100th Post

I do have have a fully solidly set time for when I will post a complete and unobstructed picture of myself. I just don't know exactly when it will be. ~me-April 20, 2009

You know Ian, I'm not sure there will ever be a day I will fully understand you're logic. Until then, I get it. =)

~Elliot (Now known as Camden)-April 24, 2009


Anyone else remember that exchange in the comment section of this blog post?

See the title of this post?
NOW everyone sees my logic, right? See, I haven't gone totally insane, right? I know what I'm talking about. I'M not crazy.

...Well, maybe.

Traditionally, one a blog's hundredth post, one is supposed to post one hundred facts about oneself. But, my reduced readership seems awfully low for such a tedious task, and since when has this blog ever followed tradition? So, if anyone still cares to know what the mysterious, ever-evasive Ian actually looks like, read on.

Here's something else some people might remember. The first picture of myself I ever posted on this blog:





















Well, here's another picture from that night in October of 2008. I'm with Christopher Hopper in this one, who happens to be an incredibly awesome guy (not to mention very, VERY enthusiastic about meeting people who comment on his blog...:P)
























And here are some more recent pictures. The first is from one of the youth conferences I went to in 2009. last two are a couple of my grad pictures from 2010. Unfortunately, I can't get any cameras to work and/or connect to my laptop to upload any really recent photos, so this is all I can give you. But that's okay. I haven't really changed all that much since then. :)





















(The above picture was taken at about 2 AM in four-person hotel room which, at that moment, contained about fifteen people, including the youth leader - who was sleeping under a table. Without warning, my friend leaped onto the bed I was lying on, threw an arm around my shoulders, and snapped a photo.)












































Okay, vanity aside, I still love the way I look in that last one. :P

So, all ye who have endured my endless taunts and dodges, at last you've seen my face.

Please try to keep your horrified screaming to a minimum. Respect for those around you, you know.

Ciao!

I hinted at this in the last post, but I don't think I've been outright about it yet.

In any case, this blog will not last much longer, at least, not in its current form. I'm not going to delete it, but I am going to restart it. I'll transfer its data to another location and make this particular site a blank slate.

And so that you sci-fi readers understand what I mean: I'm downloading my blog's consciousness to another unit and wiping the megadrive so that I can reboot the operation for a new objective.

It was a lot of fun when I started this blog. Largely in thanks to all the great readers I had, of course - so even if you never read this, to everyone who read and/or commented on my blog in its early stages, Thank You!

But that was then. I mean, really, I haven't changed the title, layout, or even the heading of my blog since the day I started it. (I wonder if I set any sort of record for longest active personal blog with zero changes? :P) Anyway, I've decided to change it now, into something much more than I ever made this one into.

Don't worry (or maybe do, depending on your viewpoint :P), I'm not planning on creating some site that's overly serious or boring or impersonal and non-interactive or anything like that. But at this point in my life, it's time to turn my blog into something that's a little more focused. ;)

After my next post, I plan to go on a media fast, though I don't know for how long. (Everyone's doing it. :) But more than that, everyone says that it greatly helps in many aspects of life, especially spiritual, so I think it's high time I tried it.) After that, I'll begin blogging afresh. I already have a bundle of ideas for posts that I'll be writing before my blog's re-launch.

Ciao!

Missed Again...

Well, I failed to post on my blogoversary....again....

But I have a way to make it up for you all.

Any long-time readers of this blog (there aren't that many left from three years ago, are there?) will know that I have posted three pictures of myself here already, without letting anybody know what I actually look like. I took great enjoyment in finding ways to avoid revealing my appearance despite those posts: a picture of the jacket I wore to meet the authors at the Motiv8 tour back in 2008, two pictures of myself in the mirror....it was great fun back then, torturing everyone....but the past is the past. Since I plan to majorly revamp this blog in the very near future, I guess that at least once, I should post a VISIBLE photo that shows my face. I owe it to those who have faithfully stayed with me throughout these three long years.

So I will.



































It will be in one my next few posts. Stay tuned!

Ciao!

Limericks!

Because sometimes, a poet gets bored.


There once was a young man from France
who sang in his sleep while he danced.
He woke from a nap
with a sock in his yap
and his head stuffed halfway down his pants.

There once was a young man called Stew
who wanted to buy a new shoe;
none of them fit
but all of them bit
so now he needs bandages, too.

A leprechaun down at the bay
did step on my toes yesterday;
he hit me with rocks
and then swallowed my socks
and he wished my pajamas away!



Ciao!

Storytelling: Why? What?

I currently have two stories, two poems, and a blog open on my laptop. Does that make me obsessed?

I want to finish one story so that I can try to win a contest that will allow me to get part of my other story critiqued, so that I can make it good enough to get published by a certain magazine, so that I can afford to go to a writers conference where I would like to submit one of these poems for critiquing....

...and the other poem I'm just writing for fun.


So, to the point of my post: what IS a story?

I won't speculate or list common answers this time. I'll just cut right to it: a story has a point. A story has a reason to be told. It is not the recounting of events; it is a tale of an event that illustrates a truth or a thought. It is a recounting of events, real or fictional, with a purpose behind it. A reason that it might stick in someone's mind to be told to others in certain situations.

A story is ABOUT something, not an event or a character or a plot, but about a message that the storyteller or writer or author wishes to convey.

Confused yet? Good. Then you ought to read on.

Take Lord of the Rings. Why would anyone think to tell such a tale? Sure, it's a great story, but what's the point? Entertainment value? No. You see, stories are much, much more. They must be, if they are to be truly good, for a good story must have an effect on the reader.

Say what you like, call me crazy, call me deluded, but Lord of the Rings is not about a journey to destroy an evil Ring and defeat a Dark Lord. It is the tale of how a young man, from the lowliest of races, struggled to defeat the evil within himself, to prove that it could be done although even the greatest among other races could not. It is a story about proving that there is still good in the world. That there is still some good in people. In humanity.

Overly simplified explanation? You bet. But my point stands. Now do you see why such a story might be TOLD, rather than just why it might be enjoyed? Because it keeps moving toward a point. A message. It strives to bring about a resurrection of hope in its listeners.

If you have a protagonist with a problem or an Inner Journey, your story will very likely - in fact, almost certainly - be ABOUT how that particular sort of journey will reach its end or how - or even if - that problem can be solved. That's the nature of stories: everything in them moves towards illustrating what the story is designed to say. And that's why we writers will write them. That's why we must write the stories that we burn to tell: because these are things out of which we can actually, really, honestly, and truly create stories.

I'm writing a story right now. I've worked for weeks on it, and barely gotten halfway through, though I know where I want the story to go. I keep getting hung up somewhere in the middle of it and am unable to proceed (though this is almost over. I'm just getting over the last rough patch.)

As I sweated to make this story better and better, I've realized that it will probably never be published. I've dreamed of having it accepted by a magazine, and for a while, it was for that hope that I toiled over it day after day trying to make it as good as it could possibly be. But then, I realized what the story was about. Why it would be told. Why it MATTERED. But soon after that, as I read the story over again and again, I realized something else.

I will will still submit it to the magazine I've set my eyes on. I will still try, as hard as I can, to get it published. But I know that it will not be. I could be wrong. But from where I stand, I can see that this story will not be leaving my desktop anytime soon.

It's still coming slow and hard, and it will take a great deal more blood, sweat and tears to get it anywhere near finished.

But, in all likelihood, it won't be enough to break that final barrier.

So why do I write it?

Because I know what it's about. I know why I'm telling this story, and why I care.

And I just. Have. To write it.

And that's what writing...what storytelling...really is. That's why we do it, that's why we strive so long and so hard just to keep trying to move forward in the writing world even against the flaming arrows of critiques and the mighty cannons of rejection. Because the stories, the tales we bleed so hard to tell, MATTER. And we will stop at nothing to see the burning message of our hearts carried into the world to set ablaze the hearts of others.

Why do writers write?

THAT'S why.

Ciao!

The Past

Well, since this is my last chance to put up a post in 2010, I figured I'd take the opportunity. Even in my Pacific time zone, I only have about five minutes before it's 2011, so I can't make a very long post this time. (I can hear the rejoicing from here. :P)

I had nowhere to go tonight. No one really to be with, and nothing much to do. So I've spent this last day of 2010 mostly in thought. Not reflection, really; I've decided I'm done with that. There has to be a point at which I move on with my life and stop focusing and dreaming about the past. It's over. I have to face that. And graduation really makes that a serious truth in a way that nothing else in my life ever has.

So tonight, I beging looking forward to 2011, and everything it may or may not bring. I look forward to what I WILL do, rather than dreaming, as I so often do, about what I've already done and been through. Tonight it all ends, and tonight it begins. (Loving the catchy paradox there, aren't you? I must be tired. I'll look on this post tomorrow and be absolutely horrified that I published it. :P)

So, this is the last I'll dream of 2010 and before. Good-bye, 2010; good-bye, past; and good-bye, dreams of yesteryear.

These are the last words I will write in 2010. And I will not look back on them with any longing; I will only look ahead.

Ciao

Why Not...

So I finally started seriously writing a novel the other day, and after multiple failures and frustrations in trying to create a decent beginning, I finally managed to get something I like. I figured I'd post the first bit of it here. Keep in mind, it's completely unedited, but it's way better than anything else I came up with.

Ultimately, this isn't going to be the beginning; it will probably be about a fifth or a quarter of the way into the story or something like that. But still, aside from in-depth critiques and advice, what I want to know is: does it make you want to keep reading?

* * * *
Daken staggered through the narrow valley as screeches ripped through the air. His pursuers flew out of sight, but Daken knew they were only seconds away. Streams of blood dripped over his face, and more poured down his back. With one hand resting on Elav’s shoulders, Daken tried to speed up their pace, but could barely manage to keep his balance. “We’ll never make it to Eliash like this.”

Stumbling along at his side, Elav looked back at him. His light brown hair quivered in the wind, matching his eyes. Blood from his wounds soaked into every inch of his shirt. A long cylindrical sack strapped over his shoulder bounced on his back with every step, making him wince. “Then we’re our kingdom’s last hope. We have to rescue them, Daken.”

“Alone?” Daken’s jaw gaped as he stared at his friend. Another screech rang through the valley, sending memories of the terrible battle flashing through Daken’s mind like images from a nightmare. The piercing screams of captured humans shrieked in his mind’s ear as he relived the utter destruction of their city. The visions of the creatures as they gouged their prisoners made Daken’s own cuts sting worse than ever. He couldn’t take the thought of surrendering himself to whatever greater torture these beasts might inflict. “We wouldn’t stand a chance. There has to be another way.”

“There’s no other choice. We - ” Elav’s eyes snapped upwards. “They’re here. Hurry!” He lunged forward and yanked on Daken’s wrist.

Daken whipped his head all around but could find no sign of their attackers. “We can’t possibly outrun them like this. We have to find cover, quick!”

Elav pulled him hard, and Daken nearly tripped headlong into a wall of rock. He reached a hand out to steady himself and landed in a crevice just big enough to conceal both of them. “Look,” Elav said, gesturing to the sack on his shoulder. “As long as we keep this safe, we’ll have hope. But we’re the only ones left who have any chance of rescuing the others.” He pulled the strap over his head and lowered it to the ground. He then reached into his coat and pulled out two knives. “We need to find a way to get these creatures to take us to them on our own terms.”

Daken stared at the sack, the one thing Elav had chosen to salvage from their destroyed home. What could be inside it that gave his friend such confidence? He looked at the knives and then at Elav. “Are you insane? Do you actually think we can fight those things with two knives?”

Elav let one of the knives drop to the ground. “Only one if you’re not coming.” He rose to a crouch and pointed at the sack. “Take it. Whatever happens, make sure they don’t get it.” A series of screeches rang out louder than ever. The creatures were closing in fast. Stepping out of the crevice, Elav looked back at Daken, his eyes flaming with resolve. “If I distract them long enough, you might have a chance to get away. Decide whether you’re going to fight or run, and choose quickly.”

* * * *

So? Whaddya think? I'm hoping it's not too bad for being wholly non-edited. :P

Ciao!