Make, and support, art

My post-work goal for the night was to get a little writing done (likely in the form of adding to Dissonance in Harmony, of course) before playing some Pokemon Moon and going to bed at a moderately reasonable hour. I love some quality video game wind-down time, but after seeing more news regarding President (using the term loosely here) Trump’s intention to move forward with defunding PBS…Pokemon will have to wait.

It would be easy to throw names at the Man-Child-in-Chief. Too easy.

What I want to do is, instead, charge you fellow artists to create. Keep creating, keep spreading art and encouraging (and supporting) others to do the same, and keep spreading wonder and joy and love that is otherwise being snuffed out in the name of further crushing critical, independent thinking in favor of lockstepping along to the wrong side of history.

Make art that is wonderful, and make art that is unsettling. Challenge the ever-loving shit out of people who dare question the value of art. Know that if Mr. Rogers were still around in this time of taking away PBS, a source of learning and magic for many children and the stuff of fond memories for how many, there would be Hell to pay.

Above all else, continue. Whether these next four years are great or bad material for art (with the former seeming more likely), it’s imperative that art continue, that easy access to educational programming be fought for, and that simple-minded, would-be dictators be challenged at every turn.

I am not my heroes

Hello, Wor(l)dPress.

In typical fashion, I’ve taken an extended time between posting. In typical fashion, I have been mad at myself for doing so and wondering why, oh why, do I still maintain this. That last part is a bit exaggerated, though. I covet my domain on here like a dragon with gold.

Today, while driving home from work and alternating between the current CD in my car and NPR (Kai Ryssdal hosting Market Place and PRI’s The World make my soul happy), I had a thought. It hit me hard, square between the eyes, and with all of the abrupt unapologeticness (that is a word, damn it) of such in-transit revelations.

I am not my heroes. I will never write like Neil Gaiman. I will never be the next Terry Pratchett. My works won’t be on the same level as Douglas Adams or Christopher Moore.

And those aren’t the things that I should want. I’m none of those people. My writing is my own, with influences from the writers I enjoy but also years of me finding and refining my own voice. There is some humor, some dark fantasy, and a whole lot of whatever the Hell I’ve turned into in terms of narrative voice and creativity. I am way more okay with that than I ever realized. At the end of the day, what is most important to me is continuing to write, continuing to strive towards publication, and (to a lesser degree) dreaming of somehow, someday becoming a well-known writer.

And so I continue.

This post brought to you courtesy of Sia’s “The Greatest”, which I have had on repeat as some sort of anthem to fend off any stress from recent weeks (I couldn’t say why if I tried, but I enjoy that song entirely and unapologetically), and the glass of Laphraoig Quarter Cask I’ve been nursing for over an hour now.

Writing, and gloom-induced gloom

I love rainy days, but only so long as I can spend them at home. I realize that’s a bit of a tall order as I have to be at work on most-such days. That said: I love laying on the couch in the back room of my mom’s house and listen to the rain fall against the two skylights. Really dislodges the bullshit from my brain.

That said, I’m tired of the sky being a joyless gray as of late. I could easily attribute that to the dark days of a Trump Presidency (and, Hell, I am really, because he’s a thin-skinned, orange-faced puppet with a bad habit of taking to Twitter). They’re bringing me down.

Something more cheerful, however: I completed the first draft of Babel, Restored – the sequel to Dissonance in Harmony and what I wrote for NaNoWriMo. I’ve returned to working on Dissonance. It’s fun, but I can’t help but smile at the realization I’m probably unintentionally shitting up continuity without realizing it. The editing process should be…interesting.  Continue reading

The Place Without a (Domain) Name

Update: major thanks to WordPress for working to restore my domain name. Though how much this means is questionable: that gesture was enough to ensure Misadventures In Fiction stays with WordPress for the foreseeable future.

Tonight, I decided, was the night to renew my WordPress domain. I’d been putting it off because of holiday expenses and bills and so on, all of which are things I didn’t want to admit but are now moot points anyway. WordPress immediately reminded me upon logging in that misadventuresinfiction.com had expired as of two months ago, and that I should renew it.

“That’s the plan,” I said to my computer in the way I talk to my computer, except with less swearing about how shitty my WiFi is at any given time (Thanks, Comcast).

The domain name was already in my cart, ready to buy. I just had to enter my new debit card info, right? Right?! And then I sat back, relaxed, and got an error message that made no sense to me. “Enter your first name.”

You mean like the thing I had entered with my card information? I’m pretty sure that Philip is my first name, as it’s been something I’ve had for twenty-nine years now. I hit Enter again, only to be told my Credit Card info is incorrect. I checked the number I’d entered against my card, and it matched perfectly.  Continue reading

Hello WordPress, my old friend

I’ve come to post on you again.

I’m not even a little sorry for that. Nope. Newcomers: I’m definitely sorry for that, but it’s been a long week and I just don’t have it in me to pretend I’m more than a golem constructed from bad jokes, neuroses, and the occasional good idea. I got briefly distracted because I made the mistake of trying to refresh my Facebook while working on this post…only to discover my WiFi has once again crapped all over itself. Thanks, Comcast. Forever holding your products to the lowest standards. Continue reading

My world is slightly askew

I had to Google “askew” because my brain kept telling me it’s pretty sure there’s an i in there somewhere, to which I (and Google) called bullshit. Joke’s on you, brain.

Today is an appropriately dreary day, as I just got back from vacation in the Outer Banks yesterday and my impending return to business-as-usual tomorrow has me feeling gloomy and out-of-sorts. It’s like waking up to discover everything shifted ever-so-slightly to the left with no explanation as to why, and I feel like I’m bouncing into every single wall there is to be bounced into. Something like that. If you’re reading this expecting poetic nuances, you’ll want to navigate elsewhere. The most thinking I’m doing at the moment is the standard focus on  writing (and my lack of discipline in regards to writing)…and if I should finally get off of my ass and either start unpacking or go to the store to pick up some of the essentials. The milk in my fridge isn’t technically expired, but the aroma it gives off when opened suggests otherwise.  Continue reading

Idiot-Proof: My Layman’s Guide to Liquor

People who know me are familiar with my fondness of whiskies, with my more recent obsession being single malt scotch. People have accused me of being somewhat knowledgeable on the topic of liquor. I’ve been asked for advise–no, guidance even–on what to purchase when it comes to different boozes. Quite a few people have had me wave a glass of something in their general direction accompanied by a demand they try it.

This idea has been, dare I say, brewing for a while now, and I’ve decided I might as well just let it happen.

Here’s the thing about scotch (and liquor in general). I enjoy it, but I can’t say I typically find myself using the same descriptors the boxes and bottles provide. It’s easy enough to say I lack the sophisticated palate and training needed to fully appreciate a truly great drink, and I’ll respond by laughing the smug, awful laughter of someone who has made a Blood & Sand with The Glenlivet 21 Years of Age (because it’s my bottle and I’ll enjoy it however I please, thank you very much).

My solution to the loftiness and aloof descriptions favored by these mighty fine spirits (not to say they aren’t deserving of such praise and descriptions) is to put my own spin on the experience that each of my selections has to offer. This is Idiot-Proof, in which I dumb things down to my level in hopes of helping sway any of you who may be on the fence about trying something new. Tonight’s post–the inaugural post–starts off with a real doozy, too, which only seems appropriate. Continue reading