Small Questions: About Fish and Cats
For an animal that despises water, why do cats love fish? How did they get addicted to something so foreign? And Tuna, that’s a pretty hard to get to fish, but they love it, have they always loved tuna? Do they have preferred fish… like, do some cats go: “anchovies are too salty for me, I am more of a sardine kind of kitty”?
Theodore asking the tough questions.
Read MoreNew Category Introduction: Small Questions
When I am working on a novel, what I am actually doing is solving high level questions that need artificial players. In order to solve these deep questions, I manipulate personas I’ve created in a story and see where they go and what they do. Through their interactions and responses to my “situations” I get the answers that were elusive beforehand.
While my novels are unpublished, they do ask big questions that take a lot of time to answer. That’s why I don’t self publish. I want the work that went in them for me, is recognized and treated in the best possible way. Yet, a lot of my life is looking at little questions that poke at my brain.
So I decided to share some of my little questions in the near future in a series I will call: small questions.
Read MoreBeautiful Imperfections
While I am injured still, I have returned home in hopes of getting my stitches removed from my hand for free (part of the global cost of the procedure). Would it have been cheaper to take them out myself? Yes. Would my mother have consistently berate me over how it would look better if I had them removed by a professional? Yes. Thus, I drove to my home to get stitches removed so she could A) see me go to the doctor, and B) know that I didn’t pay extra money or deviate and remove them myself.
But this transitions me into the important aspect of my mother, who I love with all my heart and has supported me dearly throughout my life. When I decided to get a philosophy degree instead of a mechanical engineering degree, she supported me knowing that my life would be difficult with a degree that didn’t have a future job prospect associated with it. However, and excuse the previous tangent, my mother also is very critical of my appearance and consistently wants me to become an Adonis of a man – beer, whiskey, and good food keeps that future decently at bay. S0, when my finger was marred by my brother and a razor blade (an unfortunate accident where I lost the ability to write by hand due to a splint and stitches), she instantly wanted professional medical staff to mend my future scar (she doesn’t know that scars are sexy now, they are in like infinity scarfs and assless chaps (all chaps are assless, but not everyone knows that) (depending where you live)). Her little cub needed to be her perfect little baby.
This mentality of perfection has always been in my life, which could explain some aspects of myself. For example, on holidays, I will wear a graphic-t and pajama pants, won’t put deodorant on, and will leave my hear unkempt and “poofy”. So, when she decided to have some remodeling done, I felt bad for the craftsmen who would have to live up to her standards of perfection. Then, something amazing happened and I got to glimpse something that even a perfectionist couldn’t ignore.
Read MoreInjured
Over the Thanksgiving weekend, I was injured during a freak razor blade accident with my brother. My middle finger was gashed to the knuckle and I have stitches and a splint on that finger. As such, I haven’t been able to write at my normal volume. Even writing this post is difficult because I have to type with my index pointer on the right side of the keyboard. My speed for typing has dropped dramatically and the amount of mistakes I make has increased tenfold. As such, I will be focusing on editing till I have full use of my middle finger. Once I am at full strength, I will be adding in some posts I had written by hand but cannot transcribe yet. Remember this, if you are a writer, protect your hands at all possible turns because if you can’t write, you aren’t a writer.
Read MoreSome of My Haikus
Broiling gray sky
a ray pierces through the darkness
Smile till it hurts
The desert cactus
flowers for no one – oh well
Why am I here now?
My face, brush of wind
a little brown bat blocks the light
Avoidance is key
An endless forest
No compass, is it afternoon?
Fear sets in… look moss