Don't be a label. Be an idea!

If I asked "who are you," what would you say? It's likely you would come up with a list of descriptive labels. I'm an artist. I'm a writer. I'm a parent. I'm in college. I like blue. But is that all you are? Are you limiting yourself with those labels?

We all have favorites. I love art. I love Monet's impressionist work. If you asked me about art I'm probably going to tell you all about impressionism. At some point in that conversation I'm also quite likely to switch to Dali and surrealism. Because, hey, I like those too. That really doesn't mean I like Monet or impressionists any less. It just means there are many great artists and styles out there that don't fit into one neat label for me to say I like.

So I could say I like art. But then that doesn't fit because I like to read. I like to walk and observe nature. I like photography. I love history. If you start talking to me about philosophy and the universe, I will tell you just as much or more about that than I would about Claude Monet and his works. You see I'm not a label. I'm a tangled ball of ideas swirling around and eventually landing on the one that fits the current situation best. That's what existing as a human is all about.

Could you imagine if no new ideas were presented? What if nothing changed? Sure we're comfortable now and we can say "if things stopped changing right now I could live comfortably." But to take that idea and apply it to this single fixed point in time is silly. We don't exist in a single fixed point in time. We're traveling through it. You would just as easily be stuck saying what if humanity had stopped evolving in the 1300s? Could I live in that society forever?

To be honest I can't think of one point in the past, present or even the future where I think we will be "good enough." Every answer we find will open up new questions and that's okay because we as humans are incredibly adaptable. We are the creators of ideas. And unlike the confining boxes of labels, ideas aren't fixed points. They spread and grow and build on top of each other throughout all of time. We couldn't have the ideas and innovation we have now without someone's crazy idea from the past. And the ideas we are presenting now will spur new innovations in the future.

So the next time you have to introduce yourself, ignore all those labels are swirling around your head. Think about all the crazy ideas you have and let them out of their dusty box. You are the illumination of ideas that will innovate the future. Embrace that.

Sketch Daily: Dr. Seuss

Today's Sketch Daily theme is Dr. Seuss. He was a huge inspiration to me growing up. What kid isn't inspired by his whimsical creations? I love the message that he sends to kids that you aren't a miniature adult and that play is okay. We don't send that message near enough. Even as adults sometimes we need to be reassured that imagination and creativity aren't things best left behind when childhood ends. So get out there and go make something whimsical today!

Arcadia Park kids' series.

I've been working on a children's book series idea with my daughter. It's based around Greek mythology. The characters in the picture above live in a mythical land called Arcadia Park. Each book revolves around a child development theme and also a science/learning skills theme. I was inspired by the early Blues Clues episodes and the need for more scientifically engaging kids books. It's a bit of an ongoing project so far, but I will keep the blog updated on my progress.

Rory's Winter Wonderland

Rory burst out of the front door with the momentum of a freight train. The little house on the hill shuddered at the impact of the recoiling door. With a bound Rory landed on the ground in front of the weathered steps. His eyes expanded to take in the scene around him. A rogue snowflake tickled his ear. His pursed lips melted into a widening grin. Rory bounded across the yard.

The snow settled underneath him as he flopped backwards into it and flailed his arms and legs wildly. Satisfied with his work he sat up and dotted the eyes and traced a smiling mouth. He was off again. The magical acre of field awaited behind the old dirt road in the distance. He just had to sneak past his granny’s house before she captured him and threw him in front of the stove to thaw. He envisioned her dilapidated homestead to be infested with trolls. This was, of course, the reason for her to live at the bottom of the road. Everyone knew trolls guarded magical places.

The morning sun was just peeking over the tallest pines. Rory still had a chance. He could see steam billowing from the house which meant Granny would be busy cooking breakfast. There was a rustle under the front porch as he crept beneath the windows. Rory plunged his hands instinctively into his pockets and pulled out a rolled up napkin. An old hound shook and stretched before coming to investigate Rory. The dog regarded Rory and turned it’s head up to bark.

“Shh,” Rory whispered. “Don’t tell her I’m here.”

He unwrapped the napkin and presented the dog with a warm piece of bacon in exchange for his silence. The hound sniffed the bacon and gently procured it from Rory before settling back in under the porch. Rory was free now. He heard the floorboards at the far end of the house creak and knew this was his chance to make a dash for the trees that lined the road.

The road was less of a road, but rather resembled a strip of indented white among snow covered pine trees, He hesitated for a moment. Some would say he was admiring the beauty. Rory was actually looking for the fairies that lurked in the woods. They were known to cause trouble. They routinely pulled pranks like hiding Granny’s best spade, for which he bore the brunt of the punishment. Confident there weren’t any lurking today he trotted down the road.

The field at the end of the road sparkled with untouched snow. Icicles hung from the trees forming an enchanted faerie gate. Rory ducked into the trees and went around the icicles framing the road. He didn’t want to risk summoning a faerie to his location. His goal was reaching the field full of snow to build his wintery kingdom. He at the very least needed to construct a wall from which to hurl snowballs at the woodland intruders.

Rory found the snow in the field to be perfectly suited for building blocks to form the wall of his fort. He had in fact constructed the entire square perimeter before he realized. This was fortunate as he kept hearing shuffling in the edges of the woods. He was nearly stocked with snowball ammunition when he realized that he would probably need some assistance if the fairies launched a full scale invasion. Judging from the noise in the trees they were likely amassing an army.

Rory rolled the snow into a ball that was easily half his height. He rolled a second ball and placed it on top of the first. He sculpted snowballs for feet and attached snowy arms. Rory worked like a master sculptor with the finest block of marble. He stepped back to admire his amazing bunny sculpture.

“I’ll call you Peter,” he said proudly. “Just like Peter Rabbit.”

The snow began to shiver and twitch. The now lively sculpted rabbit shook himself before hopping around. Rory laughed happily at the dancing rabbit-shaped pile of snow. He chased it around the walls of his fort. The rabbit bounced and frolicked. Rory eventually settled into his fort deep in thought. He looked at Peter intently.

“You know what we need, Peter,” he asked the rabbit rhetorically. “We need another friend.”

Peter nodded his rabbit head and groomed his icicle whiskers. The pair darted out into the field to find a fresh patch of snow. Peter helped him push the growing ball of snow. They made two large balls and four smaller balls. Rory went to work assembling them. Occasionally he stepped back to assess his progress before shaping the sculpture again. Peter looked on with amusement.

“There,” Rory said at last. “That should do it. What should we name him?”

Peter looked at the frozen statue of a bear. He looked intently at Rory. His icy little rabbit eyes twinkled intelligently.

“I think you’re right,” Rory agreed “We’ll call him George.”

George sprang to life in front of them. He rolled off his haunches and tested out standing on his hind legs. They wobbled a bit at first but then became sturdy. George lowered his front legs to the ground and bounded over to Rory. He slurped Rory’s already rosy cheek with his freezing tongue. George looked back at the woods with his ear cocked back.

“I heard it too,” Rory said while diving for the fort. “The faeries are coming.”

The three friends armed themselves with as many snowballs as they could hold. The footsteps in the woods drew closer. Rory held a snowball in the ready position. He counted down and signaled Peter and George to commence their attack. The snowballs flew. It was a glorious fight. The air turned white with falling powder.

Suddenly Rory was attacked from behind. He gasped and struggled to free himself. His opponent was strong. Rory wondered if a giant had captured him. He was dragged out of the protection of his fort into the snow that was once again beginning to fall from the bursting clouds. With Peter and George nowhere in sight he used his last defense. Rory went limp like a rag doll. He flopped into the snow with a thud. He looked up at his attacker.

“Dad,” Rory yelled angrily.

He looked around just in time to see a snowball come flying at them. His mom followed it in her craftily patched warm red winter coat and hat. He laughed as he balled up another snowball and launched it at her. Rory’s dad lifted him up and placed him on his shoulders. With the new trajectory Rory was able to land a devastating blow right to his mom’s head. She giggled and fell back into the snow as if she had been mortally wounded. Rory squealed with glee as she sat up and dusted the snow off of her coat.

“Time to get back home, little man,” his mom said sweetly. “The blizzard is moving in and Granny’s got you some warm cocoa with extra marshmallows by the heater.”

Still stuck on his dad’s strong shoulders Rory admitted defeat and gave the forward command pointing back toward the house. They took one last look out over the field as the snowfall began to pick up. Rory’s parents marveled at his creations. Rory waved goodbye to his snow sculptures. His parents looked puzzled but followed his lead and waved goodbye as well.

As they walked across the field to the road Rory turned his head lamenting his departure. He barely caught a glimpse of his friends waving through the snow. Rory smiled satisfied and his thoughts turned to warm cocoa.

Why authors should draw. (Even if you're terrible.)

As authors we hear the the merits of "write every day" and "just keep writing" shouted from every virtual rooftop. Advice that sticks around that long exists because it is true. We tell young writers to not worry about their mistakes. A draft is supposed to be terrible. We give them advice on fundamentals to improve their work and do as much as we can to dissuade the idea that every author starts out writing Nobel Prize literature. How many authors are English or Lit Majors? So why then do many writers shy away from sketching?

I have met many people in my life that marvel at anyone with a creative streak in them, especially authors. They look at us as though we are about to break out a vial of faerie dust when we sit down to work.  They don't see the years we spend slogging through the broken sentences and tripping of plot holes so big an elephant could get lost in them. They read the stories we finish. The ones we have painstakingly picked through are the stories we present to the world. We are the makeup artists for our creations. I wonder sometimes how people would react to a before and after picture of a story.

I sometimes see the same looks in the eyes of authors when looking at other creative arts. They appreciate the beauty of the work. They love the details in a piece. They are able to capture and share the soul of a work with a language that is constantly in flux through their own words. But they inevitably say, "I could never draw that."

Drawing and language are formulas. They all start with a basic fundamental structure and then build up from there. It takes years to master the English language. And that's just learning the conversational aspect of it. We don't realize that because most of us learn it at such a young age through immersion. When we run into someone learning the English language later in life we don't tell them to stop. We encourage them and practice with them. Drawing is the same concept. It's a language some people learn early and some people learn later. Just because you're starting later doesn't mean it's too late to try.

So why should you start drawing:

• Drawing helps you develop the way you conceptualize the world around you.

Think about the way you see things. Look at something around you like a tree. Stop focusing on the leaves for a moment and notice the basic shapes that make up the tree. Try looking around you at the shapes that make up everyday items. After about a week reflect on the way you look at the world.

• Drawing helps you visualize the whole scene.

Go back and pick up a story you wrote. How are the characters interact with their surroundings. Do they interact with the entire room? How do they fit into the room. Draw out the scene and rewrite the paragraph. You'll notice you pay more attention to the way the scene fits together when you have a reference for the layout of the area.

• Drawing helps you understand motion and how things work.

In order to draw realistically you need to have an understand of the muscle structure and some basic physics concepts like gravity, etc. By practicing everyday you learn to interpret the forces that act upon everyday items in a visual manner. This knowledge will directly translate into your writing.

• Drawing helps you communicate with illustrators.

I worked for over a decade in graphic design and I can tell you the single most frustrating part of the job was dealing with people who didn't understand artistic concepts like placement, color theory or negative space. When you begin to draw you become visually aware of the placement and hues of the world around you and how they affect your work. Once you understand these concepts you'll find talking to the artist illustration your cover much more enjoyable for both of you.

Just like writing, remember that drawing is an exercise in patience. You won't get it perfect the first time. That's not a bad thing. Just consider it your first draft.

A very snowy daily sketch.

 

Today was free draw on r/sketchdaily. I'm a little late getting it out since I ran out this afternoon without my sketchbook. I'm trying to get into the holiday spirit which thus far has managed to completely elude me. Suffering from a massive headache and trying to draw with dimmed lights while watching Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is totally not helping either.

In a wierd twist Chloe Bennet from Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. did an AMA today.

Looking toward December.

In the last couple of days of November after finishing NaNoWriMo, I've gone back and picked up a scifi short story I had started to write. This story had been intended for a series of short stories based on the range of human emotional states. Here's a little taste from "The Torment of Ethan Stone" for your entertainment:

The most dangerous thing a mind can do is become complacent. Fear takes root in the soil of uncertainty. Even the silhouette of the unknown man outside the gallery held seeds of doubt. The sound of the door opened and slammed shut vexing a startled Ethan Stone. He dug his way out of the pile of books on his workspace, and hit the buttons to log out of the office on his way into the gallery. A fifth century jar wobbled as he brushed past it. He steadied the jar with a smooth motion that carried his momentum toward the gentleman that had just entered the gallery. He greeted the man with a hearty “good afternoon.”

“I like the glasses,” the man replied. “They’re a nice touch. You just don’t see them anymore.”

Ethan thanked him. His glasses like all the other items in his gallery were relics of times gone by. Most people were content to focus on what is rather than what was. Ethan and his visitors however were curious with how people lived in the times before. Even as a child he would marvel at the conveniences around him. Always asking “what if” to the point his parents would simply shrug and turn back to their own conversations.

The gentleman picked up the ball and fumbled with the rough surface. He tossed it upwards lightly. Ethan's heart skipped s beat. The ball came to rest in the man’s hand and he glanced at Ethan. "How much?"

Ethan puzzled at the question. Of all the objects in the gallery why would the man want the crude rubber ball. Ethan had read about the games. Many ended in injuries, many life threatening. A ten pound projectile hurled at amazing speeds that snapped bone and crushed organ. They were remnants of a brutal past, before society evolved. Ethan could barely imagine not wearing even minimal protective padding.

The story goes on to tell about the exploits of Ethan and his mysterious visitor as they enter the world of illegal sports in world where risk is the ultimate four letter word. Will Ethan keep his comfortable life where his ever need is taken care of? Or will Ethan fall victim to his curiosity and the thrill of the adrenalin rush?

I should be finished with Torment today and that gives me December to work on some shorts. I want to do a few winter or Christmas stories. I may split them up into a few genres. I definitely want to do a scifi short. I had wanted to do a scifi story involving snow and snow men but Dr. Who stole my thunder on that one with last years Christmas special. I'm not completely giving up on the idea, but I will need to do some massive restructuring of the idea.

I'll keep some updates going on my brainstorming progress during the first week on so in December. If you're not sure where to go after NaNo you should be able to pick up some tips here.

As far as revisions go I may do some revisions to the Torment short story. I would love to send it out to a lit magazine in the early months of 2014. The Eternal Wager (my Nano Project) will not be taking any active place in my December workspace.

Incubation.

Writers are mother hens. It's so easy to get emotionally wrapped up in the stories. Writing something and stowing it away in a file feels like leaving a story without an ending. However, there's a certain beauty in letting go, if only temporarily. Just like eggs stories need time to grow. Ideas need to simmer.

I just finished writing my NaNo project and I've already compiled a list of problems I've found without rereading. It's tempting to go back and reread the whole novel once I realize I've left things out or changed something halfway through. Instead I've been taking notes in a separate file. It's import to get those concerns out in a concrete form, however it also import to develop some detachment from the work.

So my advice to you is to enjoy December. Go spend time with the family and friends who thought you were dead in November while you were locked up in those 1,667 words a day. Save those desires to reread and edit for when the doldrums of January set in.

Try this easy experiment:

1. Write a short story today. Print out a copy and put it away somewhere. Put it away for seven days. Don't touch it until those seven days are up. 
2. Revise it. Print it out again. Put both copies away for seven days. You may notice some plot holes you didn't see or some glaring errors in your sentence construction.
3. Make a third draft. Finalize your revisions on the work. By this time you should be able to just polish it and clean up smaller errors.
4. After you've made the final set of corrections go back and reread each of the drafts. Notice how the work improved each time. Note the difference between the first draft and the third draft.

What I learned from NaNoWriMo.

This is what a month of writing every day looks like. It's not at all what I expected. I assumed the lines would be nice and even with a few jumps here and there. I was most definitely not expecting the big dips. There really wasn't much to explain them. I wasn't sick. I didn't have an travel. Those big dips were just life doing it's thing and getting in the way.

I learned that Mondays are bad. But I knew they would be strained. Coming off the weekend takes a toll. There are tons of extracurriculars on Mondays. It's one of those things that can't be helped. Life is going to push you around some.

You see that big spike there? That was Night of Writing dangerously for my area. Those spikes at the end, they were pushing to get done because of all the posts about finishing. Community was the one thing I valued the most in this undertaking. It wasn't the most surprising part. But it was so intensely inspirational since so often writing is a solitary path.

So after everything I'm left with this mass of words.  It's a complete mess. I have entire paragraphs that say the same thing in every sentence. There are dozens of sentences that start the same way. It's not a very pretty novel yet, but it's mine. I'm proud of it. I'm better for having written it.

Sure, there are going to be people out there that bemoan NaNo. They'll say it's clogging the works with poorly written material. They forget that everything starts somewhere. And if one person out of over 300,000 becomes a better writer for it, the challenge was a success. You don't just win NaNo by getting 50,000 words. You win by pushing yourself to get past all those nagging voices and put your own voice out there in that chorus.

I'm unbelievably excited for NaNoWriMo 2014. I hope we make it to 500,000 writers next year. In the mean time I'm going to be pushing myself and I hope you will too.