I love them. It’s why I write.
When I finished reading Game of Thrones many years ago I was dumbfounded. Someone did it again, wrote an epic that I absolutely loved. Then what happens? HBO makes a show about it, doubling the power and intrigue of a fantastic world with dragons, queens, kings and sellswords.
Lord of the Rings did this for me as well. But there was an element of childhood awe about it. Game of Thrones does not cater to children. It is a world that could be considered a possibility, a dark age with the decades long winter and ruthless lords. I have always been fascinated by this time period — probably because it is far removed from my reality. To imagine this time period is safe and exhilarating. We can peek into what was possible and still be safe. Game of Thrones is complete fantasy, a world created by George R.R. Martin, and has no bearing on a realistic history, but there is a what if lurking behind the veil. What if there were dragons, giants and Others (White Walkers for the ones who only watch the show)?
I’m glad there are people out there who create vast worlds with their minds and share them with people like us. As a fledgling writer, I live in the what if world. All writers do. Each scene is a what if with causality. It’s exciting and I hope to be among those people someday.
It’s been a while. I know. I’ve felt it.
Life got it’s claws into me, tried to pull me down and keep me from doing this writing thing — also Game of Thrones. I love Game of Thrones. I’m rewatching the series and rereading the books.
I almost abandoned my novel completely this summer — it was my mother who encouraged me to keep at it. I’ve written a few short stories, two of which are now in the final editing phase. My novel is back on track. I’m trying the outline thing as opposed to the writing blind thing. I’ll figure it out someday.
The knowledge I have gained this past year reminded me that life gets rocky; enduring the tough days, weeks and even months with a positive attitude will build a foundation for the inevitable tough times ahead — and as life goes, tough times are unavoidable. Life is a ride, a roller coaster of ups, downs, laughter and fear.
I’ve also come to realize that writing a post once a week about something villainous is not something I want to do. I will keep the name, but will focus more on the struggles, adventures and processes of being a new writer.
Thanks for following me and I hope that you didn’t miss me too much.
Also, a BIG shout out to my mother, Georgeanne Brennan and a fellow writer Jennifer Moorhead. They have kept me up and running.
With time, the seed of envy can grow into a weed. Maybe this metaphor is the impetus for the saying, “green with envy.” Not likely.
I used to get it bad. When I had to work and my friends would head to the mountain without me on a fresh powder day, or the waves were good and my buddies went for a surf and I had to work. I’m shallow, or maybe simple. But I’m not simple when that weed of envy grows into resentment and disdain for responsibility. I get complicated and grumpy, and regress into adolescence.
Not to mention Social media — the envy machine. It used to get me bad when I’d see videos of professional surfers and snowboarders flying through waist deep fresh snow or catching perfect waves in some far off tropical climate. It would hit me in the gut when my feed populated with friends and family having fun in Europe, Asia, Mexico, Nicaragua or Colorado. I’ve deleted Instagram, Facebook and Twitter from my phone about four times in the past two years. Then, at some point this year, I finally decided that I was being silly. I’m an adult and I need it for work. So, self-discipline. It’s tough. Some days are easier than others, but for the most part I can manage my social media time.
Nowadays, I catch envy before those damn seeds take root. But It’s also important for me to recognize the social media monster for what it is. Not real. In fact, a contrived reality. How many people stop fighting to pose in front of the perfect backdrop or pause an argument to take a selfie? How many professionals suffered through terrible conditions to get the one two-minute take to post on their feed? I don’t know. But I do know what I’m seeing on social media are moments in a day, a full day with a spectrum of situations and moments. I’m glad people can stop arguing for a smile at the camera. I respect the professionals who go out there and suck it up on terrible conditions for a solid shot so they can get a bit of a payday from their sponsor. It doesn’t always work, this positive spin, but I’m trying.
I occasionally remind myself that I live in one of the few places in the world where I can go snowboarding in the summer and drive to the beach for a surf all in one day — if I want. I just need to make time to do it. So goes the dance.
In the Pacific Northwest it just stopped raining. Actually, it drizzled today, and there were thunderstorms. But the real rain, the cold, constant wet stopped on June 16th. Three days later it was 100 degrees. That’s how it works here. One day it’s spring, A.K.A raining, the next, it’s summer. That’s not what this is about; I can’t just complain about the weather. Yuck.
Summer is freedom, relaxation and time for reflection… oh wait, that was before kids. Summer is another kind of chaos. It’s good, fun, happy chaos, but it’s chaos. The routine is upended, the schedule is new and the kids are feeling restless. On top of that, I still have to work. As you can tell, those of you who read my blog regularly, I haven’t posted in two weeks.
I’m good with it though. I’ve allowed myself to set the restraints of expectation to the side and let life happen, I’ve also been fly fishing a lot—I need some summer fun too. I try to keep the kids away from the electronic nanny—iPad. My son caught his first fish on Sunday and my daughter caught two last Thursday. So, instead of “my work” I have been working as a parent, getting the kids out there and having a good time. It’s summer after all.
This post is for a story I wrote called, Big Fish. You can read it here or just click on the picture below. It’s a peek into the world of two contract killers who decide to use an unconventional method for the disposal of a body — a big body.
I hope you enjoy the read. If you do, please like, comment and share. It helps tremendously. If you don’t like it, do the same thing!
Authority makes this villain dangerous.
You know who I’m talking about. There is one in everybody’s life. For the most part, these people were bullied as kids. They are angry, sad people. So, in part I feel bad for them — but that’s as far as it goes. I waste no calories with concern for their wellbeing.
Hating this person, attacking this person or trying to help this person is more than a waste of time, it will hurt you, take time from your precious day. This person is an emotional vampire who wants nothing more than to rule the roost. They make everyone who they interact with miserable and afraid.
They abuse authority, contribute nothing of importance to society and create struggle for everyone else. Life is already full of struggle, so the adult bully can go extinct for all I care. Which I think can happen. With the access to information we have now, I think that people will evolve out of being like this. Regardless, these are fools we must suffer sometimes. It’s an unfortunate fact of life. There are just awful people in the world. Maybe they just need a hug — I probably won’t be the one to give it to them.
Some insight on how to deal.
One must fail to succeed. I’ve been told this ad nauseum. It keeps me from quitting, because success hasn’t happened yet. I wouldn’t say I’ve failed necessarily, but the climb can be excruciating. I can’t help but to us the Mt. Everest or K2 metaphor, both difficult, if not seemingly impossible, mountains to climb where death is a real possibility. Clearly, death isn’t possible while sitting at a desk and making shit up, but the death of my soul when I get rejected or find a massive hole in my plot is real, and it hurts. What I’ve come to realize is that my ego is getting pummeled.
Ego is the sense of self, self-importance, personal identity. Well, mine is wrapped up in writing and succeeding at doing so. I’m 44. I have kids. They ask when I’m going to be done with my book. “About three more years or so,” I say. My ego cringes. They look at me like I’m nuts and my daughter says, “I’ll be thirteen?” I die a little inside and say, “Yep. That sounds about right.” She makes a sound of exasperation and gets on with her day while I try not to reel on the fact that when this book is finally done it will have taken me eight years — I don’t try to explain that I have finished the book twice but the rewrites are where the real magic happens. I didn’t start this endeavor with any notion that it would be easy, I started because on my death bed I didn’t want to regret not doing it; so, it’s a long game, a slow burn and hopefully people will like the what I write.
Okay. What If I finish this thing and its wildly successful? Hell if I know, but I’ve been told it’s a one-in-a-million chance and it’s no good for the ego because I’ll always be chasing the dragon of success. I wonder if maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, but in my heart of hearts I know it would most likely not be a good thing — at least that’s what I tell myself.