Who the Heck am I?

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That’s a difficult question. It’s mostly because my eyes are not the rubber telescopes I would need to objectively examine myself with. All I can give is from the inside looking out.

Since you’re here already, you probably know I’m a writer. You may not know that I am also an artist (the piece above as an example,) and sometimes I even make music. But from the start, I have always been a storyteller. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

There is a breed of artist in this world that is very quiet. You can find them in caves or dark forests, and if you poke them with a stick, they will flee in an instant. I am one of these. My ideas form like moss under stones. The air must be still—the wind, distant.

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Ulysses: An Epic Waste of Time (Explained)

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Undoubtedly there have been times where we’ve walked out of a movie, put down a book, or finished a TV series thinking “Well damn, what a waste of my time.” The phrase comes from a longing unfulfilled—a perceived lacking in said film, book, or show—which leads us to the conclusion that our time has been wasted.

And just as inevitable as the experience of “time-wasting” art, is the approaching critic who says “No, see… That art is genius because it’s like REAL LIFE.”

One of the most stand-out examples of this comes from James Joyce—defending his book Ulysses from the onslaught of criticism once it was published.

“If ‘Ulysses’ isn’t worth reading, then life isn’t worth living.”
—James Joyce

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A Week of Consequential Reading #1

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Welcome friends, nerds, book junkies. Welcome to my ever-expanding bookshop filled to the gills with all sorts of odds and ends. It’s a place you could stay all day; believe me, I’ve lost track of the times I’ve let that happen.

Each week I’m going to share and review a the selection of stories I’ve read. I’ll be reading old, I’ll be reading new, but almost always it will be short fiction I’ve had the pleasure (or sometimes displeasure) of reading. You’re more than welcome to follow along each week and discover new authors, as well as cherished old favorites, and let me know what you think. It’s like a book club, except this is a blog… and it’s short stories… and I’m sitting alone typing on a lifeless, digital page…

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There Will Always be Monsters

Mirror_IllustrationYour feelings don’t matter. Not how you feel, and not how you were stung.

The world doesn’t care what happened in your past, or where you’ve come from. Life moves on. “This offended me,” you said, and so you were offended. What does that mean?

When the art stares at you and holds a mirror to those nasty little things you refuse to look at, there’s no point in cursing the mirror or the holder. Your problems are within.

Perhaps you are scarred from something in the past.

There will always be thorns. Always be things that reach out their limbs and draw blood with their talons. And if your mind resides in any place akin to the real world, there will always be monsters.

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