A Wise Man

A wise man once said, "The pain is proportional to the love."

I've been to Wales now, so that's another country to cross off the list. I've also been to England and Scotland twice. Never done that before.

Woke up early today; body was telling me it was about noon. It was a little after six. Don't feel so great at the moment. It's probably tiredness, hungriness, and nervousness. Too bad I can't go to Loch Ness. Harhar.

Some people look at athletes or singers or actors or musicians and think, "I wish I could do that." They long, they yearn, they wish, they hope for a talent or ability that is beyond reach. You can't become an athlete if your body wasn't built for it. You can improve, you can work at it, but if you weren't made to be an athlete, it's just not possible. But just because you can't be an athlete or a singer or a musician doesn't mean you can't do anything. It just means you have to look elsewhere. In my own case, while I'd love to be able to do any number of things, right now I guess I wish for the very simple yet very important, and worse, very elusive, social talent to openly and freely unwind. Yeah, that's all. I just want to be able to take away the barriers and be crazy. It sounds complicated, in some ways. But it's not. I just want to stop having inhibitions. Inhibitions that exist because of who I am and how I've grown up—that don't let me really unwind and be ridiculous.

Some people weren't made to be singers. And some people weren't made to be free to express excitement whenever they want. It's really too bad.

Maybe sometime in the future I'll write about the trip. Maybe I won't. I don't know yet. I've a lot to get ready for this week, and a lot of work to do to earn some money. Cheers.

Hullo, world

I turned eighteen yesterday. The book comes out on Tuesday. I leave for Georgia on Wednesday. I leave for England on Friday. I leave for Pennsylvania two weeks after that. Then Christmas, New Years, and 2010 begins.

It was a fun birthday. But in many ways one of the strangest, and, quite frankly, worst in a long time. It was only worse because of what it marked. Birthdays have always been big deals for us; special days—extra special days. I got a lot of cool stuff: books, movies, just like I asked for. And yet, this is the last birthday I will ever have as a member of that family. Once university is done, even if I came back to live in that house, even if that happened (which is unlikely), it won't mean the same thing. Thinking about this, and the fact that we weren't even a complete family on this birthday, made me very thoughtful throughout. I got my hair cut (see picture), went to a movie, opened presents, had great food, and then watched Bringing Up Baby, a film I've wanted to see for years. Nothing in what happened externally was somehow different or under par the previous years. True, I was in Edinburgh drinking champagne last birthday, and that's hard to beat. But the celebrations we had at home in 08, 07, 06, 05, and 04 were all wonderful times. Why does this one seem like the end of it all, then?

It frustrates me that I can't quite answer that question. The fact is, this is my last birthday at home, and that even more than knowing it's less than a year—that affects me most. I'm half and half, cut between two worlds, wanting to hold onto both: to grow up and go out on my own, and to stay and keep things the way they were.

No real thoughts for one and all this evening, save what I have written. Well, cheers then. And goodnight.

J

Steps

It was a long time ago
A little uncertain,
A little unsure;

I faltered at first,
And aimed for the door;

Then slowly it grew
My confidence,
I flew,
There was nothing I couldn't do.

I stepped into childhood from infancy,
I leapt to become a man;
And as I looked back, I saw it all flash,
Like a lightbulb going out,
Just as you turn it on.

I admit it. I like the real thing. If it's faux, it's unlikely I'll have much tolerance for it.

This goes for human emotions and reactions, practical things, but here I'm talking about writing.

It really, really gets on my nerves (yes, I admit it) when people treat writing carelessly. It's fine for most people to do this, but when you call yourself a writer, and treat it that way still, you have no right to the title author, writer, or anything but faker.

I know, I sound pretty harsh. I'm not trying to be mean. But I feel that the craft of writing is being cheapened by those who see it as something to throw around, to pick up and put down. This shouldn't be.

Writing is a serious art, and if you're not careful, a true writer will never recover from its spell. Real writers write because they have to, and because that's what they feel. That's why I write. Now, I'm not setting myself up as a good, great, or even moderate writer. But I have the same fire that good writers have. This says nothing good or bad about me, it is simply so; and I understand the dedication that writing commands. Writing has always been very important to me, and especially now. You can't just decide one day, at forty-five, to be a writer, and expect that it will "all come to you". If you want to write a book, that's okay. It's a good experience. But there are classes of writers. Even among those who write because they must there are classes. I don't know where I fit in. But it gets on my nerves they attitude certain writers take. I find it prevalent in the Christian Fantasy movement—a movement bloated with under-developed writers, poorly written books, and over-used premises. I don't ever want to be a part of that. I'm staying as far away from the cliché and wasted plot basics as possible.

This probably didn't even make much sense to people. Oh well. It's a blog; it doesn't have to make sense. That's why it's mine. Cheers.

Once upon a time...

?

There's been a few recent developments on this end. Few of them very positive.

I don't want to get into it right now, it's not the time. Nor is it why I am writing. The future looks very different than it did a week and a half ago; funny how so much can change with a single letter.

I'll be 18 in a week's time. The week after that is Thanksgiving, Release Date for November, and flight to England, on 27 November. After that, I don't know yet.

Do you ever wish people tried harder to understand you? Ever feel like you're being judged in a way that isn't necessary, that maybe it's not completely your own fault that misunderstandings arise, but it's also in large part due to what people want to perceive? Even when it's someone you know well, it can be hard to really want to think the best. Very few people find that inclination naturally with more than one or two. But I think the whole world would be a bit easier if we would all give each other a bit of a break. What do you say?

J