My writing and the blogs

So I have noticed something about my writing lately.  It flows easily when I am just writing.  No facts, just opinions.  But once I try to introduce some actual research into my posts, I get insanely bored.

Think of it like this.  When I just write, like what I am doing right now and what I have done on my other posts, creativity is like a flowing river, it doesn't stop.  But when I introduce research, at least those dealing with statistics, it becomes dammed. The flow is just stopped and my head is over run with ideas that have no way to get out.  CURSE YOU STATISTICS!!!!!

I guess I should work on that.  Or maybe I should try researching other factoids first.  Like mythology.  It doesn't involve statistics, and, let's face it, if you know me, you know that I love, LOVE, mythology and everything that comes with it.

And now, so that this post isn't totally wasted, being as how it is very short, here are some Doctor Who related pictures for you.  :)

I understand how this cat feels.

And that is my Sonic screwdriver, because everything could use more sonic.

Thanks for reading and for understanding my nerdiness.

Death

“I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid." - John 14:27


So yesterday was an emotional day for my family and a majority of my home town.  We had the wake of a man who had meant much to each of us.  He was a father of two daughters, our local UPS man, a wonderful carpenter, and a great friend.  His name was Lloyd Lange.

While I personally didn't know him all that well, one of his daughters was a friend of mine, and, because I knew the troubles her family has had, I felt emotional over his death.

No, I didn't cry, I didn't start having life crises or start thinking about my own mortality.  I just became distracted.  I busied myself with activities such as reading, writing, and, for some reason, cleaning.  I also started thinking.  I thought about how lucky I am to be alive and how, if I had been in so many places just a few seconds earlier or later, I wouldn't be.

It's amazing how death makes you grateful for things.  I, personally, am so grateful for my friends, family, and  even the people that I am not too fond of.  I can't imagine where I would be right now, what I could be doing, if I had never met these people.  Would I still be writing?  Would I have ever became as obsessed with reading?  Would I be in college or working in my parent's machine shop?  There are just too many what ifs for me to keep posting them.

I'll leave you with this.  What are you grateful for?  Knowing that life doesn't last forever, will you go and talk to that friend that you haven't seen in a while?  Will you go and look at the stars?  Realize how small we really are?  Take the trip you have been wanting to take?  Whatever it is, I hope you have the chance to do it.

R.I.P.  Lloyd Lange, you will be missed.
And prayers for his family.

My Dream. The Beginning, The Pause, and The Play

For the longest time, I have wanted to be a fiction author.  Not sure why.  I just did.  Maybe it was just my version of being a rebel.  Nothing says rebel more than sitting with a notebook and pencil and creating a story, right???

Anyway, last year I had the chance to actually start practicing my dream.  I went to Columbia College Chicago for, wait can you guess it?  If you answered fiction writing, congrats.  If you're answer was underwater basket weaving, sorry, that major is still in the works.

It was great.  I didn't just expand my horizons by being in Chicago (I'm from a corn field), I could actually see improvement in my writing.  Stories became longer without much force.  People seemed to enjoy what I wrote.  I was told that I was really good with getting into the details, which is apparently important.  I even made it through a whole semester of classes without freaking about how being at an art school was going to cause problems for my future and how I wouldn't be able to make it in the business.  I left that for my parents to tell me.

Actually, the making it in the business thing was a lie.  I was worried.  Self-doubt consumed me each and every time I opened my word processor.  But what could I do?  This was my dream.  It had been my dream since I picked up my first chapter book, Harry Potter.

And if the doubt itself wasn't enough, I received the grade for my most important class of the semester, Fiction Writing 1.  I got a C-.  A freaking C-!!!  To put it lightly, it hurt.  The grade put me into a mild depression, made me feel small.  Insignificant.  So I had to repeat the class, which, thinking back, was good for me.

My ideas for stories changed over Christmas break.  My writing style changed.  I was pretty much a different person.  I spoke up more in class (I think being quiet was the downfall of my first class).  I worked on my stories sooner, not much sooner, but a day was better than a few hours.  Low and behold, I finished the class with both an A and a recommendation to be in Fiction Writing 2.  Not too shabby, right?  Now what I assume you are going to be thinking is that I would return to the city, take my classes, and continue on until I graduate. eventually becoming the starving, drunkard artist... kind of like Hemingway, just without the success, I imagine.

Instead, I transferred.  Gasp! Right?  Why would I give up the chance to fulfill my dream?  I was already on the path, why deviate from it?  Well, I got scared.  That C- I wrote about earlier, it dug deep into my soul, poisoning my thoughts about what I might be able to do for a future.  It still does, as a matter of fact.  Then you add the talks about how students come out of school with debts as costing as much as a mansion in the '50s, parents who want 'best' for their kids, and anything else that could go wrong.  All of that and more was going through my head.

So I transferred.  Went someplace that was supposedly safe.  Cheap compared to Columbia.  Closer to home.  Boring.  Depressing.  You can insert other words that describe the makings of a terrible future.  Or you can call it what it is, University of Wisconsin-Green Bay.  I can't even decide on a major!  And the classes... don't even get me started on the classes I have to attend everyday.  I have to fight to stay awake, let alone actually learning the material.  Facts come into my head and I really have nothing to show for it.  They may even go leave from the left ear, it's been feeling clogged lately...

I used to write. Create.  It made being in school worth while.  I learned and retained! the information that was being dished to us.  My history classes would inspire in me some actual stories.  You ever wonder what it was like to befriend a famous historical figure?  I bet I had a story in my head to give you their entire damn life, seen through someone else's eyes.

I think I am done with boring.  I stopped caring if I am going to be screwed if I go to an arts school.  I'm screwed if I stay here.  I'm screwed if I drop out all together and travel.  I'm screwed if I go into the military (I'm not exactly the type of person to be in the military anyways. GO PEACE!).  Because of previous generations, I am screwed.  If you are reading this and are a high schooler, college student, or graduate, you are probably screwed.  And it is all the baby-boomers fault.  But, at least for me, I am going to take something from them.

You're parents ever tell you to follow your dreams?  Reach for the stars?  Anything like that?  Well, I think it's time to start taking some of that advice.  That is why I will probably be returning to Chicago, to Columbia, no matter what others tell me.

 After all, I'm screwed one way or another.  I might as well enjoy myself getting there.