My Latest Discovery Upon the Path of Writing Certainty

Alright, my comrades, faithful friends, and those poor souls who suffer through the drudgery of my banal existence who stumble upon by most random of musings, I have news: I, yes, this guy, has come upon a typewriter.

Now, I realize I just lost you, but understand this: the typewriter, is but the Holy Grail and ultimate muse for those in the writing craft. It's like stumbling across the Sistine Chapel in its blank slate and being told "Have at it. Do what you do". The blank slate of all insane(ly brilliant) minds who have birth most, if not all, of the classics you were forced to read in high school. And, let me tell you, it's a thing of beauty.

It's manual. As Ernest Hemingway put is, you beat your heart and soul into this and a book or two comes out. You sacrifice your entire being and sanity and the most precious thing that will far outlive you will come forth. There's nothing taken for granted with this thing. It weighs like a brick. You beat all the buttons and have to physically push the bar back and forth. I have dreamt about such a masochistic piece of archaic machinery since...well, the writing bug struck me back in junior high. Since I broke out my Dad's old typewriter (which was electric, but still far from forgiving), started generating stories that were absolute rubbish, and enjoyed every facet and second of it. The sound. The smell. The effort into creating a masterpiece (which, my early works were anything but). And, above all else, the pounding of the keys. And now, waiting in an absolutely terrible second hand store, is the magnificent piece of machinery that shall become mine.

You see, while it's pen and paper that brought forth the founders of the curse, I mean blessing, of this craft that I have been born with, it was those who enslaved themselves to the beast that is the typewriter that were the ones that truly experiences the true beauty and brutality of this instrument of carnal reverence. The crafters of worlds both known and never made. Lives were birthed and died by the madmen (and women) who were possessed and did posses such a common and largely under-appreciated device.

Now, if it sounds like I'm "fan girling" (yes, it's a term, and yes, I'm using it appropriately) over this, understand something: typewriters aren't all that easy to find. Especially the manual ones. And, when you do stumble across them, they're bloody expense. I am crazy fortunate to not have either of these circumstances be the case. And, really, the fact that I seriously (not literally, though) stumbled across it makes me feel like it's a sign. Whether is actually is or not is not the question here. The point is that it is going to be mine and thus forth shall begin my cracked path towards becoming a truly published author. And, you best believe, I'm making copies upon copies before I submit anything. The last thing I need is for someone to steal the one copy I spent months, if not years, to create.

So, yes, while it is but the most mundane of news, words cannot express how genuinely pleased I am for this to enter my life.

Blurb From My First Book

"Arrested Development

Chapter One:

Everyone remembers where they were when Shane Murphy became an orphan. At 8:14 on the morning of Tuesday, September 11th, 2001, James and Janet Murphy boarded United Airlines flight 175 heading home to Los Angeles. Forty-nine minutes later, they would lose their lives on live TV as their plane struck the south tower of the World Trade Center.  Three thousand miles away, on the set of Days of Our Lives, Shane watch his parents die."

Keep in mind, this is a work in progress. But here is the opening to my new book.

The Consequences of Hate.

So, this is the first chance that I've had to process what happened in Orlando over the weekend. 49 dead, multiple others wounded because a, for lack of a better word, man was so filled with hatred that he decided to walk into a crowded nightclub and purposefully take the lives of as many as he could.  I will also note that I have attempted this post multiple times, but with each start, I get crushed under the sheer weight of the tragedy. So, bear with me, here goes:

Now before I continue, I want to get something straight. This isn't a gun issue (although it is time to have a very honest conversation about automatic weapons in this country) and it's not a God issue (the shooter, last I heard, is Muslim with ties to ISIS. I'm not sure if that info is still correct). It is a 100% love verses hate issue. Let me break it down for you.

A person, regardless of whether or not they have guns and believe in a god will behave differently towards their fellow man if they are either A) loved or B) filled with hate. Now, if you think that I'm marginalizing the victims and the beliefs of the shooter, let me assure you that that is not the case at all.   What happened was a tragedy, pure and simple. The people in the club were not out to hurt anyone. They did not have an agenda. All they wanted to do was to celebrate. They were filled with love. The man who walked into the club with an assault rifle, a pistol, and a single agenda to kill as many people as he could was, without a doubt, filled with hate. He very well could have used a bomb.  It very well could have been a church. In this particular instance, however, it was some guns and a whole of of unsuspecting people who had no right to die.

Love doesn't walk into a club and open fire. Love doesn't fly planes into skyscrapers. Love doesn't burn crosses and hang innocent men, women, and children. Love doesn't blow up hospitals. Love doesn't murder children. Love doesn't starve people to death because they're not the same "tribe" as you. Love doesn't dismember and disfigure people. Love does not create orphans. Love does not torture animals. None of these are acts of love.

One of the most heart-wrenching things that I have read (and I'll share the link of the article below) was a CNN article on the "Eerie sounds of cell phones amid disaster". The piece recounts how the first responders came into a field of bodies and their phones going off from people trying to reach the dead in sheer, desperate hope that their loved one was still alive. That, that is love. The outpouring of support, not just locally with all the donated blood that went into attempts to save the victims, but outpouring of support from all over the world to show solidarity and unity towards the victims. That is love. Those who put their own prejudices aside and reached out to show that they care as well. That is love.

"There is no fear in love. But perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." (1st John 4:18). The actions that happened last weekend were the acts of fear and hate. The perpetration of rage personified. As we mourn the dead, we must also learn from them. Embrace the fragility of life and create bonds with one another. Because the true message of the Orlando shooting shouldn't be that hate still exists, but that love still trumps it.

With this, I bid you adieu once again. Take care, my dear readers. May we cross paths again at least once more.

The CNN article: http://www.cnn.com/2013/01/28/health/cell-phones-death/index.html

The Misfit Toy

So, there's a certain Christmas special that plays every year that is called Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer. The premise is that there's this reindeer who's born with a glowing red nose who is immediately shunned by his peers and his own father thinks he's a disgrace. There's also an elf who is shunned because he would rather be a dentist instead of a toymaker. They meet up, become instant friends, and run away from society because they know they'll never fit in there. Along the way, they meet a gold miner who couldn't find a nugget if he was standing on it and they wind up on the Island of Misfit Toys (which, by the way, is one of the songs). There's another song that is played that is called "Why Am I Such a Misfit". Anyway, the point of all this is that tonight, as I was taking a shower, is that I am essentially a misfit toy. Hear me out.

During all of my schooling years, I had friends in all the cliques. Some of my closest friends were cheerleaders and football players; as well as theater geeks and the goths. Nobody said I couldn't make friends with a certain group, so I made friends in all the groups. It was actually quite harmonious. I personally, in high school at least, leaned heavily towards the geekier side of things - I was a library aid and theater tech for three years and on the school newspaper for two. I also took German - not the cool languages of Spanish and French. It was also in high school when I picked up my affinity for science and started playing chess with my dad. And, even though I was invited to multiple parties, I never went to anything outside of the occasional school dance. I was, for lack a better description, very happily in my own shell.

In my early twenties, as I have mentioned many times, I lost my dad. I spiraled into a vast sucking pit of depression that lasted until, to be quite honest, I moved to Texas and started my life over from scratch.  Yes, I made friends during this period of time, but I wasn't me and I certainly wasn't whole. I was, and still am to some degree, a stain glass window that's missing a few pieces. While everyone else around me seems normal, I can't help but feel a bit broken. It's just who I am.

It goes further, as well. For someone who is a self professed geek, I enjoy watching sports and playing baseball. Two of my favorite series are Firefly and Harry Potter; but I get equally excited watching the Seattle Seahawks and the San Antonio Spurs.  I can go to a comic book convention and have a blast and then go to one of my favorite craft breweries and enjoy a great beer with friends.

It goes even deeper than that. I was raised in a Christian home and my dad hosted a Bible study throughout most of my childhood. I am a Christian, as well, solely because that was my decision and my parents wanted me to choose whatever path I sought out. I am even a licensed minister. But, some of the most profound teachings I have received throughout the past year or so has been from a close friend of mine who is Wiccan and studying Buddhism. The teachings he has shared with me have been of the Buddhist variety. So, while there's zero danger of me "switching sides" so to speak, the teaching of a different belief system has helped me grow in my own. To expand upon that, I have friends that cover pretty much the entire spectrum of faiths - everyone from atheists and pagans to a couple Jews and even a high school friend who's Muslim. Not to mention fellow Christians, as well.

Politically, I also don't fit. I grew up in a pretty conservative household, but I have noticed that, within the past year or so, that I have become a lot more moderate. This honestly has everything to do with the actions of those in the Republican party and how much it conflicts with my faith. To the point where I'm fully planning and have been advocating for a self described socialist Jew. Someone who is a far from the political spectrum as anyone I would have dared considered voting for growing up.

The point of this is that I don't fit in to any mold. I am, quite simply, who I am. And, most importantly, I have zero desire to change who I am to fit into someone's concept of who I should be. Because, at the end of the day, if you can't love a misfit toy for being what it is, you have no right to play with it.

Just Keep Living

On April 5th, 1996, Kurt Cobain, the lead singer of Nirvana passed away. His body, along with a suicide note and the shotgun that ended his life, were found with him in his home. On August 11th, 2014, Robin Williams, probably one of the funniest and prolific actors of our time, passed away. He was found strangled to death. What do these two events have in common? The cause of death - suicide.

Four days ago, the New York Times ran an article with the title of "U.S. Suicide Rate Surges to a 30-Year High". (I've posted the link below) It increased in nearly every age group; except for older adults. Women were hit the hardest by this - with a 63% jump in the age bracket between 45 and 64. Sixty-three percent. Think about it. "The increases were so widespread that they lifted the nation's suicide rate to 13 per 100,000 people, the highest since 1986." In 2014, it was the 10th leading cause of death in the United States. Which was more than AIDS.

There's a suicide in the USA every 13 minutes.

Why am I bringing this up? Because, even though we are fully in the 21st century, the topics of suicide, depression, and mental illness are still taboo topics that most people shy away from. If you bring up AIDS, cancer, even ebola and people will get up and arms and demand a cure. But, as soon as you mention depression and suicide and people seek to change the subject as quick as possible. There was a USA Today article (which I posted below) going into how, even though it theoretically 100% preventable, it is low in the nation's health industry's priority list. There is far more research and funding going into automobile deaths, which, for the record, is less than suicide, than there is self-inflicted death. We are in collective denial about one of our country's most serious problems that we face.

Yet this is one problem that will never be fully swept under the rug.

The good news is that there is a non-profit organization called To Write Love On Her Arms (again, link below) which has become incredibly popular within the last ten years. The organization's focus is present hope for people struggling with addiction, depression, self injury, and thoughts of suicide. The very first thing you'll see when you click on the website is the words "Hope is real. Help is real. Your story is important." They also have slogans such as "You are enough" and "No one else can play your part". In fact, they have even partnered with the Crisis Text Line to further help people from taking their own lives. They've become a voice to those who thought they did not have one.

There's also a growing trend in people getting semicolon tattoos. The significance behind it is those who have struggled with suicide, self harm, and addiction who are making the statement of "my story isn't over yet". Yes, there's a link below. I personally am planning on getting a semicolon tattoo sometime this year.

To wrap this up the best as I can, here's the number to the National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255. If you are uncomfortable talking with someone, you can text START to 741-741 and go from there. There are people waiting to hear from you, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.

The world is already a dark place. Don't be one less light shining in it.

Links:

https://afsp.org/about-suicide/suicide-statistics/

http://www.save.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=home.viewPage&page_id=705D5DF4-055B-F1EC-3F66462866FCB4E6

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/04/22/health/us-suicide-rate-surges-to-a-30-year-high.html?nlid=67235496&_r=0

http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2014/10/09/suicide-mental-health-prevention-research/15276353/

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/07/07/project-semicolon-tattoos_n_7745358.html

https://twloha.com

http://www.crisistextline.org

The "D" Word

I logged on to Facebook (a site I admittedly spend way too much time on) tonight and a friend of mine had shared an article called "10 Things to Keep in Mind When Loving a Highly Creative Person": http://iheartintelligence.com/2015/07/08/loving-a-highly-creative-person/ With me potentially dipping my toes back into the dating pool, I read and immediately shared the article. It's a short article and 100% spot on. Let me go into detail.

The very first thing listed was "their minds don't slow down". This struck a massive cord. I joke that my brain doesn't have an off button, but the reality is is that it is constantly going. Fast. In a thousand different directions. At the same time. Everything from quantum physics and far off planets to what the average breakfast was for someone living in the Roman Empire. How would dragons pull off flight to what was the subject of the Mona Lisa thinking about as she was being painted (she did have a smirk, you know). Or I'm thinking about work, and the things that are popping up on a daily basis. Problems and possible solutions. Actually, I spend much of my off time thinking about work. This new job is never without a new conundrum; but I digress.

The second one is that we are very cyclical. "The flow of creativity is cycle, full of highs and lows". This also struck a cord. One thing that I have noticed that sets me apart from others is that I have deeper emotions. I take rejection hard; even some that are rather minor. On the flip side, my laughter has been known to fill a room. I am passionate to a fault. And I can be somber - sometimes unexpectedly.  When I feel something, I feel it with all of me. By the way, number five goes into this, as well.

The third one is that we need time alone. This is big for me - and a big reason why I am reluctant to start dating again. I need my alone time. Desperately. Especially with how mentally demanding my new job is. As much as I love being around others - especially friends and family; I need to recharge. And the only way to do that is complete solitude. That's why I take walks. To sort my head out and to regroup so I can handle the rest of the world. I need peace and silence. Which is something that is not readily available in a relationship. When I need to be alone, I need it to be 100%. No other human contact. Even that special someone.

Number four is that we are intensely focused. When I'm working out a problem in my head, I've been told that I look extremely angry. I've even had bosses ask if I was okay, because of this. The fact of the matter is that I'm completely oblivious to what is happening around me. I'm entirely in my head and I'm trying to solve a stumbling block. The same goes for when I am having a conversation with someone. My full attention is on them and the topics at hand. That's why I find small talk awkward. I don't know how to do it. And when my brain slips into creativity mode - well, the rest of the world might as well not exist.

The sixth one is something that I didn't even think about until now. We speak in stories. It's true, though, and entirely done subconsciously. I am quite literally a storyteller - even when I'm not trying to be. It's just who I am and how I communicate. I guess that's why people enjoy talking with me.

The seventh and ninth ones are so beyond crucial: "They battle with themselves" and "they struggle with confidence". If there is one thing I need most for my future partner to understand is this (and the importance of alone time). I am, without a doubt, my own worst enemy. I am at war with myself far more than most people realize. When I doubt myself, I doubt hard. Personally, professionally, creativity, the whole gambit. When one little seed of self doubt takes route, it's impossible to stop it becoming a full tree. I have steamrolled my own success far more than all others combined. I fully acknowledge and struggle with the fact that I am the one holding me back.

But, the flip side of this coin is that (number eight) "intuition is important". I go with my gut and I run with it. I will trust my gut over anything else when it comes to decision making. Because I am so prone to overthinking things, if my intuition is telling me something, I listen and follow suit.

And the last one, which is lighthearted: "growing up is hard to do." "Creative people are almost always children at heart". You don't need any further example than Robin Williams. I know I am a big kid when I am able to be. It's also why kids love me - I still know how to play and can relate to their overwhelming imaginations. Sure, I can be mature, but I also take immense pleasure in simple things.


So, yes, this article is an excellent way to understand me better (if that is what you wish). I know that being such a creative person means that I am not going to be the easiest partner to be with - but I also know that because of these traits, it will be fully worth it.

Leveling Out

So, I want to share something that has been on my mind a lot over the past week: For the first time in a long time, I have stability. A Monday to Friday job, set hours, set pay, an awesome place with an awesome roommate, etc. For the first time in a long time, my life is able to become predictable.

Which, I'm not going to lie - it scares me.

Not that my life is leveling out, but because, in the back of my mind, I'm waiting for the shoe to drop. For life to blindside me and turn everything on its head. As much as I genuinely want to be happy and excited about this (which, don't get me wrong, I am), the possibility of things hitting the fan is something I can't push out of my brain.

If you think I'm being paranoid, there's a reason I'm having this knee jerk reaction: within the past five years I've lived in two different states, held numerous jobs, and have had multiple addresses. The past year alone I had about five jobs (one of which I was fired from unexpectedly), had a cancer scare, and was briefly homeless. I have gone through so much in such a small amount of time.

So the prospect of having a "normal" life is kinda freaking me out. In fact, the other day, I was making plans for the next six months and it felt alien to me to be doing it. That alone is something I haven't had the luxury of doing in a long time.

So, what does this mean? First off, I've begun writing again. I've had a character in the back of my mind and I'm giving him life at last. I don't have a title or even a plot, but so far I'm loving it. Second, part of the plans I am making is getting out of debt, getting my credit score up, and saving money. Maybe, God willing, start investing once again. And, third, I'm opening myself up to the possibility of dating once again.

It also means I am, finally, once again, at peace. Content. Able to smile. The trials and tribulations have only made me stronger. And I am more than willing to start living again.