Tony Jaeger's Blog
November 2, 2015
Depressing Thought Tuesday: Happy Endings
I love movies, TV shows, books... in short, I love stories of all kinds, in all mediums, but I've begun to get tired of them. I think that at some point in the last twenty years, people in Hollywoo all got together and decided that they would only make movies with happy endings, and I have to say, I hate it.
At the end of such a movie - let's take it to an extreme - let's say Miracle, about the hardships that the American Olympic Hockey team went through to beat the Soviet Union, or Canada, or some shit (it's been a while since I've seen it, give me a break). It ends happily, and in the moment my spirit is uplifted, but the next day I wake up alone, drive to work alone, and look forward to returning to an empty home that is quietly accumulating filth and judging me for it. I make a grossly unhealthy meal, maybe write a bit, and go to bed. In those final moments before I drift off to sleep, I find myself thinking back on the movie and finding hollowness in it.
I am no longer actually inspired by those who have risen to unimaginable heights out of the depths of mediocrity or worse. I find myself resenting these stories, these characters, because their plight has no meaning to me; I feel that I've been told to admire these people, instead of finding actual valor in whatever they've done with their lives.
You wanna know what does inspire me? Someone in a loveless marriage, who carries on simply for a lack of anything else meaningful to do with themselves, who watches their peers, their friends achieve their lifelong goals and examines their own life in comparison and shrugs their shoulders because what the fuck are they going to do about it? I am inspired by people who pull themselves out of bed every day knowing that today is not going to be any better than the day before, and tomorrow holds no solace either.
"To Trudge: the slow, weary, depressing, yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in his life but the impulse to simply soldier on."
Jeffrey Chaucer's character in a Knight's Tale inspires me, because I know his pain. We live in vastly different worlds, he and me, but we are both just dealing with our situations, resigned to the thought that no matter how bad things are, this may very well be as good as it gets.
In case you haven't seen it, watch this. It's fantastic. (Please pardon the subtitles, I couldn't find a video without them) Did you ever see Megamind? Fantastic movie. *Spoiler Alert* In Megamind, the Hero cracks under the neverending pressure of being the hero, so he fakes his own death, just to escape it for a while, so he can just be himself for a while, and have a beer. Inspirational. Why? Because he had the balls to tell the world to go fuck itself, so he can try to be happy for a little while. Sure, the movie probably had a happy ending, but I don't remember. The hero was broken, desperate just to be left alone for a while, that's what struck me as truly genuine. That is what intrigued me. I don't care one bit about Megamind's rise to power, or whatever happened in the rest of the movie, it was the hero's pain that brought me in and kept me watching.
At the end of it all, you wanna know what the depressing thought is? I imagine this whole thing was completely relatable to you. We live in a world that doesn't give two shits about us, and we know it. We carry on from day to day as if someday, if we're really good and follow the rules, some meaning will reveal itself to us, but even the most hopeful of us doubt that.
I'll see you next week.
At the end of such a movie - let's take it to an extreme - let's say Miracle, about the hardships that the American Olympic Hockey team went through to beat the Soviet Union, or Canada, or some shit (it's been a while since I've seen it, give me a break). It ends happily, and in the moment my spirit is uplifted, but the next day I wake up alone, drive to work alone, and look forward to returning to an empty home that is quietly accumulating filth and judging me for it. I make a grossly unhealthy meal, maybe write a bit, and go to bed. In those final moments before I drift off to sleep, I find myself thinking back on the movie and finding hollowness in it.
I am no longer actually inspired by those who have risen to unimaginable heights out of the depths of mediocrity or worse. I find myself resenting these stories, these characters, because their plight has no meaning to me; I feel that I've been told to admire these people, instead of finding actual valor in whatever they've done with their lives.
You wanna know what does inspire me? Someone in a loveless marriage, who carries on simply for a lack of anything else meaningful to do with themselves, who watches their peers, their friends achieve their lifelong goals and examines their own life in comparison and shrugs their shoulders because what the fuck are they going to do about it? I am inspired by people who pull themselves out of bed every day knowing that today is not going to be any better than the day before, and tomorrow holds no solace either.
"To Trudge: the slow, weary, depressing, yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in his life but the impulse to simply soldier on."
Jeffrey Chaucer's character in a Knight's Tale inspires me, because I know his pain. We live in vastly different worlds, he and me, but we are both just dealing with our situations, resigned to the thought that no matter how bad things are, this may very well be as good as it gets.
In case you haven't seen it, watch this. It's fantastic. (Please pardon the subtitles, I couldn't find a video without them) Did you ever see Megamind? Fantastic movie. *Spoiler Alert* In Megamind, the Hero cracks under the neverending pressure of being the hero, so he fakes his own death, just to escape it for a while, so he can just be himself for a while, and have a beer. Inspirational. Why? Because he had the balls to tell the world to go fuck itself, so he can try to be happy for a little while. Sure, the movie probably had a happy ending, but I don't remember. The hero was broken, desperate just to be left alone for a while, that's what struck me as truly genuine. That is what intrigued me. I don't care one bit about Megamind's rise to power, or whatever happened in the rest of the movie, it was the hero's pain that brought me in and kept me watching.
At the end of it all, you wanna know what the depressing thought is? I imagine this whole thing was completely relatable to you. We live in a world that doesn't give two shits about us, and we know it. We carry on from day to day as if someday, if we're really good and follow the rules, some meaning will reveal itself to us, but even the most hopeful of us doubt that.
I'll see you next week.
January 23, 2015
The Feeling of Drunk
This is going to be a little all over the place, and very possibly is going to sound like I'm pitying myself (I'm not, but it's gonna sound like it). If you can't deal with that, you might want to not read this.
I've identified the single most damaging thing that's been said to me during my adult life. It was a kind of fascinating moment of clarity that led me there, and even though I've identified the moment and the sentiment behind it (it was actually kind of a good thing I was told this because it saved me from getting too invested in a doomed situation), the knowledge of it doesn't help me in the least. Simply put, there's nothing for it.
What was that statement? A little bit of background first. There was a girl - isn't that how all of these stories start? - she was more or less the most magnificent woman I came into contact with at that time in my life. She was - still is - stunning, but that's simply the least of a long list of qualities topped by 'really fucking smart,' and 'seemed not to know just how amazing she is,' which is amazing, because that almost never is among the list of qualities of great people. Well, as is natural to a man of, well, just about any age, I lusted after her until it was said to me "Girls like her don't marry guys like you." After that, I just kind of faded into the background. It seemed my natural place in her life.
To his credit, he was right. As of now, she is married to a great guy, and - I hope - happy.
Girls like her don't marry guys like you. Even now, it kind of stings to read that statement. It's not often that I reflect on that, but hey, I'm a little drunk, and there has never been a better mood to reflect on your life than drunk.
Something I've learned about people is that we're extremely resilient. Over the years since I was told that, what started out as kind of a seemingly horrible, mean thing to say has become a form of armor for me. Every time I am rejected in any way, I can comfort myself by the fact that I was simply chasing after the wrong kind of woman. Eh, girls like her don't date guys like me. It ain't a thing. It's great.
Except that it isn't. After a little while of believing that I'm left wondering 'who, then? What kind of girl Does date guys like me? What kind of person Does want to wake up next to me? To reach out for me and touch me in the middle of the night, just for the comfort of knowing that I'm there? Fuck, who?'
You wanna know what the good part of being drunk and alone is? Sobriety comes back, and I'm able to put all these thoughts where they belong: buried deep, where nobody can find them. :)
I'm gonna go to bed and sober up. Thanks for listening.
I've identified the single most damaging thing that's been said to me during my adult life. It was a kind of fascinating moment of clarity that led me there, and even though I've identified the moment and the sentiment behind it (it was actually kind of a good thing I was told this because it saved me from getting too invested in a doomed situation), the knowledge of it doesn't help me in the least. Simply put, there's nothing for it.
What was that statement? A little bit of background first. There was a girl - isn't that how all of these stories start? - she was more or less the most magnificent woman I came into contact with at that time in my life. She was - still is - stunning, but that's simply the least of a long list of qualities topped by 'really fucking smart,' and 'seemed not to know just how amazing she is,' which is amazing, because that almost never is among the list of qualities of great people. Well, as is natural to a man of, well, just about any age, I lusted after her until it was said to me "Girls like her don't marry guys like you." After that, I just kind of faded into the background. It seemed my natural place in her life.
To his credit, he was right. As of now, she is married to a great guy, and - I hope - happy.
Girls like her don't marry guys like you. Even now, it kind of stings to read that statement. It's not often that I reflect on that, but hey, I'm a little drunk, and there has never been a better mood to reflect on your life than drunk.
Something I've learned about people is that we're extremely resilient. Over the years since I was told that, what started out as kind of a seemingly horrible, mean thing to say has become a form of armor for me. Every time I am rejected in any way, I can comfort myself by the fact that I was simply chasing after the wrong kind of woman. Eh, girls like her don't date guys like me. It ain't a thing. It's great.
Except that it isn't. After a little while of believing that I'm left wondering 'who, then? What kind of girl Does date guys like me? What kind of person Does want to wake up next to me? To reach out for me and touch me in the middle of the night, just for the comfort of knowing that I'm there? Fuck, who?'
You wanna know what the good part of being drunk and alone is? Sobriety comes back, and I'm able to put all these thoughts where they belong: buried deep, where nobody can find them. :)
I'm gonna go to bed and sober up. Thanks for listening.
January 6, 2015
Depressing Thought Tuesday
I haven't done one of these in a while. I won't apologize. Instead, I'll just say that whenever I get really bummed out, you'll get a new one of these. deal? :)
When a friend who has been going through some emotional troubles asked me to lie to her (in context it was something completely else that made sense, but the full length of the message said "Lie to me,") my first thought was to tell her "Life gets easier, things start making more sense, the older you get, and it's all going to be okay."
When a friend who has been going through some emotional troubles asked me to lie to her (in context it was something completely else that made sense, but the full length of the message said "Lie to me,") my first thought was to tell her "Life gets easier, things start making more sense, the older you get, and it's all going to be okay."
December 1, 2014
Suicidal Thoughts
Before you read this, I want you to know that I am okay. This is not a cry for help, or even cause for concern. Everything is fine, except that I can't decide what kind of music I want to listen to right now, and that is only mildly irritating.
For the past several years I've been thinking about self-harm, suicide, and a whole lot of intermediary steps. Not as an alternative for quietly living out my life, but simply because they fascinate me. They've always been this kind of distant... thing... anomalies that I couldn't communicate with, or even fathom. So, naturally, I was interested in them.
When I was in high school, a girl once gave me a box with a bloody tissue and a razor blade inside. I responded to this in the only way I could have. I called her crazy (maybe to her face, for which I feel terrible), and distanced myself from her. What would drive a person to do that, the question didn't occur to me until years later. I don't know if I ever saw her again, but I vaguely remember something about her moving to Hawaii where she was happy. I've always hoped that was true.
I dismissed her from my mind not long afterward, but random happenings - you know how life is sometimes - would bring me back to that day. She wanted me to know. What she wanted me to know, I couldn't say, but I freaked out and retreated. Cowardice is an interesting thing.
When I sat down to think about it - probably over a few beers, let's be honest, I am me - I couldn't understand. I still don't understand. After last night, I no longer despair: I think I will figure it out, someday.
On the other side of the spectrum from self harm is suicide. The Holy Grail of my search for answers. Why people commit suicide is up there with "Is there a God," for me, as far as things I don't know or understand. I've been searching for the answers to both of these questions for about the same amount of time. How a person could get to a point in their lives where not having a life could seem like a positive alternative had always baffled me. So, naturally, I was interested in it.
Throughout my late teens and early twenties I have sought out a variety of experiences I hoped would expand my understanding of life, the universe, and everything (Including reading Life, The Universe, and Everything, which was somewhat benign in helping me along on my search for Truth), and I have wandered through philosophy, religion, and through some dark, dark thoughts and thought experiments I won't repeat here. And yet, nothing brought me closer to an answer to the question "Why suicide?" until last night.
What happened last night? Find out on Part Two of this post.
Kidding. Heh. Could you imagine if I'd actually done that?
There was nothing special about last night. I played Magic with Chris, cleaned my apartment up a bit, laid on the couch, and watched TV while thinking about life, and the things I wanted to do in the future. All of the things that crossed my mind flashed through, and the logistics of each, and started to build on each other, a burden on my chest that got heavier and heavier the more I thought. I realized that weight, all of those thoughts about the future, had always been there.
I thought it would be nice if everything just kind of went away for a bit.
I thought it would be nice to just be able to be me, the way I am, or how I see myself, and not have to worry about anything.
I thought it would be nice to slip away.
I saw images. Still images of myself, immediately post-mortem, by my own hand, with a peaceful expression on my face, and saw only a glimmer of that peace I had longed for only moments before.
Then it made sense. I drank from the chalice of understanding, ate of the Fruit of Knowledge. . . and did nothing with the thought. Didn't act on it, or even become tempted to. I entertained the thought, and set it free. The thought wasn't mine. It belonged to the universe, so I made sure it felt emboldened to fly away and visit other people that might be searching for it.
Nothing sounded nice. Like in that Billy Joel song, it sounded nice to just forget about life for a while. I never thought that "Nothing" could be romanticized, but in my own mind, at that moment, nothing could be more pleasant.
I know it's not THE answer to the question, but it is AN answer. Like an essay question, "Why Suicide?" doesn't have a single correct answer (just like I imagine "Is there a God?" doesn't have a single correct answer).
So. I just felt the need to share that with you all. Thank you for listening. Until our space and time meet again, I'll say have fun, and good luck.
For the past several years I've been thinking about self-harm, suicide, and a whole lot of intermediary steps. Not as an alternative for quietly living out my life, but simply because they fascinate me. They've always been this kind of distant... thing... anomalies that I couldn't communicate with, or even fathom. So, naturally, I was interested in them.
When I was in high school, a girl once gave me a box with a bloody tissue and a razor blade inside. I responded to this in the only way I could have. I called her crazy (maybe to her face, for which I feel terrible), and distanced myself from her. What would drive a person to do that, the question didn't occur to me until years later. I don't know if I ever saw her again, but I vaguely remember something about her moving to Hawaii where she was happy. I've always hoped that was true.
I dismissed her from my mind not long afterward, but random happenings - you know how life is sometimes - would bring me back to that day. She wanted me to know. What she wanted me to know, I couldn't say, but I freaked out and retreated. Cowardice is an interesting thing.
When I sat down to think about it - probably over a few beers, let's be honest, I am me - I couldn't understand. I still don't understand. After last night, I no longer despair: I think I will figure it out, someday.
On the other side of the spectrum from self harm is suicide. The Holy Grail of my search for answers. Why people commit suicide is up there with "Is there a God," for me, as far as things I don't know or understand. I've been searching for the answers to both of these questions for about the same amount of time. How a person could get to a point in their lives where not having a life could seem like a positive alternative had always baffled me. So, naturally, I was interested in it.
Throughout my late teens and early twenties I have sought out a variety of experiences I hoped would expand my understanding of life, the universe, and everything (Including reading Life, The Universe, and Everything, which was somewhat benign in helping me along on my search for Truth), and I have wandered through philosophy, religion, and through some dark, dark thoughts and thought experiments I won't repeat here. And yet, nothing brought me closer to an answer to the question "Why suicide?" until last night.
What happened last night? Find out on Part Two of this post.
Kidding. Heh. Could you imagine if I'd actually done that?
There was nothing special about last night. I played Magic with Chris, cleaned my apartment up a bit, laid on the couch, and watched TV while thinking about life, and the things I wanted to do in the future. All of the things that crossed my mind flashed through, and the logistics of each, and started to build on each other, a burden on my chest that got heavier and heavier the more I thought. I realized that weight, all of those thoughts about the future, had always been there.
I thought it would be nice if everything just kind of went away for a bit.
I thought it would be nice to just be able to be me, the way I am, or how I see myself, and not have to worry about anything.
I thought it would be nice to slip away.
I saw images. Still images of myself, immediately post-mortem, by my own hand, with a peaceful expression on my face, and saw only a glimmer of that peace I had longed for only moments before.
Then it made sense. I drank from the chalice of understanding, ate of the Fruit of Knowledge. . . and did nothing with the thought. Didn't act on it, or even become tempted to. I entertained the thought, and set it free. The thought wasn't mine. It belonged to the universe, so I made sure it felt emboldened to fly away and visit other people that might be searching for it.
Nothing sounded nice. Like in that Billy Joel song, it sounded nice to just forget about life for a while. I never thought that "Nothing" could be romanticized, but in my own mind, at that moment, nothing could be more pleasant.
I know it's not THE answer to the question, but it is AN answer. Like an essay question, "Why Suicide?" doesn't have a single correct answer (just like I imagine "Is there a God?" doesn't have a single correct answer).
So. I just felt the need to share that with you all. Thank you for listening. Until our space and time meet again, I'll say have fun, and good luck.
November 27, 2014
The Next One, pt. 1
I've decided that I want to keep track of things, as I write my next book. So I'm going to be talking about anything that strikes me as interesting, relating to the writing of a new book. This is going to be part journal entry, part not-that-interesting-look at my "process" (I really hate that term). I might ramble. So, if that sounds like something you're interested in, I say "Wow. That barely sounds interesting to me," and would continue stammering for a moment, eventually settling into a bewildered - yet amazed - silence... and welcome you to read further.
With every new piece of writing, whether it's a short story, a flash fiction piece, or a novel, I'm still experiencing new things. I'm young, and still relatively new at it. This past week, I sat down to write a thousand word story that takes place at a Christmas party, and as you've come to expect from me, the main character has an existential breakdown, and has to figure out how he feels about life. It was fun, sweet, and in desperate need of a lot more depth, and some expansion. Writing it was probably one of the more pleasant work sessions I've had in months, and a huge departure from my usually dark thoughts. Writing bright, happy shit is weird.
When I started working on Fowl Play, Chef had been out for a few months, and I had had the opportunity by then to hear what worked and what didn't, and to gauge what I needed to work on in the next book. There is not a single better feeling than starting a new, exciting project, and having a clear idea of those things like I did.
With this next one, though, there have been three people that read Fowl Play, and their feedback - while immensely useful and deeply appreciated - was nowhere near as extensive as the feedback I'd received over the course of months with Chef (cuz, you know, how could it be?). I feel like I'm going into this blind. I'm confident in the idea, and sure that I can pull it off better than I did with Fowl Play, and excited to get into the meat of it, but it just kind of nags at me that I'm working with the same information I got a year ago. Nervous.
Anyway, I just wanted to put this out there. Writing is lonely work, and being able to share this is something of a relief. Thank you.
Until next time, have fun and good luck.
With every new piece of writing, whether it's a short story, a flash fiction piece, or a novel, I'm still experiencing new things. I'm young, and still relatively new at it. This past week, I sat down to write a thousand word story that takes place at a Christmas party, and as you've come to expect from me, the main character has an existential breakdown, and has to figure out how he feels about life. It was fun, sweet, and in desperate need of a lot more depth, and some expansion. Writing it was probably one of the more pleasant work sessions I've had in months, and a huge departure from my usually dark thoughts. Writing bright, happy shit is weird.
When I started working on Fowl Play, Chef had been out for a few months, and I had had the opportunity by then to hear what worked and what didn't, and to gauge what I needed to work on in the next book. There is not a single better feeling than starting a new, exciting project, and having a clear idea of those things like I did.
With this next one, though, there have been three people that read Fowl Play, and their feedback - while immensely useful and deeply appreciated - was nowhere near as extensive as the feedback I'd received over the course of months with Chef (cuz, you know, how could it be?). I feel like I'm going into this blind. I'm confident in the idea, and sure that I can pull it off better than I did with Fowl Play, and excited to get into the meat of it, but it just kind of nags at me that I'm working with the same information I got a year ago. Nervous.
Anyway, I just wanted to put this out there. Writing is lonely work, and being able to share this is something of a relief. Thank you.
Until next time, have fun and good luck.
October 22, 2014
It's That Time Again...
Time to spin the Wheel of Morality? No, it's time for Tony to learn another hard lesson about the world of writing!
If you haven't heard already, Line By Lion Publications has picked up Fowl Play, and the lovely people over there are hard at work making sure I haven't screwed up and making the book even better than I could do with it. Pretty freaking exciting, right?
Exciting, yes, but that's the hard part. I've never had to let a project go before, I've never had to trust that someone is going to be able to have the same (or similar) vision for the project as I have had for the past year. Since putting it into their capable hands, I've been sitting back, trying not to obsess over everything, or anything, really. So many questions, comments, concerns, insecurities, and other sundry emotions have bubbled to the surface and turned me into a nervous wreck.
(This is the point where I tell you that the people with Line By Lion have been endlessly patient with me, and they have, for which I'm immensely grateful. I'm sure I've been horrifying to work with, for realsies.)
This is a problem I've heard a few authors talk about, the having trouble letting go, but I never thought it'd be like this. To be honest, I thought i was going to be able to just ego my way through it (I'm really good at that), but that didn't work. At all. It's an incredibly vulnerable feeling, putting Fowl Play into someone else's hands.
The best way I can describe it is by comparing it to the moments in between asking "Will you marry me?" and the answer. But all the time. I know, that sounds a little exaggerated, and I admit it is, but not by a whole lot.
My only comfort - and it is a huge one - is that the people working with me on Fowl Play are professionals. They are smarter than I am, better at everything I'm worried about than I could ever be, and they have expressed enough faith in me to put effort into the book.
Now, I just need to relax and try to enjoy how freaking excited I am about this whole thing.
Anyway. I felt I needed to share. Y'all enjoy yourselves, and good luck.
If you haven't heard already, Line By Lion Publications has picked up Fowl Play, and the lovely people over there are hard at work making sure I haven't screwed up and making the book even better than I could do with it. Pretty freaking exciting, right?
Exciting, yes, but that's the hard part. I've never had to let a project go before, I've never had to trust that someone is going to be able to have the same (or similar) vision for the project as I have had for the past year. Since putting it into their capable hands, I've been sitting back, trying not to obsess over everything, or anything, really. So many questions, comments, concerns, insecurities, and other sundry emotions have bubbled to the surface and turned me into a nervous wreck.
(This is the point where I tell you that the people with Line By Lion have been endlessly patient with me, and they have, for which I'm immensely grateful. I'm sure I've been horrifying to work with, for realsies.)
This is a problem I've heard a few authors talk about, the having trouble letting go, but I never thought it'd be like this. To be honest, I thought i was going to be able to just ego my way through it (I'm really good at that), but that didn't work. At all. It's an incredibly vulnerable feeling, putting Fowl Play into someone else's hands.
The best way I can describe it is by comparing it to the moments in between asking "Will you marry me?" and the answer. But all the time. I know, that sounds a little exaggerated, and I admit it is, but not by a whole lot.
My only comfort - and it is a huge one - is that the people working with me on Fowl Play are professionals. They are smarter than I am, better at everything I'm worried about than I could ever be, and they have expressed enough faith in me to put effort into the book.
Now, I just need to relax and try to enjoy how freaking excited I am about this whole thing.
Anyway. I felt I needed to share. Y'all enjoy yourselves, and good luck.
October 15, 2014
A Bit of Fowl News
If you haven't already heard, Fowl Play has been picked up by a big kid publisher! Line by Lion Publications has graciously taken a look at the book, and loved it (which is a huge ego boost, I have to say. The editing process made it super easy to look at all of the negatives). We have reached an agreement, and they are going to be publishing it.
What does this mean?
Well, this means that the release date for Fowl Play is out of my hands. My aim, before receiving the wonderful news, was to have it out before Christmas. That will probably not happen.
This also means that the book is going to be a whole helluva lot more amazing than I could have done, by myself, because a whole team of people over at Line by Lion is going to be busting their asses to make it the best book it can be, before it comes out. Whenever it comes out, it's going to be ... just the best.
So, I am going to go continue the celebration, and then get back to work tightening the story up. As soon as I have release date information, or a cover that I can show you, or... really anything, y'all will be the first to know.
Have a great day or night! I heart your faces!
What does this mean?
Well, this means that the release date for Fowl Play is out of my hands. My aim, before receiving the wonderful news, was to have it out before Christmas. That will probably not happen.
This also means that the book is going to be a whole helluva lot more amazing than I could have done, by myself, because a whole team of people over at Line by Lion is going to be busting their asses to make it the best book it can be, before it comes out. Whenever it comes out, it's going to be ... just the best.
So, I am going to go continue the celebration, and then get back to work tightening the story up. As soon as I have release date information, or a cover that I can show you, or... really anything, y'all will be the first to know.
Have a great day or night! I heart your faces!
September 30, 2014
Depressing Thoughts.
Tragedy and loss are more common reasons for people to come together than celebrations. More socially acceptable, as well.
The easiest way to get some people to come to a family gathering is for that gathering to be a funeral. Some people can't even be bothered to attend a wedding, but a funeral... a funeral they'll go to.
The easiest way to get some people to come to a family gathering is for that gathering to be a funeral. Some people can't even be bothered to attend a wedding, but a funeral... a funeral they'll go to.
July 8, 2014
A Depressing Thought
Tuesdays suck. Since the invention of the five-day work week, Tuesdays have been reviled. We're prepared for Monday. "If I can just make it through Monday," we say to ourselves, "this week is going to be okay." And we do. We soldier through Monday and, proud that we made it through intact, we approach the rest of the week with a smile on our faces... only to be suckerpunched by Tuesday. This has become as much truth as the fact that internet brings out the very worst in people, over the years, and only rarely the best. So I figure, let's wallow in it for a bit, eh? Grab a beer, or your beverage of choice, and let's talk about some stuff. We hurt people, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not, and there is nothing we can do to stop it. Humans are fragile creatures, both physically and emotionally. It only takes a pound of pressure to break the skin (fact not checked, due to laziness. Heard it in Firefly, and accepted it as truth (it is true, but we're not here for a physics lesson)), and it only takes a single word to break the heart.
Everything, whether good or bad, or horrifying, was fully justifiable in the mind of the person doing it. Just kind of take a second and think about that. Every poisoning, or pat on the back - or stab in the back - every holocaust and mass murder, and every plague released, have all seemed to be perfectly reasonable to the person committing it at the time. This, along with every nonviolent action as well. Every insult, betrayal, rumor spread, and every broken heart... was all perfectly justifiable to the person giving it. Even if they later regretted it, that is the undeniable truth.
"Yes," you might think, "but I'm not like that. I try to do right by everyone I meet. I do my best to be a good person.'"
Well, so do I, that's why this is depressing. Since I turned 22, and learned that not everybody has the sense of humor to not take me seriously, I've done my damnedest to be a nice guy, in my own way. I take care of my own, and try not to make waves... but that doesn't stop me from hurting people any more than it stops you.
Hell, sometimes even offhanded compliments that are either poorly worded or simply misinterpreted can cut more deeply than an outright insult.
An interesting event is finding out that someone you barely remember ever meeting hates you because of some slight, whether real or imagined. You brush it off, but if you stop and think about it for a moment, someone has been hurting, bearing your scar for years, and you can't even remember their name. It happens with a surprising level of frequency.
Whatever your crimes, whether intentional or not, someone looks at you through eyes tinged with hate. The only thing we can do is everything we can to be kind to one another, and hope for the best. That won't help, because at the end of the day, you will hurt people, no matter how hard you try not to.
See You Next Tuesday... On a related note, if I have caused you hurt, ever in the time I've known you, I am sorry. Even in the rare occasion I have acted with actual malice, I was probably out of line, and I am sorry.
Everything, whether good or bad, or horrifying, was fully justifiable in the mind of the person doing it. Just kind of take a second and think about that. Every poisoning, or pat on the back - or stab in the back - every holocaust and mass murder, and every plague released, have all seemed to be perfectly reasonable to the person committing it at the time. This, along with every nonviolent action as well. Every insult, betrayal, rumor spread, and every broken heart... was all perfectly justifiable to the person giving it. Even if they later regretted it, that is the undeniable truth.
"Yes," you might think, "but I'm not like that. I try to do right by everyone I meet. I do my best to be a good person.'"
Well, so do I, that's why this is depressing. Since I turned 22, and learned that not everybody has the sense of humor to not take me seriously, I've done my damnedest to be a nice guy, in my own way. I take care of my own, and try not to make waves... but that doesn't stop me from hurting people any more than it stops you.
Hell, sometimes even offhanded compliments that are either poorly worded or simply misinterpreted can cut more deeply than an outright insult.
An interesting event is finding out that someone you barely remember ever meeting hates you because of some slight, whether real or imagined. You brush it off, but if you stop and think about it for a moment, someone has been hurting, bearing your scar for years, and you can't even remember their name. It happens with a surprising level of frequency.
Whatever your crimes, whether intentional or not, someone looks at you through eyes tinged with hate. The only thing we can do is everything we can to be kind to one another, and hope for the best. That won't help, because at the end of the day, you will hurt people, no matter how hard you try not to.
See You Next Tuesday... On a related note, if I have caused you hurt, ever in the time I've known you, I am sorry. Even in the rare occasion I have acted with actual malice, I was probably out of line, and I am sorry.
June 29, 2014
Something Different
I am almost done with Fowl Play. That "End of Project Momentum" is building, and things in the story are really hitting the fan (and my feels, at times). It is still coming, I want you all to know that. That being said, everything I have previously announced about its release might not be the most accurate information ever. In fact, please disregard it all. Originally, I planned to self-publish it once all of my ducks are in a row (yes, that was intentional), but since then some curious folk have asked to look at it when it's done. I will not go into any details, but their looking at it might change everything I've said about its release. I wanted to let you all know, so you don't think I just abandoned the project. I haven't, and in fact this project has been more personally fulfilling than Chef was - which just amazes me.
But I'm not here to talk about Fowl Play.
This past Monday I announced that I will be putting out a short story in the near future. The story is called Waiting For Player Two. It started out as a joke I told at work, saying that dating sites for gamers need to have a relationship status of "Waiting for Player Two," which I thought was just a really sweet, somewhat sad sentiment. Throughout the rest of that shift, and the hours afterward, that comment roiled around in the back of my head, bringing about a whole list of images and thoughts... until I just went home and wrote the first draft over the course of five hours. It's the only thing I've written in my adult life that has an overall positive feeling, and is generally uplifting.
In part, Player Two is an apology for disappearing the last six months, since Know Your Shrooms came out. Sure, some - maybe even most - authors tend to disappear for years in between books, but I won't do that. I refuse. You will be getting more from me, short stories, novellas, and full-length novels. As long as I have Something to Say, I'll be writing, and I've only begun exploring my thoughts. We are going to go on a ride in the coming decades, and I'm excited to share it with you all.
So, Waiting For Player Two exists, it's a story I've fallen in love with, and hope you enjoy when it releases on July 31st.
But I'm not here to talk about Fowl Play.
This past Monday I announced that I will be putting out a short story in the near future. The story is called Waiting For Player Two. It started out as a joke I told at work, saying that dating sites for gamers need to have a relationship status of "Waiting for Player Two," which I thought was just a really sweet, somewhat sad sentiment. Throughout the rest of that shift, and the hours afterward, that comment roiled around in the back of my head, bringing about a whole list of images and thoughts... until I just went home and wrote the first draft over the course of five hours. It's the only thing I've written in my adult life that has an overall positive feeling, and is generally uplifting.
In part, Player Two is an apology for disappearing the last six months, since Know Your Shrooms came out. Sure, some - maybe even most - authors tend to disappear for years in between books, but I won't do that. I refuse. You will be getting more from me, short stories, novellas, and full-length novels. As long as I have Something to Say, I'll be writing, and I've only begun exploring my thoughts. We are going to go on a ride in the coming decades, and I'm excited to share it with you all.
So, Waiting For Player Two exists, it's a story I've fallen in love with, and hope you enjoy when it releases on July 31st.
