This post is dedicated to those out there who have reached rock-bottom.
Be it either your broke, or your love life is dead, or you don’t seem to have any direction in the world. Where the days seem to last an eternity and each one is just an eventless clone of the previous.
My words on this are simple.
Please…wait for it to get better. Please.
I myself have reached a moment in my life where few things seem to be going right. Time continues to pass by and I am still struggling to find work in the writing field. I can only watch as my peers move up in the world and I stay stuck in this quicksand-like rut. I wake up everyday and check my phone and email with the hopefulness a thirsty man might have with the promise of water. Hoping for some news of a change, a new beginning.
But as bad as it gets, the thing that keeps me going is that a new day WILL come. Sure, its the optimist in me, but is it not true? Hasn’t history told us that there is eventually light at the end of the tunnel? Even if that light leads to another tunnel, that LIGHT is worth the struggle. That one moment of triumph, of happiness, of glory, that is what we live for.
Time is an entity of balance. Things can go extremely bad. They can also get very good. So please. Just wait.
I’ve been waiting. Its hard, man…its fucking hard. But the wait is sure to be worth it.
I am currently making some grilled chicken (because thats all us fitnessbuffs eat. grilled chicken) Salt, pepper, and basil are all I use, and it astounds me how many versions and iterations of plain old chicken breast one can come up with.
That’s why chefs and cooks are artists. I mean, how many people can make you salivate and go practically insane by just looking at their food? By getting MENTALLY full before you’ve even started eating?
Sorry about the brief reprieve, had an eventful weekend that left out valuable blogging time. Below you all will find an excerpt from the vampire novel I mentioned in my previous post that I am going to try to adapt to comic/graphic novel. This particular excerpt is set 17 years before the current plotline of the story. I do this to show how this particular story, in my opinion, would work better hand-in-hand with art. Any tips/critiques/reviews would he appreciated!
“He heard a yelp, like the cry of a silenced dog, and then a thudding noise nearby. Clouds of dust fell from the floorboards around him. Silence, followed by the distant intakes of ragged breath. At last, someone spoke.
‘Burn it down.’
Michael heard footfalls run past the trapdoor toward the entrance of the house. The unmistakable noise of a match striking. He waited a few moments until he was sure whoever was above had gone, and then he felt the air start to become thick, the wood above him hot to the touch.
‘C’mon guys, we’re getting out of here,’ he said. He tried pushing the door open, but there was something weighing it down. Growing impatient, he roared and bashed a hole clean through the wood before climbing out.
His eyes widened when he was what was on top of the trapdoor.
The still-blinking head of one of the vampires was lying near its edge.
Michael gulped and lifted his siblings out of the hole he had made. Iris screamed out a cry, and Caleb began to shake.
‘No…no, don’t look! Don’t look!’
He put his hand over Caleb’s face and hugged Iris to his leg. He craned his neck upwards, looking around but not wanting to stare at any one place for too long. He saw flashes of fire, the broken bodies of his parents, the bloodied limbs of the vampires who had met their end at the hands of his mother. He tried not to look at her but her body seemed magnified amongst all the destruction; to him she looked almost fake, a lifelessness to her face that was unnatural. He couldn’t bear to stay there any longer. He let out an anguished yell, lifted his siblings up and charged out of the back door of the house as the fire threatened to consume them.
The cold silence that had enveloped him was broken when he noticed that both Iris and Caleb were crying in his arms. Unwillingly, he peeled his eyes away from the burning place that was once home and began running again. Running toward an unknown world full of violence and blood that would ultimately shape his future and yet, he allowed his mind to keep one piece of that present:
I’ve decided to take one of my novels and convert it into a comic book. Its vampire fiction, and I’ve noticed its a lot more action-packed than maybe I originally intended, and I can’t change the story in order to make it more “novel-friendly” I guess. The channel of graphic novel/comic book, on the other hand, would be perfect for this (I’ve been looking at a lot of Blade, 30 Days of Night, and The Walking Dead as reference points). Tomorrow I will upload one of these aforementioned action scenes and would love to hear some opinions: novel or comic?
Regardless, I am drafting up a script and proposal, while also drawing some sample panels (luckily, i was an artist before I decided I loved to write and story-tell) to submit. If anyone has any tips or opinions I appreciate it!
I’m currently watching the ESPYs (i am a massive sports fan) and am in awe of Michael Sam’s acceptance speech for the Arthur Ashe Award for Courage.
For those that don’t know, Michael Sam is the first openly gay player in the NFL, and was recently drafted by the St. Louis Rams in the 7th round of May’s draft.
It was a beautiful, powerful, moving, and inspiring speech (youtube/google it if you get the chance). The inequality and intolerance that runs rampant in this world (and especially this country, my country, the US) is sickening and, frankly, embarrassing. That being said, to see a young man with such sheer courage is truly an uplifting and refreshing sight. We could all stand to learn from Michael Sam.
“He had met Hope a long time ago, before all this mess, when they were in high school and the world was still in one piece. He remembered that day when she walked into chemistry the start of sophmore year, all bones and smooth paleness. The indifference of Fate had made them lab partners, but he was hell-bent on becoming more. He was enthralled by the straightness and blackness of her hair, and even when she explained that nearly all the members of the Korean side of her family had the same exact hair, he wouldn’t have it. No, Raph believed hair like that was reserved solely for Hope.
After many an immature game-of-feelings, they finally pulled the trigger on each other once they graduated. On feverish nights alone, intertwined, she would always ask if the lamp bothered his sleep. “No,” he would reply, smirking at her irrational fear. “Its perfect.” He’d turn and bury his face in the darkness of her hair, where no light could penetrate its calm.
Then, on the eve of his 19th birthday, signs of the plague began to surface, and Hope’s parents decided to move away from the big city. They fought and rebelled as best as their love fueled them, but the stubborness of parenthood and one little impending, world-ending catastrophe was too much. In the end, fear had forced her to side with her parents.
‘Raphael, you should tell your mom, it will be better in the country.’
‘The country? Babe, the news is blowing this out of proportion. After 9/11, everything gets blown out of proportion.’
‘With good reason! We can’t sit here in Manhattan waiting for whatever is coming to arrive! You saw that lady on the news, in the hospital!’
‘Hope, Israel has some money saved up from the shop. We can move in with him, you don’t have to leave-’
‘Israel? Raph, please, even you know that’s a bad idea. Your brother is not stable. I can’t believe you’d ask me to do that, to just leave my parents like that when things are so crazy. I can’t do that!’
He remembered she was crying, though he hadn’t shouted at her or deliberately fought with her. His own ignorance of what was to come fueled his argument.
‘Not even for me? After all, you’d just up and leave at the first sign of trouble? We’re better together, we can handle anything! You’re old enough to do what you want, your parents will understand eventually, and mine don’t even care. You…Hope…you wouldn’t just leave me, would you?’
Raph lost her after just one year of having her. Like running water through his hands, he lost her.”
I’ve had an idea in my mind for a dystopia novel (no, not the “Hunger Games” bandwagon), where the world is infested by a plague, a plague caused by a miscalculation in an airborne weapon developed in the Middle East. I feel like itll be politically-charged, (even if its against my will) but I always try to keep my stories as grounded as possible. The above quote is about my main character and the prototypical “love of his life.”
In terms of that quote, does a third-person point-of-view work? Or would it be better in first-person? Would love to hear some thoughts/opinions/critiques on this.
Last night was the premiere of the new show, “The Strain” on FX. It’s based on Guillermo Del Toro’s (with Chuck Hogan) great trilogy. Its great to see literature on the screen, be it small or big, but what I loved about the pilot was that it reminded me how fluid mythology is, especially that of the vampire.
(if you haven’t watched the show/read the books, beware of spoilers)
I love the scientific approach taken to explain the vampiric plague about to hit the city. In my vampire novel, I took a similar road: my vampires are the product of a dormant, predatory virus activating in humans, similar to cancer. I won’t give it all away, but Guillermo Del Toro’s vampires really flip the usual mythology upside down.