Holy crap, Mr. President.
It is almost exactly 2 years since the last post I made here. In three days, it will have been two years since I posted that all-too depressing poem about my bit-broken heart (along with patronizing Spanish translation) and it will be time for me to perhaps go back through those posts and wonder: What is it I've learned? Where do I want to go now? Do I want to keep going with an all-encompassing, boring blog like Losing Paradise is? Or do I want to tap the resources I have developed in the time since Anicos (with a tilde on the N) such as my sense of humor that a few people value or my geekiness?
I was kinda shocked with the way I'd go off on things in these posts. Holy crap. It was like they were being written by another person, someone on the verge of the breakdown that happened in April of my Junior year. Funny enough, it was after that breakdown that I picked up Sandman and From Hell, and it was after that breakdown that I embarked on an adventure that I don't think is going to end soon.
But I wonder about that. You know? How much longer can I keep up with this charade that I will be a comic book writer or that I will be a collector? It's expensive and it's static and it's lonely and you can't really learn how to get better from anyone, you know? You read, you imitate, you personalize, and then eventually you originate. I have faith that at least one of the scripts I'm working on is very original. My ideas are original. Absolutely I have no doubt 100% I have original stories. But the writing is harder to do, because the field of comics writing is so tightly kept that it's always on the verge of reproduction. On the other hand, while writing for comics, you're always on the brink of breakthrough, potentially the next writer to change the field forever in ways unimagined in years past. Could I be the next Grant Morrison? The next Neil Gaiman, Alan Moore, Mark Waid, Brian Michael Bendis, maybe even Stan Lee? Well, not Stan Lee, because I'm not much on an artist...
And then there's the issue of music. I want to write. But I'm stuck at a school where I'm becoming unhappier and unhappier. I feel stifled and suffocated. And I'm not gonna go on for tonight, but I'll end with Jack London's credo:
I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out
in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom
of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.
Much love, friends.
--Will
I was kinda shocked with the way I'd go off on things in these posts. Holy crap. It was like they were being written by another person, someone on the verge of the breakdown that happened in April of my Junior year. Funny enough, it was after that breakdown that I picked up Sandman and From Hell, and it was after that breakdown that I embarked on an adventure that I don't think is going to end soon.
But I wonder about that. You know? How much longer can I keep up with this charade that I will be a comic book writer or that I will be a collector? It's expensive and it's static and it's lonely and you can't really learn how to get better from anyone, you know? You read, you imitate, you personalize, and then eventually you originate. I have faith that at least one of the scripts I'm working on is very original. My ideas are original. Absolutely I have no doubt 100% I have original stories. But the writing is harder to do, because the field of comics writing is so tightly kept that it's always on the verge of reproduction. On the other hand, while writing for comics, you're always on the brink of breakthrough, potentially the next writer to change the field forever in ways unimagined in years past. Could I be the next Grant Morrison? The next Neil Gaiman, Alan Moore, Mark Waid, Brian Michael Bendis, maybe even Stan Lee? Well, not Stan Lee, because I'm not much on an artist...
And then there's the issue of music. I want to write. But I'm stuck at a school where I'm becoming unhappier and unhappier. I feel stifled and suffocated. And I'm not gonna go on for tonight, but I'll end with Jack London's credo:
I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out
in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom
of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.
Much love, friends.
--Will
