Estevan Vega's Blog, page 2

ARISE AVAILABLE NOW!

Hola, my little firestarters. Writing today with some very awesome news. ARISE, book 3 in The Arson Saga, has officially been unleashed through Capulet Entertainment. It launched on July 4th on the Kindle and is now also available in paperback for all you print-lovers! I cannot tell you all how stoked I am to finally release this bad boy. It’s been done for months, but getting it out was a bit of an uphill battle. Nonetheless, it is out for all of you to enjoy and consume! Nook version will release in a few months, but for now, light it up on your kindle or get some paper cuts with a print edish! I look forward to hearing your thoughts! Feel free to write me anytime or post a little review on Amazon!

 

Right now, Arise is on a book blitz through YA Reads! So stoked about it and there’s a nifty giveaway, so follow them blogs and get in on the action! Hope to see you at a book signing soon!

Stay fly. Live on fiya!

EV

facebook: we are arson

twitter: @estevanvega

instagram: @estevanvega

The Romantic Masochist

 

 

We’re taught from a young age to set goals. We’re taught (sorta) in high school how to plan for the future by attending a good college in hopes that after accumulating $60-100k in debt we can get that awesome $20 an hour J.O.B. In Sunday school, we’re taught how to love Jesus so we can get to heaven, which also is kinda like planning for the future, albeit a farther away future. Oh, and while we’re doing all these things, we’re supposed to plan for our future husband or wife, our future kids, our future mid-life crisis, our future potential divorce. And did we save up enough for that rainy day? This “planning” list is endless. And the truth of it all is that we can never really plan enough for the road ahead, for the future, because none of us really knows for certain what that future looks like, or if we’re even in it.

This can get kinda scary real quick.

Turning 25 this year really made me think about things, about where I’ve been and where I’m going. About who I am beneath everything. I started taking into account all I’ve accomplished and all I desire to accomplish before the final curtain drops. What I’ve discovered, and this is nothing really all that new, is that the painting looks awful different when you’re a kid. To a young mind, the colors seem vibrant. The landscapes breathtaking. The patterns original. The days always spring. As years and time drift by, the luster fades. The rolling hills erode.          The patterns becomes clichés. The nights seem longer, colder. When I was 4, I think I had my first crush. By 5 or 6, I knew I wanted to be married (crazy much?). By 9, I wanted to sketch for Marvel and Disney. By 11, I traded one art for another and fell in love with writing. I started my first book at 12 and knew immediately that I wanted to be an author. Thirteen years later, and I am an accomplished author, though the painting is radically different than I imagined it might be. I’ve released 6 books and one is coming this summer. But my indecisive nature won’t let me commit to marriage just yet. Maybe it’s fear, questioning if mine will end up like my parents’. Not wanting my kids to suffer through that kind of pain. But is that a good enough reason to play chicken? I’ve always been in love with love, the idea of eternal romance, but sometimes I just feel stuck. The plan has some holes, methinks.

In some ways, this has been an amazing year. I completed schooling for cosmetology and now have my license. I’m working with my father as a stylist, and it’s kinda funny because he’s partly responsible for me becoming an author and for me becoming a stylist. Interesting how life works, huh? I finally moved into my own pad, and the feeling is a mixture of freedom and

unknowing, which can be fearful sometimes, especially coming from somebody with a big family. As I embark on this new “day job,” I’m re-realizing that success is hard to measure. That money can’t be god. I never thought I’d be doing this, or that my dreams would take this long to unfold. But maybe this was the plan all along. Somebody else’s. Somebody with more vision than I. My “plan” was to work my butt off in middle school, high school, and college so that I could be some bigshot writer. I’ve been humbled. I’ve been learning a lot about life, about what it takes to make a dream real, to give it flesh and bone and blood. My blood. My life. My soul.

I was invited to speak at a high school recently, and a girl asks me if I’ve ever thought about giving up (writing). Without even a second guess, I nod my head and answer, “All the time.” Some might think that’s depressing, but the reality is that regardless of whatever plans you have or don’t have, your feelings change as you age or mature. It’s an eternal romance. You may fall in and out of love, but in spite of that, you choose to love. In some ways, the younger you may creep up and remind you why you do it. The older you may remind you of deadlines, of goals you haven’t met, plans you haven’t made, people you’ve let down, dreams left unfulfilled. The war is in the mind. The war is against the man in the mirror more than any external force. The war is against your faith. There are times I want to quit. Times when I wonder why I had to fall in love with writing in the first place. It’s hard to go on, to persevere. And you wonder if anyone’s even listening anymore. At 25, there are more lucrative things in which to invest my time. And I think that maybe initially I embarked on this journey for selfish reasons, because I thought it would make me popular (it didn’t) or because it might grant me validation (it won’t) or because it would make me rich (it hasn’t). I’m in it now for a different reason. I choose to stay, a romantic masochist. I endure the struggle for the soul, for the richness I can dive into while exploring the new worlds of the characters I create. I’m in it for the richness that consumes the panic and the fear and the unknowing. My soul. Your soul. And the journeys we can take together, fearlessly. The plans don’t define you. The plans can’t save you. The plans aren’t enough to comfort you when the war gets bloody. Let something else drive. Let the idea of what could be, what might be join this war. And fight with everything you have.

Live on fire!

-evega

p.s. ARISE COMING very, very soon.

 

Twitter: @estevanvega

Facebook: we are arson

Instagram: @estevanvega

 

 

 

the created dis(order)

 

Life began with a Word, or if we wanna be technical, an Idea. In order for humanity or Earth or an atmosphere or a universe to come into being, something or Someone has to originate it. Recently, a professor was discussing the complexity of an expanding universe and what it would take to go from the smallest possible life to a functioning solar system, and within that solar system, functioning life. And not just atoms or molecules or water, but sustained, thinking, intelligent (some of the time) life. He said that the odds or “chances” of such a thing happening were so rare they were something like 1 and 100 billion. A stupid, ridiculously huge number, basically, that much of the population has come to accept as a result of a fueled refusal of the belief in something greater. So, let’s trace this back to the genesis (pun intended) of my thinking. Complex life exists. A complex Earth exists. An even more complex universe exists, all with a natural order or guided disorder. Therefore, the only logical reasoning is that something even more complex than these things originated it all.

Think the film Prometheus, but with actual sense and truth guiding the hypothesis, rather than an attempt at trying to please atheist and theist alike, thus muddying the waters and blurring reality and fantasy.

In my attempt to try to dissect the human race, which is what I believe to be the quintessential purpose of a writer, the possibility, even the profound likelihood that there is some greater being out there, guiding a crazy planet and keeping it from falling off its axis or spiraling toward the sun where it would ignite and explode, makes the most sense. In the same way, a writer must first create his world and then guide his characters.* And the genesis of it all is an idea. Before the word can become flesh, there must be an idea. An idea so radical that it must be told. An idea with the potential to literally affect the human mind while reflecting upon the human condition. An idea that can reach the soul transcend pain and rigid dogma. The size of the world reduced to some white and black blotches on a laptop screen is all it takes. Human identities changed, shifted, re-created for a purpose. Beliefs magnified or watered down. A writer becomes a (g)od. A writer can become a million different people and no one simultaneously. This is the beauty of creativity, not to make ourselves worthy of worship, for all are undeserving. But it’s a glimpse (albeit with a very clouded lens) at what it must be like to be the Other. The Original. The Eternal.

In this makeshift reality, where anything can be possible, there must be discretion and purpose and identity. What we make should reflect who we are, and it does. Message follows messenger. Lie follows liar. So, what we create into being, into reality—what we give life to—in theory, should possess our seal—our image—as with the kings of the old world. Can stories be fun? Of course. Should they scratch at the corners of our conscience? Yes. And at the same time, can they make us laugh or cry or feel convicted or experience a new kind of joy or perhaps horror? Yes. Whether breathing into life a painting or portraying a character on the big screen or scripting one within a Microsoft Word* doc from an idea you discussed over pizza the night before…It’s all human. It’s all a reflection of something greater. The idea follows the originator; it’s the only thing that works, that makes sense. So, it will be flawed, but in its flawed nature it should strive for perfection. It should strive for an otherworldly kind of beauty, one that can only strike at the heart of who we are and who we’d like to be. Within the disorder, within the chaos of the created, can we find order and purpose and possibility? Are we strong enough? Are we brave enough to take a glimpse, an ever-fading, ever clouded glimpse, at what it might be like to be the Eternal?

-love. take chances. spread the fire!

.evega

twitter: @estevanvega

facebook: we are arson

*in some cases, writers are allowed to be of the female race lol

*Bill Gates* did not approve this essay

*Who’s B. Gates anyway? psh

Be Careful What you Believe In

one bite and you will be like God

We are simple creatures. Complex in certain areas, but at the core simple. We live. We breathe. We die. And we believe. In something, which helps separates us from the animals. I realize today’s Monday, and I’m a day late and a dollar short, as is my custom, but even though the sabbath was yesterday, I figured now is as good a time as any to dive into the murky depths of complicated rhetoric and search the darkness for a little faith. It is a topic that probably circles our minds more often than we’d like, so regardless of what you believe, chances are you have faith in someone or something.

Now, I’m going to fire off a list of things we place our faith in, and I’ll bet you place your faith in one of them: family/parents, talent, teachers, religion, the media, political leaders, evolution, knowledge, good looks, your lover. Let’s unpack these, shall we? Maybe then you’ll see what I mean.

Family: you trust that they love you. You trust that they’ll tell you what they think honestly, though sometimes you probably wish they wouldn’t. But how many of our family members have let us down? Betrayed us? Stabbed our backs?

Talent: You can sing well. You can write well. You have an affinity for painting. Your skills rival anyone you know. You can sell a tanning bed to a sun cancer patient. You were born with specific abilities that allow you to run faster, jump higher. But is that really going to save you?

Teachers: What they say is law. You obey them. Your parents tell you to obey them, because it’s “the right thing to do.” Their assignments are there to help you think…like them. It’s mystifying to see some of the assignments my little brother brings home, assignments that are training him, along with millions of other students, “the right way” to think. 9 times out of 10 these thought processes subtly inject doses of a particular agenda, rarely ever based on a God-centered philosophy, because what rational-thinking individual could place their faith in a higher power? After all, man is the center of all knowledge, and man is god.

Religion: Whether you get up for Sunday service, hit the Saturday evening mass, meditate in your bedroom, do weird stretching positions while channeling your inner chi, offer strange albeit kosher phlegmy pronunciations of words during the Passover, pray to mother earth, kneel and face mecca twelve times a day, or one day await the coming of the mothership, you’re in one of two camps…a believer or a nonbeliever. The nonbeliever, of course, believes in nothing, which actually becomes a belief of its own, but whatever. Religion is the backbone of any society, which should make you scratch your head whenever someone tries to convince you that it’s unnecessary. Societies dating back thousands of years worshiped something, believed in something greater than themselves. And why not? Last time I checked, I couldn’t make it rain or snow or cause an earthquake. No matter how much I tensed up, squeezed my butthole, or gritted my teeth with clenched fists draped at my sides, I could never create a freaking planet, let alone its inhabitants, or an atmosphere that allows them to breathe. When you think of the intricacy of the human eye, or even the nervous system, denying that there is a higher power just makes you look like a spoiled brat, angry because you just wanna see proof. Open your eyes, bro. Now, am I saying religion has never brought division? No, but just because something divides doesn’t make it bad. Consider a blender. It devours the fruit and creates a nice smoothy. But it also exiles the negative parts your digestive system won’t find particularly appealing. The pits, the granules that don’t blend well, etc. Sometimes division is good. And don’t even get me started on that ridiculous Coexist banner. There will be no peaceful coexistence until the one good ruler establishes a new kingdom. Then, and only then, will there be peace.

The Media:  Whether you find yourself on the CNN side of the fence or the Fox News side of the fence doesn’t really matter. Both find ways to spin the headlines in the favor of whatever particular group they’re catering to. Don’t be fooled…the media has one function and one function only: to breed fear. If they can keep us fighting over which political party is better, and if they can keep us questioning the motives of any particular leader, then our attention is removed from the real truth: at the end of the day…they have the power, that power is shared between both parties, they’re all in cahoots, and the citizens are their puppets. Think I’m crazy? I’ll bet people in Germany never thought there’d be a Hitler, either.

Political Leaders: Is this guy really different than any leader before him?

Evolution: Everyone blindly accepts that we came from monkeys, and that the monkeys came from another creature, or better, that that creature crawled out of some primordial ooze which started to take form millions of years ago because some rogue lightning bolt just so happened to strike earth (oh, yeah, earth just happened to be here and hanging in the middle of space by itself) millions of years ago. Does that really make sense? Yet they feed it to us like it’s the new Jesus Christ. Like it’s supposed to answer anything. Here’s something that can silence any evolutionary argument: who made the lightning bolt, earth, and the primordial ooze? See, no matter what you think or believe, it all comes back to a Creator. Something greater than ourselves. The educational system has an agenda: keep the people faithless. Without faith, the moral code loses power. Without a moral code, anything goes. Kill your babies if it makes you feel good. Have sex with men, women, children, goats, pigs, whatever tickles your fancy. Burn women at the stake if they speak up against injustice. Eradicate the useless of society: people with special needs, the elderly, the sick. Don’t you see how blind we are? Place your faith in science, even though everything is really just a theory, and theories evolve all the time into other theories that make even less sense. They have made science a religion on its own when, in actuality, faith and science can exist together, and back each other up, just not the way you might at first think. But of course, man has too much pride in his own knowledge, so placing his faith in a Creator just doesn’t seem logical.

Knowledge: Knowledge is power, right? The more you know, the better off you’ll be. I agree with this to a point. Do I think we should be illiterate or stupid? No, but I do think that our rabid pursuit of knowledge has given us a false sense of security, deceiving us to think that we are God. We can explain everything because some smart guy in a suit laid it out clearly in some academic book. We fell for it in the garden, and the snakes are at it again. We can be like God. We can be God, just as long as we study hard enough, pay enough student loans, and exile any faith in a higher power.

Your good looks: Maybe you were born with a pretty face, so naturally people like you more. It’s easier to get dates, easier to be selected prom queen, easier to get that promotion, and in turn, get that paper. But why do you have those good looks? Natural selection? DNA? Who gave them to you? Why did said Giver allow you to have them and not someone else?

Do you see it now?

Your lover: You think that guy will stay forever? You think your wife won’t ever betray your trust? Yes, it’s possible to stay true and faithful, but odds are against you. Why? Because we live in a screwed-up, fallen world in which people execute failure with extreme precision. We are perfect at being imperfect. We need saving. We need new direction. We need faith.

You could place your faith in any one of the things I’ve mentioned, or maybe you place your faith in yourself or money. No matter what, you’ll be let down because this is an imperfect place. There’s only one way, and nobody likes to hear that. But for some reason we accept that 1 + 1 = 2, and nothing anyone can say can change that. Why, then, when someone offers the truth, do we run from it? Why do we hide? Because it’s easier to buy the lie than to accept the gift of truth. Am I saying we shouldn’t believe in ourselves or that we should all be ugly and never wear makeup or style our hair or that every political leader is a schemer? N…well, maybe that last part is a tad bit true. But no, we should place a measure of assurance in these things, but only a measure. People, possessions, ideas will eventually let you down. But faith cannot. Faith that your art will succeed. Faith that your family will endure through this impossible time. Faith that there is another power keeping it all in motion and that said power wants your marriage to last. Faith that maybe the myth is true after all, and maybe we are screwed up because of one choice thousands of years ago, and maybe there was another choice made by another power, which can set even the biggest skeptic free.

Maybe.

Be careful what you believe in.

evega

ps ARISE coming soon

twitter: @estevanvega

facebook: we are arson

Dead ART

So, there’s this notion running around suggesting that books are a dead art. Well, maybe not dead or extinct, but certainly dying. At least, that’s what they would have you believe. The they being the twisted sadist naysayers behind such shenanigans like hiding the remote, mixing starches and vegetables, and other communist 

plots. What, then, does that mean of authors? Are we also nearing extinction? Are we among the forsaken, destined to usher in a new, far-too-intelligent race of humans who no longer need books or words to show them how to live and cope with the world?

According to tons of bestselling books, no. I think the notion behind books being obsolete is, in actuality, the thing that is obsolete. A quick glance at the records of fellow masochists like Nicholas Sparks or James Patterson or the alien who wrote 49 Shades of Charcoal (wait, that chick was an alien, right?) will show very clearly that books are not even close to being dead. Yes, as insane a notion as it is, people are still actually reading and so are some of their friends…yes, both of them. But those two friends will read the crap out of all the books on their shelves.

Of course I realize that not everyone reads. Wait, scratch that. Yes, they do, just maybe not full-length novels. I think something about good storytelling scares them off, or maybe it’s just the evil iPhone, which makes us all minute children, mostly incapable of lengthy attention spans. Jury’s still out. Whatever the reason, there does seem to be a shift. People, as a whole, are reading less; however, the ones who still enjoy a good story, good characters, good writing, are still out there in search of their next favorite. So, while not every author seeking to make a name for him/herself will make it into the echelon of douchie authors who make far-too-much cash, there will be some who do, and it is the job of masochistic capitalists like me to keep scheming for ways to make it into that party to shake things up a bit.

The days of writing a book and getting it published and becoming uber rich, if such days ever did really exist, are dead, but the art of reading and writing good books (several titles notwithstanding) are not. This is NOT the end. Books, and the awesomeness of them, are not dead. The voracious readers are still voracious and looking for authors who are eager to meet them where they are.

 

stay fly. spread fuego,

-ev

Nathan Hale-Ray Middle School

Frankenstein Chronicles part 1

 

just one question…what hump?

So there’s this story about a mad scientist named Victor Frankenstein who creates a certain piece-meal monster that, upon being jolted to life, starts running amuck, terrorizing townsfolk, attempting to simultaneously learn Spanish and the salsa dance, and ultimately becoming a royal pain in Victor’s backside. Okay, okay, I realize some of my facts aren’t a hundred percent true, but I get most of my knowledge from Wikipedia, so cut me some slack.

Mary Shelley’s dark tale of a creator being overwhelmed by his creation is both poignant and perplexing. How often do the things we create impact the paths of our lives? Think kids. Think controversial films. Think that spicy quesadilla recipe you whipped up last Thursday. You know the one. Yeah, the one that had you hunched over cra…we’ll just stop there. See? The things we create impact our day-to-day lives. But what does this have to do with anything? This isn’t some philosophy lesson, right? Why would I go on and on about Frankenstein and created choices and Mexican delicacies if not for a purpose?

The purpose is this: As an author, it is your job to create. But think about what that means. You create plots, lives, intersecting identities and challenges. You foster relationships and tear families apart. You give birth to viruses and sometimes, if you’re in a good mood and Adam Levine selects your favorite contestant that week then maybe, just maybe, humanity gets the cure. As the creator of the tale, you can spin any web you wish. But every sticky strand begets another one perhaps more powerful and with deeper consequences. One wrong choice could mean not only the end of a character’s existence, but the end of your relationship with your reader. Think about it. As an author, you flirt with landmines every time you open that Word doc. And every time you hit save, you tempt Fate.

frankie

This probably isn’t what you were expecting. Some deep, probing, analytic exposé on the intricacies of telling a good story, but I couldn’t help it. I had to go there. Part of being a good writer is being able to explore the way things work, the way creations are manufactured, designed, and we are designed. So with that in mind, we can begin to work, creating identities and emotions and pitfalls and salvations. Will our protagonists thrive in a wondrous garden of adolescence or be tossed into the scorching furnace of maturity? I often wonder if I’m creating a dialogue with my readers or if I’m burning a bridge. But over the years, clarity has come: I can’t keep every reader. Not every monster is meant to be created by every scientist. Similarly, not every mad scientist will find empathy among the masses. Some have loved my books; others have hated them; still others scratch their heads wondering what they just read. What does it mean? It means that in order to stay relevant, one must travel far and wide. One must find his or her own Transylvania. One must get reacquainted with the shadows of their lives and the spider webs of others. Take shelter in a certain kind of castle. Dare to take that leap. Dare to tempt Fate. And when that giant, that mechanical, fearful creation takes his first breath, you, rippling with dreadful wonder, will wander back into the light, perhaps scratching your head, perhaps blending in with the townsfolk as a result of cowardice. Or maybe, just maybe, your creation will not get the best of you. Maybe you will be proud of the beast you have re-animated. Perhaps you will find your purpose, your place among the madmen.

Tell me, amigo, what does your monster look like?

-evega

Frankenstein Chronicles part 1just one question…what h...

 

Frankenstein Chronicles part 1

just one question…what hump?

So there’s this story about a mad scientist named Victor Frankenstein who creates a certain piece-meal monster that, upon being jolted to life, starts running amuck, terrorizing townsfolk, attempting to simultaneously learn Spanish and the salsa dance, and ultimately becoming a royal pain in Victor’s backside. Okay, okay, I realize some of my facts aren’t a hundred percent true, but I get most of my knowledge from Wikipedia, so cut me some slack.

Mary Shelley’s dark tale of a creator being overwhelmed by his creation is both poignant and perplexing. How often do the things we create impact the paths of our lives? Think kids. Think controversial films. Think that spicy quesadilla recipe you whipped up last Thursday. You know the one. Yeah, the one that had you hunched over cra…we’ll just stop there. See? The things we create impact our day-to-day lives. But what does this have to do with anything? This isn’t some philosophy lesson, right? Why would I go on and on about Frankenstein and created choices and Mexican delicacies if not for a purpose?

The purpose is this: As an author, it is your job to create. But think about what that means. You create plots, lives, intersecting identities and challenges. You foster relationships and tear families apart. You give birth to viruses and sometimes, if you’re in a good mood and Adam Levine selects your favorite contestant that week then maybe, just maybe, humanity gets the cure. As the creator of the tale, you can spin any web you wish. But every sticky strand begets another one perhaps more powerful and with deeper consequences. One wrong choice could mean not only the end of a character’s existence, but the end of your relationship with your reader. Think about it. As an author, you flirt with landmines every time you open that Word doc. And every time you hit save, you tempt Fate.

frankie

This probably isn’t what you were expecting. Some deep, probing, analytic exposé on the intricacies of telling a good story, but I couldn’t help it. I had to go there. Part of being a good writer is being able to explore the way things work, the way creations are manufactured, designed, and we are designed. So with that in mind, we can begin to work, creating identities and emotions and pitfalls and salvations. Will our protagonists thrive in a wondrous garden of adolescence or be tossed into the scorching furnace of maturity? I often wonder if I’m creating a dialogue with my readers or if I’m burning a bridge. But over the years, clarity has come: I can’t keep every reader. Not every monster is meant to be created by every scientist. Similarly, not every mad scientist will find empathy among the masses. Some have loved my books; others have hated them; still others scratch their heads wondering what they just read. What does it mean? It means that in order to stay relevant, one must travel far and wide. One must find his or her own Transylvania. One must get reacquainted with the shadows of their lives and the spider webs of others. Take shelter in a certain kind of castle. Dare to take that leap. Dare to tempt Fate. And when that giant, that mechanical, fearful creation takes his first breath, you, rippling with dreadful wonder, will wander back into the light, perhaps scratching your head, perhaps blending in with the townsfolk as a result of cowardice. Or maybe, just maybe, your creation will not get the best of you. Maybe you will be proud of the beast you have re-animated. Perhaps you will find your purpose, your place among the madmen.

Tell me, amigo, what does your monster look like?

-evega

Arson 3 and um…blizzards

ART: Astrolosophy

A lot of people have been asking me what the next book in the ARSON series is about. Is it epic? Is there gonna be tons of action scenes? Who’s gonna die? And I’ve been pretty mum about the topic. The main reason for this is because I’m a really big jerk who likes to watch you squirm. There, now that we’re all just being honest…

snowblower. needed. now.

This last apocalyptic blizzard kinda got me thinking about ARSON. When I started writing it, I had no idea what it would one day become. I realize that sounds somewhat cheesy or cliché, but it’s the God’s honest truth. Originally, it had a different title and was going to begin and end with just one book. But after a few conversations, the ARSON universe expanded, and stuff started getting even more interesting. I think one of the main concepts in my series is the idea of duality and wearing masks. It’s one of those themes that shows up even when he’s not invited, which must mean that I’m wrestling with it at the subconscious level. (Feel free to now start analyzing my dysfunctional author brain at any time.)  But this thread of masks, and how we wear them, this thread of identity—and what that really means—this notion of two-sidedness, just leaps off the page, and really gets me thinking about my own life. What does this have to do with a Northeast blizzard? Well, a lot.

Humans are kinda weak. You can say I’m nihilistic or cynical or whatever, but we really are. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve just been walking and twisted my knee/ankle or been working out (ladies…) and threw out my shoulder or been overly freaked out about getting into a car accident because one head-on collision could spell the end of evega. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. How about stubbing your toe in the middle of the freaking night or banging your shin because you tripped walking up the stairs? (Yes, I am that lame.) And I’m not even gonna begin to dive into topics like lost love or abandonment issues and what that can do to screw up a once functioning psyche. The bottom line is we’re fragile creatures. If you don’t believe me, go shovel for five hours and then the next day do it again and then we’ll talk. We have a limit and then a breaking point. We get exhausted. We work and then our bodies pay for it later. We invest our love and energies into a relationship or a business or a faith, and a lot of times, we find ourselves falling flat on our faces, feeling isolated and defeated.

But there is another side to that coin. There is a part of us that fights it, isn’t there? A part that knows it sucks and chooses to keep warring, to endure through the struggle and the sorrow and the fear. This duality is so very real; at times it scares me because I know my heart and mind are capable of the darkest things (most of which I write about, lucky you…or maybe, unfortunate you?), but my heart and mind, like yours, is capable of the good too, an action—an art—in and of itself. We’ll never be perfect, at least not in this world, but we can choose to keep fighting. To endure this insane game where at times we are the hypocrite and at times we are the saint. This is the frustrating, painful, invigorating, powerful, fruitful, failing, chaotic arena called life. Because in this struggle, we are purged and we become. This is power, when humanity becomes something more. Sometimes this is a bad thing, and sometimes it’s not. I guess it depends who’s holding the power and at what stage in their life they’re currently residing.  There, chew on that for a while, peeps.

get some ideas.

What’s ARSON PART TRES about? A lot. It seeks to answer some questions, but probably not all of them. After all, I can’t give you everything. The main point of this book, and this series, I’m learning, is about getting to the souls of these characters, to the souls of humanity. Giving them justice and hope. It’s about rediscovering who you are, about fighting until there’s nothing left. Yes, there are cool, intense fight scenes and remarkable secrets coming to light, one of which is a nifty little…oh, not yet. And yes, there still is that hint of romance, though ish has the potential to get mighty complicated, for sure. Yup, some peeps might have to bite the bullet, as they say. But these are all things you’ve come to expect in a third book, right? To set your minds at ease, no, it will not suck. I’ve already written more than half of it, and things are getting pretty crazy.

Thanks for stickin with me. There’s gonna be some surprises with this one. Promise.

Be fearful of the thoughts of men…Be wary of the traps of the end.

evega

Rings, Wizards, and Metro Elves

Frodo:  I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.

Gandalf: So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All you need to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you.

G-man and the Frodo-nator

This conversation has always moved me. It’s sad yet hopeful. It’s troubling yet powerful. These lines of dialogue come from the film The Fellowship of the Ring. Seeing as how the new Hobbit film is hitting theaters in less than ten days (even though it’s about five years too late, if you ask me), it got me to thinking about this conversation between a Halfling and a wizard, and the gravity of what it means.

In the story, Frodo agrees to take the ring—this supernatural creation that plays on peoples’ weaknesses and vices and manipulates them—to Mordor to destroy it. With this comes the question of survival. Will he live to see this mission carried out? Will those in his fellowship live? Will Middle Earth survive? These are big questions, and it’s almost silly that the fate of human, hobbit, elf, dwarf, and talking tree seems to hang in the balance of one choice. Can he and will he follow through and destroy the dark ring? But beyond that, what will become of him along the way? Will the ring change him, others? Will it turn him into something else, manipulate him, hurt him? The answer to all of these is yes, and no.

In some ways, Frodo is changed. He has moments where his judgment lapses, moments of weakness, where he gives in to the darkness, only to have the darkness pursue him even harder, and with it comes pain, fear, and eventual death to some. All for such a little thing. All for one little thing.

Life is like this. Situations and trials play with us, mess with our heads, try to turn us into something else, and we have a choice. What are we gonna do when it gets impossible to press on? Which path will we take when the pressure intensifies? Will we stay among the fellowship or be divided? These questions can easily be attached to romantic relationships, familial ones, work, faith, whatever.  The purpose of good writing, good films/novels, etc. is to show us something about ourselves, teach us something or make us question our path. If it’s not doing any of those things, what’s the point? I’m not saying LOTR is the most amazing novel series of all time, because there are parts of it that are dry as heck, but there are some intense philosophical conversations Tolkien’s inviting us to discuss.

Personally, I’ve thought about quitting on my journey as a writer so many times, but there’s something else that speaks louder. Also, there have been moments, days, weeks, when I’ve prayed to go back in time, to give up my talent with the pen (or laptop?) in exchange for an intact family. But while I anxiously await a working time machine, I ponder. I wonder. I press on. You see, you can’t go back. You can’t make a lover stay. People aren’t characters in real life, and no matter how good I am at playing God in a novel’s framework, I’m not God in the real world. It is not within my power to make it rain or to wash away the effects of a killer hurricane, and I can’t piece a family back together. The pain remains. The questions and doubts and fears remain.

L is for Legolas!

But while I’m in the cave, and creatures lurk about every corner, there is a light. Like Frodo, I realize I am not alone in this journey. I realize that with me there glows a sword, alerting me to danger, and giving me reason to hold fast to courage. There are wise men in my company and warriors, and yes, the occasional questionable metro elf to endure the quest. From broken fragments, a mirror can be made. There will be cracks, evidences of frailty, but when hung, it will show the truth. It will show the scars. But those scars will also surround the beauty, and in that beauty is life itself.

I find myself too often making the wrong choice, saying the wrong thing. I wear the ring when I know it will destroy me. Do you? I think we all do. And in my frustration I question the road I’ve taken as a result of the pain I’ve endured. “I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.” But in that dark moment, in that time of questioning and doubt and fear, a still voice sweeps in. “So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for us to decide. All you need to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you.”

stand firm. spread the fire!

-evega

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