Screaming Allowed

The titles to my blog posts are never misspelled.

It is always intentional.

Similar to the title of this blog as well as the story - a double meaning and interpretation.

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   Beyond the broken glass of the office window and into the darkened cavity that contained the office itself stood Don Mario Rossi. In his hand and just inches away from his face he held firmly to the crowbar that, just moments before, had ruptured the window towards him.

   Forcefully, Mario throws the crowbar into the floor with a loud clang. He peers down onto the warehouse floor room and into the eyes of his aggressor. Without breaking his stare, Don Rossi motions for those in the office to exit.

   Grabbing the edges of the window frame, he calls down to the masked specter, "You dare to come to my party and demand a dance with death? Never one to turn down a beautiful lady, I will oblige you. But I must warn you, reaper: if you fall out of step then it will be your soul that is claimed this night.

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Ugh.

To tired to go on right now.

Meh, I tried.

Maybe I'll use this title another time.

Emotion Sickness

This.

This here touched that certain part of me that makes me revert to Mr. Sensitivity.

First, I need to say that I have no idea who to credit for the picture. It is not a creation of mine.

Next, I teared up initially at the sight of this.

The more I look at it, the more it grabs my heart and squeezes.
I have even reverted to hiding the image so that I may compose myself.

I imagine this (fictional) scenario:

Soft, gentle, unassuming comfort device who is bravely and confidently squaring off against something that looks to be more than his match.

As an equal.

And without the history associated with these objects, we would assume that it is hopeless. That the bear would assuredly lose.

Yet, if we think for a moment that this could be a possibility - that this may be happening each night, then we  must consider that the bear was victorious.

That with odds such as these stacked against him, we woke up each day. And he was unscathed.

Perfectly fine. His expression unchanged and definitely no worse.

He has either held his own and he will have to do it again tonight or he defeated it.

Wow

I can only hope to instill such a reaction with my own creations.

Commitmentality

Do not take this as some journal logging how I am actively working at page creation and story progression. This is merely my attempt to stay engaged with a life's goal.

I continue to think of this 'project' in the terms of eventuality not definity.

I keep thinking that this will all be finished eventually.

I should be doing.

Definitively.

Continuously.

Kara used to nag me, and not in the ways that frustrate a person.

She was just always there creeping up from my psyche.

She was my muse,

and my succubus.

She would drain me and leave me exhausted but never without also leaving me with a sense of accomplishment.

I speak of her in the past tense not because she is dead, even though that is a fact, but because I have not felt that connection to her recently.

This saddens me.

It fills me with doubt and self loathing.

She has every right. I have not been strong enough.

Not physically.

Not mentally.

Not even my spirit has been enough to keep her tethered to me.

I am just a man with a pretty good idea.

 The story sucks, though.

I need help.

But I am not, nor will I, ask for it.

I do not know what pride is to know if I have too much of it to swallow, but I have been told that my horse is rather tall and I should get down from it.

Unrelated.

At least not directly.

Rediscover Letter

I did not write over the weekend. I did not draw in the same time span either. I will say that it was due to reasserting how old I am.

I had my most immediate children over and spent time wrestling and running with as well as carrying them  and a football around. We also threw the football around... a lot.

I am either beginning to feel how old I actually am, or just how much out of shape I am. Either way I felt it all today. Sore lower back and shoulder are my lingering reminders. Come to think of it, it could really be the post-accident soreness I am feeling. You see, I was dashing to snag a beautiful pass from my son when my foot caught the stem sprinkler and ruined my stride. I half ran into and half collided with the cedar fence. My head received a nice goose egg bruise and my arm (having been in an awkward angle to catch the ball and myself in fall) was very difficult to move for a bit. And me, knowing how impressionable kids can be, muscled through the pain and stiffness.

A father is a child's assessment of what 'men' are supposed to be.

I did draw, if you can call it that, with the picture from my previous post.

Ah, who am I kidding? I erased a majority of the darker lines because the perspective still did not look right. I have sketched it in a bit more to try and find a visually pleasing and personally satisfying concept. These sketches are my primary outlet for drawing, instead of the actually story, because the time I find to do them coincide with time that I am spending with customers to resolve their issues. I will not distract from those I am trying to help by working on something that means so incredibly much to me and that requires my dedicated attention.

I may, when I feel comfortable with the visual character concept, work towards page layouts and storyline pacing while at work.

For now, I am rediscovering my love of the story and character.

Remedial Remedies

I find myself being told to stop worrying about the details and just do it. That the only person who needs to approve my work is myself. I need to just get down to business and create the monster.

Since my plan is to publish after the entire story is completed, I will have time to look back at the beginning pages and modify where necessitated by later ones. I can even work backwards and rearrange. It is all up to me. 

I attempt to excuse myself from excuses by justifying reasons instead.

The truth: I am lazy and creatively distracted.

When I was wrestling over the idea of scripting the complete story, someone I look up to sent me a link to a comic book writer who stated (quite plainly) "You are writing to have your ideas interpreted by your artist."

Since I am one and the same, what excuse do I have now?

I am lazy and creatively distracted.

Excuses. Excuses.

I will attempt to write and draw something everyday.

I make no promises, because I am lazy and creatively distracted.