" or "anyone could do that" or "It's not the movie, game, web app" and so on. Suddenly it's not enough to just say they aren't in the mood for in depth reading, thinking and topic discussion; now they have to convince themselves (and you) that such levels of comprehension has no value.
Perhaps a disturbing trend is when the apples and oranges have their mailboxes exchanged. Go to an animator friend and you'll likely hear a similar tale of woe. Oh sure they can try and force your eyes on their work - make you look at their magic of making things come to life - but the speed of demonstration does not stop the endless peril of anyone who works in creative art; even here, it is often devalued. No industry is sacred, just check their checkbooks or hear their grumbling. I'm not going to paint a grotesque picture that hyper-boles the truth, but these many words have been strung together to point out that they are often not paid much for their worth. Animation, games, even film. Consumers often see the numbers of those that reached success, "Millions of dollars in sales!" and then they distress. I'm not sure if it is the green eyes of envy, but I can say with a glum face that the consumer rarely sounds happy. At least, I will add, those with the loudest voices amongst the crowd.
Value in a sense isn't limited to cash, though in some ways it can speak in a more universal illusion. When I ponder on this topic, the defining matter of value goes much deeper. Entertainment in general is often not valued as highly as another fruit. I daresay repeat what I've heard, that some decree they can live life without entertainment or that it should be free! Free! The most expensive of words! Free! That which bleeds and burns. Free. Taken for granted after being drained of all its worth. Never coveted, quickly forgotten and buried in the woods.
Confused? Do you think I am mistaken? That free is wondrous and needs no declaration?
Sorry, we stand on separate fords. I mean the sides of rivers, not cars named after a horse. Let me just rephrase that. We stand on separate sides of the river of values.
If one experiences that which they had little need to invest into, they might become poisoned with the idea that other experiences should likely require so little investment. Criticism of this nature turns one into a blithering idiot. I say that in the most zombie apocalyptic way. Nary a day goes by that the blade of rationality doth not turn in the spine of its latest acquisitions; like a key to wind a robot that will mine endlessly without thought. Since I've taken you for a spell this long I suppose I should at least glance into the mirror with you to try and allow the cogs of the mind to crank.
Are you the kind of person who likes a steak or a potato chip?
Do you find yourself defending with strength, that which was most expensive or that which was a cheap fake?
Do your flavors in life color a picture which is filled with a variety of texture? Or do you prefer it all black, flat, and desire none of that?
I am not saying that things given out as gifts, or that are given out for free have no value; contrary, I say that they often can have more value than that which has a price dictated in monetary value. What I am saying (if you can piece the bits) is that my grief comes when one does not appreciate the gem they get. Lack of appraisal is a concern, and is part of an ignorant machine which I see that ever turns. Station, reasons, and positions aside, when one says that words (or any entertainment quite frankly) has no value, my eyes go dead. I feel a glaze go over my head. A protective balm that tries to cover the fragile spirit these words attempt to sunder.
Take for instance a pyrite coin flung your way, "This has no value." Followed by, "If only it was better." An example case is the perception that by partaking in video games one might decree that there is no value in the story; yet what do you often hear? "I wish it had a better plot." That "if only the writing were better" then it'd be a top sell. Then somewhere in that conversation you hear the phrase that this apple is better than that orange, but if only it had that citrus tang.
Truly the contradictions never cease to amaze me...
This kind of coagulation of thoughts and experiences has turned into a nightmare pudding that sloths through my head. A monstrous entity of double standards which I wish to slay with my pen.
Have you figured it out yet? The kernel of light, a nugget of gold hidden in this treasure chest that I write? Rhymes and spice aside I think that this meat has been sizzling long enough.
What I've wanted to say, express and put into so much word, is that I sense a trend against the written word. Which is odd to say the least, considering how pervasive written speech, how foundational it really is.
You enjoy a Tv show? It wouldn't happen without good writing.
You feel that movie was flat? Better writing could have fixed that. (Acting, I can't help you with.)
Does this game bore you or excite you? Writing is often to blame, though delivery is more likely the culprit you should hang.
A song that reaches your soul probably had lyrics to tickle your ego.
A lot of work goes into writing. The best of us can be skilled and quick to deliver. That skill did not come without cost. In fact, the best writing often costs a heart.
You see, in order to convey that human connection and bridge the gap across our mental fences, the writer has to first bleed. We get dirty in the world and see with eyes that recognize the past we wear on our sleeves. We try to lasso a future where we can all breathe. We're crafting experiences from the building blocks that broke us, made us, delivered us. We cut our teeth, skin and bones against the world to bring back the runes that will build a new world.
It cost an eye to see.
It cost an ear to hear.
It cost us to touch, taste, and smell fear.
It cost us a heart, wrenched out by love and loss.
It brought us memories to entrust, to you.
Art. Written or not. Costs a heart.
Something human, and of value.
Perhaps you imagine that I am talking of a campfire. A flame that wards off danger, yet welcomes strangers. But no, I speak of writing.
Specifically, phrases and thoughts that speak of its 'value'.
I have often heard the line, "words are cheap" taken out of context and then used to determine value of words in general. I find that revolting, personally, but my point of view comes from the angle of context. If anyone can recall the phrase "words are cheap" is usually spoken near or alongside or even after something that sounds like "actions are louder than words" or "a picture is 1000 words". Which is fine, and truthful. Striking a gong is going to be louder than me saying that I strike a gong. Likewise the foundation of comprehension when one looks at a single image can often conjure up a dictionary of words by description and association.
But that isn't what I find troubling.
What I find troubling is that these phrases are often used to devalue written work, or to describe one's stance on apples and oranges.
Over the puzzling years I've spent going up and down the slides of life, I've found myself at the framed gates of other minds. Those that I wish to collaborate with, or those that I admire (as in their works, I hardly know them as persons). Sometimes (not all the times) I come across a gated community whose perception of reality is to my Van Gogh to their Picasso. We speak in completely different languages (of art) which is to be expected of our evolutionary paths; yet the system of values truly doesn't branch both ways. Those gates were closed to the value of writing, which was apparent beyond just their phrases on the matter. They threw around words with hardly a thought. Their concepts left mute to rot without a sentence, nary a word or phrase that could gild their picture frames. Nay, the space for words were often left barren. A desert for speech with a mute presentation. "Let it speak for itself!" And how! Could we get a word or two to go with this piece? Perhaps something other than the jingle of a sponsor that tries to sell us on the secret of a mother that the IRS will really hate?
Here, let me shoot down this flying sheep. Cut away the wool, let's get to the meat.
On my mind has been the relative value of the written word. Try to pitch the writing craft and it seems that one hits a rebounding wall, a barrier that doesn't accept your currency.
You go around in our entertainment rich world and you'll probably hear, "I don't have time to read" this, that, a book, what have you. Try to hand off a book for free, a manuscript, a gem in the making and you'll likely get a healthy plate of rejection. It's like the plague, or perhaps raw meat.
Don't have time to read... or for those fellow writers who are struggling they might decree that they don't have time to write! And yet I am sure that you are doing it at every moment! The reading! The writing!
It may not be a book, but it's probably something on your computer, phone, etc.
The 'why' of not having enough time isn't what I'm going to cover at the moment. Let's continue the conversation of value.
So no one wants the thing for free. You pass it around and get blocked or ignored. Then you get these quips back, spun like gold by their owners yet you know that these words they say are hollow. Beyond the statement of 'no time', there is often the rather knife wound phrases like, "It's not worth anything" or "anyone could do that" or "It's not the movie, game, web app" and so on. Suddenly it's not enough to just say they aren't in the mood for in depth reading, thinking and topic discussion; now they have to convince themselves (and you) that such levels of comprehension has no value.
Perhaps a disturbing trend is when the apples and oranges have their mailboxes exchanged. Go to an animator friend and you'll likely hear a similar tale of woe. Oh sure they can try and force your eyes on their work - make you look at their magic of making things come to life - but the speed of demonstration does not stop the endless peril of anyone who works in creative art; even here, it is often devalued. No industry is sacred, just check their checkbooks or hear their grumbling. I'm not going to paint a grotesque picture that hyper-boles the truth, but these many words have been strung together to point out that they are often not paid much for their worth. Animation, games, even film. Consumers often see the numbers of those that reached success, "Millions of dollars in sales!" and then they distress. I'm not sure if it is the green eyes of envy, but I can say with a glum face that the consumer rarely sounds happy. At least, I will add, those with the loudest voices amongst the crowd.
Value in a sense isn't limited to cash, though in some ways it can speak in a more universal illusion. When I ponder on this topic, the defining matter of value goes much deeper. Entertainment in general is often not valued as highly as another fruit. I dare
Confused? Do you think I am mistaken? That free is wondrous and needs no declaration?
Sorry, we stand on separate fords. I mean the sides of rivers, not cars named after a horse. Let me just rephrase that. We stand on separate sides of the river of values.
If one experiences that which they had little need to invest into, they might become poisoned with the idea that other experiences should likely require so little investment. Criticism of this nature turns one into a blithering idiot. I say that in the most zombie apocalyptic way. Nary a day goes by that the blade of rationality doth not turn in the spine of its latest acquisitions; like a key to wind a robot that will mine endlessly without thought. Since I've taken you for a spell this long I suppose I should at least glance into the mirror with you to try and allow the cogs of the mind to crank.
Are you the kind of person who likes a steak or a potato chip?
Do you find yourself defending with strength, that which was most expensive or that which was a cheap fake?
Do your flavors in life color a picture which is filled with a variety of texture? Or do you prefer it all black, flat, and desire none of that?
I am not saying that things given out as gifts, or that are given out for free have no value; contrary, I say that they often can have more value than that which has a price dictated in monetary value. What I am saying (if you can piece the bits) is that my grief comes when one does not appreciate the gem they get. Lack of appraisal is a concern, and is part of an ignorant machine which I see that ever turns. Station, reasons, and positions aside, when one says that words (or any entertainment quite frankly) has no value, my eyes go dead. I feel a glaze go over my head. A protective balm that tries to cover the fragile spirit these words attempt to sunder.
Take for instance a pyrite coin flung your way, "This has no value." Followed by, "If only it was better." An example case is the perception that by partaking in video games one might decree that there is no value in the story; yet what do you often hear? "I wish it had a better plot." That "if only the writing were better" then it'd be a top sell. Then somewhere in that conversation you hear the phrase that this apple is better than that orange, but if only it had that citrus tang.
Truly the contradictions never cease to amaze me...
This kind of coagulation of thoughts and experiences has turned into a nightmare pudding that sloths through my head. A monstrous entity of double standards which I wish to slay with my pen.
Have you figured it out yet? The kernel of light, a nugget of gold hidden in this treasure chest that I write? Rhymes and spice aside I think that this meat has been sizzling long enough.
What I've wanted to say, express and put into so much word, is that I sense a trend against the written word. Which is odd to say the least, considering how pervasive written speech, how foundational it really is.
You enjoy a Tv show? It wouldn't happen without good writing.
You feel that movie was flat? Better writing could have fixed that. (Acting, I can't help you with.)
Does this game bore you or excite you? Writing is often to blame, though delivery is more likely the culprit you should hang.
A song that reaches your soul probably had lyrics to tickle your ego.
A lot of work goes into writing. The best of us can be skilled and quick to deliver. That skill did not come without cost. In fact, the best writing often costs a heart.
You see, in order to convey that human connection and bridge the gap across our mental fences, the writer has to first bleed. We get dirty in the world and see with eyes that recognize the past we wear on our sleeves. We try to lasso a future where we can all breathe. We're crafting experiences from the building blocks that broke us, made us, delivered us. We cut our teeth, skin and bones against the world to bring back the runes that will build a new world.
It cost an eye to see.
It cost an ear to hear.
It cost us to touch, taste, and smell fear.
It cost us a heart, wrenched out by love and loss.
It brought us memories to entrust, to you.
Art. Written or not. Costs a heart.
Something human, and of value.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
I have a Fever.
I had been helping a relative overcome a cold and just
returned home. I was tired! Luckily I wasn’t sick. Just in case, I was eating large helpings of
the same illness fighting foods I prepared for my relatives. After unpacking from a long trip, I planned
on winding down with some company online.
I had a long conversation with a friend and it started with how lucky I
felt about not getting sick.
I was lucky! Or so I
thought.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
A Tremendous Journey
The Ernest Demon project has come a long way. The last four chapter's drafts are done and will go through the editing phase to become post drafts. After the post drafts are up, over all editing and revision will occur as all the chapters are combed through for edits and shifts to ensure that the intended images, theme, and more are in alignment.
And when that's done? Perhaps some of the other stuff I have planned for Volume 1 can be worked on. Here's hoping.
Wow... it's been quite some time hasn't it?
2013.
I started thinking of this story in particular back in 2010.
It's been a long 3 years... I was still in the middle of trying to finish a college degree, going through all kinds of situations in life... I sacrificed a lot... made friends... lived and escaped death plenty of times. It's kind of hard to take in... The journey isn't over yet, but looking back, it definitely has left it's mark on me.
Soon it will be 2014.
I'd like to thank anyone who has spent the time reading these posted drafts for the project. And for anyone who might see this message in the future, thank you for spending your precious time with me.
I intend to write at length about this project, maybe even do a video about the experience.
But that is later. For now, I will enjoy the view I see from the long trail I've crossed. Mountains of challenges left behind, new ones yet to overcome.
I've learned a lot. I relearned things I thought I knew.
And I hope to share all of that with you.
For those reading now, please wait just a little bit longer. The last bones will be fleshed into proper drafts and then posted up as soon as I can finish them.
Thank you again for traveling with me. I hope you'll enjoy the fruits to come at the end of this first of many journeys to come.
Merry Christmas.
Happy New Year.
Happy Solstice and Winter Cheer, may you have a great New Year!
And when that's done? Perhaps some of the other stuff I have planned for Volume 1 can be worked on. Here's hoping.
Wow... it's been quite some time hasn't it?
2013.
I started thinking of this story in particular back in 2010.
It's been a long 3 years... I was still in the middle of trying to finish a college degree, going through all kinds of situations in life... I sacrificed a lot... made friends... lived and escaped death plenty of times. It's kind of hard to take in... The journey isn't over yet, but looking back, it definitely has left it's mark on me.
Soon it will be 2014.
I'd like to thank anyone who has spent the time reading these posted drafts for the project. And for anyone who might see this message in the future, thank you for spending your precious time with me.
I intend to write at length about this project, maybe even do a video about the experience.
But that is later. For now, I will enjoy the view I see from the long trail I've crossed. Mountains of challenges left behind, new ones yet to overcome.
I've learned a lot. I relearned things I thought I knew.
And I hope to share all of that with you.
For those reading now, please wait just a little bit longer. The last bones will be fleshed into proper drafts and then posted up as soon as I can finish them.
Thank you again for traveling with me. I hope you'll enjoy the fruits to come at the end of this first of many journeys to come.
Merry Christmas.
Happy New Year.
Happy Solstice and Winter Cheer, may you have a great New Year!
Friday, November 15, 2013
A Heart of Clover
"I didn't know what to think when we made eye contact. Both of us were wrapped up to fight the cold. He asked me for my name and pulled out a clip board, 'Please sign here.' And so I did, curious. He just dug into his satchel and handed me a worn envelope. 'You got mail' was all he said, before the light changed from red and we never saw each other again. I remember then as my hands poked out of my sleeves, that envelop was still warm. What was inside seemed less important than the exchange that just occurred.
I didn't open that letter till I was miles away from that crosswalk, and did so with care. Its worn surface was blank, without address and its stamp box was bare. The letter was warm and filled with flowers preserved, the words told a story of friendship to occur. Seeds sown on barren land with the hope of tomorrow as seasons pass.
In a book on a shelf forgotten to time, I pulled out a dried plant of mine. A clover with four leaves filled with memories of younger years with hopeful dreams... I carefully put it with the others in the letter and closed its fragile seal. Years would pass and that planted seed would grow till one winter I found myself again at a crossroads covered in snow. Another person was there fighting off the cold.
We made eye contact.
I asked for a name, had it written down, and passed on the letter which had found, a new home.
So is the story of the letter without a destination, passing on from one generation. I don't know when the journey will end, but along its way I've made many new friends."
I didn't open that letter till I was miles away from that crosswalk, and did so with care. Its worn surface was blank, without address and its stamp box was bare. The letter was warm and filled with flowers preserved, the words told a story of friendship to occur. Seeds sown on barren land with the hope of tomorrow as seasons pass.
In a book on a shelf forgotten to time, I pulled out a dried plant of mine. A clover with four leaves filled with memories of younger years with hopeful dreams... I carefully put it with the others in the letter and closed its fragile seal. Years would pass and that planted seed would grow till one winter I found myself again at a crossroads covered in snow. Another person was there fighting off the cold.
We made eye contact.
I asked for a name, had it written down, and passed on the letter which had found, a new home.
So is the story of the letter without a destination, passing on from one generation. I don't know when the journey will end, but along its way I've made many new friends."
Friday, August 16, 2013
A process nearly completed.
Tests are done. No more college. It's all done. Degree get. That's a rather big deal since it means that there are many hours now available for me to pursue whatever it is I'm going to pursue. The past few weeks have been spent indulging in various things that I had to put off until now. I'll be hitting the iron keys soon enough to produce the last chapters for this first volume project.
Chapters 16 and 17 were something of a climax treat for anyone who read through the drafts until now. The next chapter(s) will try to sustain some of that action high or at least replace it with suspense. Core elements for the volume wrapping up will be written and then we'll see where to go from there...
I know I've been neglecting stream lining a lot of things, so I'll have to tackle that as well.
Overall I'm excited to have gotten this far in the marathon of life.
Here's a metaphorical glass raised in cheer.
Chapters 16 and 17 were something of a climax treat for anyone who read through the drafts until now. The next chapter(s) will try to sustain some of that action high or at least replace it with suspense. Core elements for the volume wrapping up will be written and then we'll see where to go from there...
I know I've been neglecting stream lining a lot of things, so I'll have to tackle that as well.
Overall I'm excited to have gotten this far in the marathon of life.
Here's a metaphorical glass raised in cheer.
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