Writer's Block

I have been sitting here, staring at the computer, wondering what exactly to write.  I have ideas, some about my own past, and my pending ten year high school reunion.  Other thoughts go towards the Pope, and the simple sentence he spoke that has the chance to change one of the most powerful churches in the world. 

I have all these ideas, and I swear to God, in my head they are all amazingly deep and thoughtful.  The problem is, the second I try and type them out, to make them form, they stumble and stutter and die horribly. 

I think that is one of my greatest problems.  There is a gap between my brain and my hands, and sometimes my mouth.  In my mind I may have formed a wonderful argument about something, and yet once I try to bring that argument out of my brain and into the world, it shrivels up and bursts into flames, like a vampire in sunlight (and no, it does not sparkle...). 

This isn't always the issue.  There are days where I have somehow managed to temporarily bridge that gap, and can express myself with ease.  I love those days.  Those days are the ones where I feel most calm, most relaxed.  I don't worry about what I'm saying sounding "right".  I just know that they will, and that people will understand me. 

Then there are days like today. 

Today my brain has decided it doesn't want to put forth the effort to push my ideas out, and into the world.  It doesn't see the point in sharing.  On days like today my head just doesn't have the energy.  Then those memories and ideas and thoughts and arguments start to back up.  My whole brain gets stopped up. 

These are the days that lead to migraines. 

What I wouldn't give for a creative team...

I love working on my own projects.  I truly do.  There is nothing more fulfilling then finishing a project you have started.  Completing something that you have worked hard t

Still, I do wish I had a creative team that I could work with.  I do have creative friends, and one of my best friends and I have started more projects then I could count.  Outside the two of us, our potential creative partners have been on the flakey side...

Nothing can cause a project to collapse faster then the creator, in this case me, being overloaded by the sheer scope of the project.

The reason I bring this up is because I'm working on my second game now, and I'm finding that it is growing bigger and bigger every time I continue to work on it.  Alternate Lives had started as a short side game, and now has started to become something much larger, and much more complex then even I had expected.

That's not to say I'm giving up.  I'm chugging along, trying my best to get everything done.

Still, I am going to put this out there.  If there is anyone who is interested in possibly trying their hand at making a visual novel, hit me up.  Not saying that it would be an instant yes, but I'm starting to realize that sometimes you need to just put it out there, and see if maybe, just maybe, you find a few more people that can match you creatively.

So, writers, artists, programers, anyone who has thought "Hey, maybe I could do that,"  send me an email at rstringini@gmail.com .

Keep On Trucking

Life can suck sometimes. Not just quick little bouts of suck, but long stretches of mind numbing, soul crushing suck. 

Well, it ends. At some point that struggle goes away, if only for a brief moment. It may not even be something major that makes you smile. A joke, a small moment of peace, a day of perfect weather. 

Cherish those moments. They may seem few and far between, but those are the moments that make life worth it. 

Why am I writing this today? Cuz I know that sometimes life just seems like a swirling black hole of depression. People keep telling you that it gets better, but it never seems like it will. 

Trust me, it does. It may not last, but if you make the choice to focus on the positive, on those smiles that seem to jump from your lips unexpectedly, it suddenly doesn't all seem that bad. 

If you chose to focus on the suck, then the world will reflect that. If you, instead, focus on those "perfect" moments, the world will seem brighter. 

Here's a challenge. When you read the news find one human interest story. Find one story that shows that there is good in the world, and focus on that. Even in the darkness that seems to consume us, there will always be one little glimmer of light. The more you focus on that light, the more you try, in your own life, to make it brighter, the more it will grow. 

The Danger of Labels

I'm a Glee fan.  I've loved the show since it's first episode. 

Recently, one of it's lead actors passed away.  This is not about him.  This is about the comments made about his death.  This is about how people seem to lack all human kindness when they have the veil of secrecy that the internet allows. 

I will be honest.  I have seen addiction in many shapes and forms.  I've experienced it myself.  I have had the chance to talk to people trying to get sober, to see people struggling with drug addiction.  It is not simple, it is not easy.  It is frustrating, heart breaking.  It will make you angry, make you lash out.  It is a painful process that, in most cases, will need to be repeated multiple times, wearing you down more and more the longer it continues.  It is destructive and devastating.

It is not simple.  If the comments have shown me anything, they have shown me that people truly do not understand addiction.  They don't understand the driving need, the fear, the anguish.  They don't understand how the addict suffers, how their family and friends suffer. 

You cannot tell an addict to stop, and just expect them to stop.  There is more to it then just getting high.  The addiction is the surface of something much darker, much more damaged.  The drugs, the alcohol, the sex, the gambling... they are all a symptom.  They are a piece of a greater problem. 

When we live in a world where people just dismiss someone's death because they possibly died of a drug overdose, we live in a world that refuses to understand other's pain and suffering.  I know it isn't easy.  When we look at someone who dies of something like a drug overdose, we only see the self-inflicted destructive behavior.  We simplify it.  We replace the human with a pre-defined role.  We ignore the life, and focus only on the method of death.  In the case of the young actor, we assume, because of his history, that he died of a drug overdose, and pass judgment before the autopsy report has even been signed.  He had struggled with addiction in the past, so it had to be a drug overdose, right?

Does it matter?  Does it really matter that he had struggled with drugs?  Does that reflect on how he treated his friends and family?  Does that reflect on how he stepped up and spoke out for causes that he believed in?  Does it matter?  Does it?  When you answer that question, think about that answer.  What does that answer say about you?  Do you ignore the good, and focus only on the negative? 

Thinking about this makes me want to shake someone.  It makes me want to reach out, grip someone by the shoulders and shake them.  When did it become so acceptable to care so little, to feel so little?  When did it become fun to be cruel?  I look at this world, and listen and read what it has to say, and I lose faith.  I lose hope.  I'm ashamed because I have done exactly what angers me.  I have disappointed myself because I have allowed the cruelness that has invaded the human race to infect me as well, but I refuse to let it take hold.   

A part of my journey as I've gotten older is to try and understand.  Empathy is not easy.  You have to look past all the pre-conceived ideas of what a person's label means.  A "thug", a "drug addict", a "porn star", a "beggar".  Whatever they are, the important piece of who they are is that they are human.  They are a son or daughter, a brother or sister, a mother or father.  To someone they could be a lover, a friend, a co-worker. They have gone on their own journey through life, and they have had their own experiences that have shaped them as a person.  We don't attempt to understand, we just say a quick, snarky comment and move on. 

When the world becomes so dismissive to the pain of others, it loses its ability to empathize.  It loses the one thing that can make us better.  What are we without empathy? 

We are sociopaths.

To Be Blind

I had written a long, thoughtful post about the Zimmerman trial.  I discussed emotion verses law, and the importance of the court of public opinion.  I actually thought it was all pretty interesting.  Then I deleted it. 

Why? 

The debate over this verdict is going to continue for a long, long time, and nothing I say truly matters. 

I realized something today.  The internet allows all of us to become Nancy Grave or Bill O'Reilly. We all become political and social commentators.  We all think our opinions should be heard, so we scream them from our keyboards. 

Why? 

I understand frustration.  I let it get the better of me as well.  I have ranted and raved about politics, about civil rights.  I have done my best Nancy Grace impression on plenty of social media platforms.  Then I realized something. 

I tend to react before I think.  I tend to jump to a conclusion before I do my research.  I let my emotions dictate my beliefs, and in the end, I make myself irrelevant.  I make myself look foolish. 

The Treyvon Martin case is a tragedy.  It truly is.  A young man is dead, and the promise of what his life could have been has been snuffed out.  That is all that truly matters to me.  The loss of a life barely begun.  His death revealed so much ugliness and hate that still simmers in this country.  The racial divide that still exists. The fact that, even in this day and age, people cannot just view each other as fellow human beings, breaks my heart. 

I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true.  It breaks my heart that a person is still judged based only on the color of their skin, or their gender, their sexuality, their economic statues, their religion and any other little boxes we can jam people into. 

We are shallow society, focusing only on the surface of a person, instead of focusing on what truly matters. 

We never consider a person's life, their journey, their character, their faith, their heart.  We never consider the parts that truly create who a person is.  A person's skin color is genetics, a person's character is their soul.  Their soul is who the person is, not their lineage.

If, one day, the whole world had lost the ability to see, what would happen?  What would we as a people do if we suddenly lost the ability to judge based solely on a person's physical self?  How would we divide ourselves?  How could we create an us versus them? 

It makes me sick to realize that we, as a people, as a collective race, would still find a way.  We always do. 

Writing as Therapy

I have looked over some of my other posts, and I'm shocked at how depressing some of them are.  The thing that shocks me is that, honestly, I'm not depressed.  I'm actually a whole lot happier then I've been in a while.

Sure, life isn't perfect.  Perfection is an impossible ideal to achieve.  My life is still complicated.  There are things going on that I have no control over, but I deal. 

One of the things that has helped me deal is doing this, writing. 

My words on page seem to convey my inner voice so much better then the words I speak.  When communicating verbally I tend to stutter and stammer, trying to find the right words, the right meaning, but when I write...

I have always enjoyed writing.  Anyone who knew my in junior high probably remembers me writing the "Claw" stories*.  Writing has been one of the few constants in my life.  Even when writing about some Friday the 13th-esque killer stalking the small town of Spirit Lake, I found the actually act of creating a story a way to center myself.  I don't forget my problems, I just calm myself down enough where I can deal with them. 

Now that I've decided to basically create an online diary, I have found a new way to expel all the bottled up craziness trapped in my brain.  When my voice fails me, my fingers take over, and I can clearly convey everything that seems to be blocking me up. 

I better stop there, because I basically just described writing as a mental form of Ex Lax...

* For anyone who remembers "The Claw", check out the old "Spirit Lake" series I wrote over on SoapSudz.  Basically it's my grown up "remake" of all those old, barely readable stories that were scribbled on who knows how many notebook pages.  The link to SoapSudz is on the side bar.  When you get there, click on the tags for Spirit Lake.

Imagination

As an adult you are expected to keep your feet on the ground and your head out of the clouds.  Fantasy is for children.  You are to focus on the world around you as it is, not as you wish it to be. 

To that I say... meh.

One of the greatest assets someone can retain from childhood is imagination.  The world may tell you to leave the world of fantasy behind, but why?  What is so amazing about reality, anyways? 

All it takes is a glimpse at the news, and a person should realize that reality tends to suck.  Obviously you can't avoid reality.  I mean, your day to day life is lived in reality.  Yet, how are we expected to make reality suck less if we can't imagine something better? 

Imagination is the seed that can create a new world.  A better place for you, and hopefully for others.  Sometimes it is just in the shape of a story.  Sometimes it's an idea, or a plan.  Imagination is the part of your brain that can birth greatness. 

Also, imagination is the easiest way from going crazy.  Sometimes you just need to slip into another world of your own making.  Maybe that world is a giant spaceship with a crew exploring new and exciting worlds.  Maybe that world is a kingdom filled with wizards and dragons.  Maybe that world involves red rooms and tie ups...

Whatever your fantasy, never feel ashamed.  Fantasy is where you can do and experience all the things that you can't in your real life.  Imagination can give you hope. 

Without imagination, there is no hope.  So what does an absence of hope make us? 

Hopeless.

The Buzz Fades...

So, the initial rush of releasing Accidental Demon Slayers has passed.  That high I was feeling when I saw the initial reaction to the game has faded.  My blog is still getting a steady stream of hits off of people checking out ADS, but that excitement has subsided. 

That isn't a bad thing.  That just means I need to keep working, and keep writing.  I want to feel that rush again.  I want to create something else that people will experience. 

So, I've started writing another game.  I'm still working on my comic scripts.  I'm going to sit down and finish rewriting my kids book.  Even though I spend my 9 to 5 working at my dad's law office, my mind is always on writing and creating. 

Some people will tell you that it is near impossible to make money off of being a writer.  I would have to agree.  The stars have to align so perfectly for that to happen, and the occurrence is so rare that it can frustrate the strongest of people.  Honestly, it can crush your confidence and shatter your spirit.  Only if you let it, though.

The thing is... that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it.  No matter what it is you should keep at it.  Writing, acting, directing, painting, etc. All creative fields are difficult to break into, to actually make a living at, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try.  If you love it, you will wake up thinking about it, go to sleep thinking about it, dream about, lose sleep over it.  Just because you may not turn out to be the next Stephen King doesn't mean you have to give up on what you love.  It just means you have to work harder then before, and if it's something you really love, you'll enjoy every minute of it.  You will enjoy every drop of blood, sweat and tears that falls from you. 

Writing, acting, painting, drawing... all of that.  They aren't just a potential job, or a career.  They are a passion. 

Wake Up!

You ever have those days where your brain is just numb? You aren't happy or sad. You are just... Blank.

A simple thought is a chore. Trying to actually comprehend something is impossible. Taking directions is a struggle.

Nothing seems to click inside, because the inside is just white noise. Your thoughts are even a dull hiss, just static. Not even heavy doses of caffeine can wake you up. 

It isn't depression. Function is still possible. You don't mind getting out of bed, getting dressed, going to work. You care, but only so much because you know, somewhere in your brain, you know you have to. 

The tracking is off, the images a jumbled mess, and your mind's eye is squinting just to make sense of what you are seeing. 

Emotion is present, not dulled, just not understood. You feel, and you know why. On a base level you comprehend the feelings that pass through the clutter, but it's all just out of reach... 

If I keep up like this I'll be writing poetry about burnt out light bulbs and people standing on cliffs holding roses and contemplating parachute free sky diving. 

I need to snap out of it, because even an Emo version of myself annoys me. 

Chugging Along

Monday comes and it's back to an in between job. 

What is an in between job? 

It's one of those jobs you take between doing what you really feel you should be doing.  The problem is, this in between job is between doing something I can't stand, and not knowing what I'm doing next.  I'm in between a rock and a chasm. 

A hard place would actually be nice.  A solid idea of what I'm facing next.  Right now I'm looking into a giant, hazy abyss with now clue as how to get across.  I have ideas for my own, personal projects.  I know I want to do another game, and that I want to keep working on my comic scripts.  I want to keep writing.

The issue is money. 

Could I make money off of writing a visual novel, or working on a comic book?  Not unless I got a whole lot better a whole lot faster, and was able to create a product that I thought people would actually pay money for.  Even then, would I be able to sell enough product to actually make a decent wage?  I doubt it highly.  My style (aside from being rather weird and not quite polished) is not exactly what one would call mass-market. 

So people tell me to get a job and write on the side.  Turn something I love into a hobby.  It makes sense.  It makes tons of sense.  It just makes my stomach twist into a giant knot.  I know the reality of the situation.  It doesn't mean I have to like it. 

So I'll keep on working on my personal projects, and keep wishing that what I love is what I could do for the rest of my life. 

On a side note... I blame the rain for my sudden bout of whining. 

A Boost of Confidence

I know making visual novels will never be a career, but seeing the response (some good, some not so good) to the game actually feels pretty damn good.

This was my first attempt at doing something like this, and I understand it isn't perfect (far from it).  It's still awesome to see that people are actually playing it.  Even if they don't really like it, they are experiencing something I created, and put hours of work into.  That is something I'm not very used to.

I'm used to creating stuff.  Writing it, and filing it away, promising to do something with it some day.  To finally release something and then get any kind of response, including having someone do a comical video about it, is more then I would have ever expected.

*Here is a link to the video.  It's Age Restricted, so heads up.  Lots of foul language and tentacles.
Accidental Demon Slayers Video

Has the response to the game been extremely positive?  Eh.  It's been mixed.  That's to be expected.  All that means is that I have to work to do better on the next one.  (And right now I really want to do a next one).

So, to everyone who downloaded the game, thank you.  To ChristTanarium for doing the video, thank you even more.  It may not have been your cup of tea, but holy crap did your video crack me up.

Nothing like a little shot in the arm to get you off your ass and realize it is possible to get people to check out what I spent months working on.

The Power of Frustration

I have more failed, incomplete projects then I do finished, whole works. Sure, I finish a few, but for everyone that gets done, at least five land in the "Epic Fail" pile. 

Does that mean I give up all together? Never! To admit defeat would mean giving up on something that I am passionate about. Sure, it drives me nuts, frustrates me to no end, but it pushes me to try and get more and more projects done. 

This ends up being how I handle things in my life. I let myself get to the point where I want to scream, and then I grit my teeth and push forward. I say "screw it" and dive head first into whatever unknown future I may find. 

The only exception to this rule is finding a job. I'm frustrated, but I'm also scared. Scared that I'll make the wrong choice again, and then have to start over again. 

This isn't a process I wish to go through multiple times! 

So I'm just wondering how long it'll be till I just say screw it, and leap. How long will all this "soul searching" last before the fear fades and I take a chance? 

Well, at least I finished my video game. 

Being Productive

So, during my down time since my last TV job I wasn't entirely unproductive.  While it is fun to be introspective and all of that, it is also a good idea to actually attempt to accomplish something, even if it is just for yourself.  I wrote not one, but two children's books (which aren't ready to be seen by the public), and I did something else I've always wanted to do.

I made a visual novel.

What is a visual novel?  It's a simplified adventure game structured similar to a Choose Your Own Adventure book.  I've been a fan of the visual novel style of game since I was in high school, so when I learned that making one didn't require me to be a programing wizard, I sat down and started writing.

I also suck at thinking up character names, so... I named all the characters after people in my life.

Enough chatting.  Here is a link to my drop box so you, yes you, can download the pretty much finished game.

Accidental Demon Slayers Download

Just a heads up.  The game includes strong language, adult subject matter, and implied tentacles (couldn't find any stock art tentacles...).

If anyone does end up playing the game I would really appreciate the feedback.

Bringing Up the Past... Again

A NOTE:  While most people who know me will know who I am talking about, please refrain from using their name in any comments about this post.  This isn't about dragging someone's name through the mud.  This is about a bit of blog related therapy.

Ever since I posted that picture of the "Bobby's Bunnies" hoodie, I couldn't stop thinking about that situation.  Also, I couldn't stop thinking about how I worded that post. 

It is so easy, when looking back on something as oddly traumatic as that, to ignore the role that you yourself play in what happened.  The way that first post was worded made it sound like some great wrong was committed against me.  What that post left out is the role that I played in all of that, and the blame that I have to shoulder. 

So, no, I'm not going to rehash the whole story.  I know that if I do I'll automatically go on the defensive and create a narrative that favors my side.  This isn't exactly a forum where others can fight back or state their side of the story, and honestly, I don't want to be the person that ignores their own fault.

So, what exactly was my fault?  Easy, I lied.  The lie itself was not the catalyst that started everything (that would be the hoodie from the earlier post), but it was the tipping point. 

It wasn't a calculated move.  It was a sin made out of panic.  That doesn't make it any less wrong.  Honestly, at least in my mind, it makes it worse.  When confronted I failed.  Instead of responding honestly and taking my "punishment", I lied.  I wasn't strong enough to own up to what I had done, even if I felt that what I had done didn't equal the reaction.

I was weak, and scared, and in such a panic that I not only lied, but I created a lie that dragged other people into my mess.  Instead of facing what scared me (or in this case, a person who scared me) I not only hid, but I dragged others into my stupidity, and in turn, risked their jobs. 

I am not a good liar. 

At least, I'm not a good liar under pressure.  I'm a storyteller (not that you could tell from reading this blog), and when I panic I create tales.  Not just simple lies, or pleading the fifth.  I created a story so ridiculous, so outlandishly stupid, that I was just begging to be found out.  If I hadn't eventually told the truth I am very sure that the whole story would turn into ninjas breaking into the production office.

I need to pause for a moment.  I'm finding myself doing exactly what I didn't want to do.  By saying I lied out of fear automatically makes it seem like I am still the innocent one. 

I am not innocent.  I lied. The reasoning behind it does not matter.  I had two choices.  Be honest, or lie.  I lied. 

When I did finally tell the truth the damage was already done.  I had lied to someone's face, and when they were told the truth, of course they wouldn't be happy with me.  No one likes to be lied to on a normal day.  Add in the emotional strain of not sleeping, and the pain of having to deal with watching something you had worked so hard at fall apart around you, and those emotions tend to be magnified. 

In the end everyone involved got what they deserved, and yet that guilt remains. 

Do I think the other person involved feels guilty for what they did to me? 

No.

I would never expect them to.  Even while excepting my role in the way things played out, my view of the other person involved in that whole ordeal has not changed, and probably never well.  Professionally, I believe they are one of the best in the business.

Now we've reached the point where I stop being diplomatic.  Just a warning.

Personally, I believe that the other person involved is a spoiled, emotionally manipulative child trapped in the body of an adult.  The words that come to mind right now are harsh and cruel, but I won't put them here.  Just know that my opinion of that person, and they know exactly who they are, is beyond low.

Do I think they care?  No.  Why would they?  I doubt they have ever cared what other people think or feel, not unless it served them, and their goals.  They do not view people as friends, but as those who should worship the "genius" that is their ego. 

I can understand anger, frustration, even feeling betrayed, but I cannot, and will not, deal with behavior that some could describe as psychotic. 

I know that not everyone will agree with me.  Some people have had amazing experiences with that person, and continue to have a healthy working relationship with them.  I do not want to change your mind.  I just want to clear mine.

Alright, taking a deep breath.

The point of all of this is to close this particular chapter of my life.  To exorcise it from my mind, and let everything go, including my guilt.  I will accept my part.   I will also do something else.  I will finally, truly, forgive the person who did put me through that. 

One small chapter closed.  A chapter that should have been a blip on the radar of my life became an emotional hurricane.  It sounds so stupid typing that, but it's the truth.  I let it balloon into something that it never should have been.  I gave it, and that person, a power over me that I should never have allowed. 

So, she-demon be gone!
Exorcism complete.

What do you do with a B.A. in... Fiction Writing?

What the hell was I thinking?

Well, I know what I was thinking.  I love writing, and I didn't feel like I had any chance at any other schools, so I settled on the Fiction Writing program at Columbia.  No, not Columbia University.  Columbia College Chicago.

Yes, my own lack of self esteem and direction not only cost my parents God knows how much money, but it also left me with a degree that, when examined from all sides, is pretty much useless.  I ask you, what can you do with a B.A. in Fiction Writing?  Please, tell me, because I really would like to know.

I should have known I was in trouble when I very quickly grew to hate my department.  Well, hate is a strong word.  I didn't hate it.  There were several classes I rather enjoyed, actually.  No, what I hated was the complete snobbish, "literary" b.s. that came with getting my B.A..

In class I was always the odd man out. I was, what I guess you would call, a genre writer.  Oh dear Lordy if you could hear the way they said those words.  Genre writer.  Usually that translated to "useless crap that isn't worthy of these hallowed halls."  This coming from the same people who praised the constant tales of hipster artists falling in love, shooting heroin, falling out of love, throwing up in a back alley, passing out in their own vomit, doing more heroin and then losing the will to live and either dying in the gutter or becoming a prostitute.  The other stand by was the tales of the rural families, usually with required wind whistling through grass, a sick parent and/or sibling, and possibly a heavy case of incest (and yet all of it would be so overwritten to the point of being painfully dull.  It's like taking the family from The Hills Have Eyes and making them act out scenes from Little House on the Prairie). 

I, on the other hand, liked writing horror stories, or erotica, or mysteries.  I liked writing the stuff that interested me.  I didn't care if some hipster girl named Star shot heroin between her toes because her boyfriend liked the way her track marks brought out her eyes.  Now, if said heroin turned Star into a brain eating zombie who seduced men and fed on their drug riddled flesh to further her own addiction, I might care.

I didn't fit the mold of what the fiction writing department looked for in an author.  My style of writing was not only not appreciated, it was not welcome.  That fact was made very clear.  I was not literary enough, therefor I was not good enough.

So I stuck with it, got my useless degree, and left that school, and that program, with a severe hatred of writing.  Not just hatred, but an inability to write.  It took years to forget everything I had beaten into my head by the department heads (one of which was my teacher for at least two classes), and get back to doing what I have always loved, writing stories were people die horribly, and usually get naked before doing so.

So I have the damn degree.  I can't use it for anything, other then maybe a few self deprecating jokes, though.

I've written books, scripts, plays, comic books (just written sadly, can't really draw all that well).  Having that degree won't make it any easier to get anything I have done published or produced.  Wait.  That's not true.  It's very possible to get that stuff published or produced.  The degree won't get anyone to pay attention to it though!

When was the last time someone picked up a book with the blurb "from a guy with a B.A. in Fiction Writing!"

Perspective

So far on this blog I have talked about my "struggles" at finding a new career, and a new path in life.  I wax poetic about "finding the right path" or muse about things that may give me comfort in this "time of uncertainty".  Basically I have been whining... a lot.

Now, that's basically why I created the blog, so I could whine, and do it the best I can.  Personally, I see nothing wrong with letting yourself have a nice little outlet for your own issues (even in a public forum).  Still, it is important to keep things in perspective.

In the grand scheme of things, I am very blessed.  I have a family that loves me, and supports me.  I am surrounded by amazing people, and have been given pretty much anything I have ever asked for in life.  I have wanted for very little.  I have, what I would describe, as a pretty damn good life.

So, why am I writing this?  Easy.  I read the news today.  Nothing puts ones own problems in perspective faster then reading the news.  19 Firemen were killed trying to put out an out of control blaze.  Countless dead in politically motivated attacks around the globe.  People are losing their lives.

So, when I write this, understand, I am not unhappy with my life.  Far from it.  I am happy, and I have every reason to be happy.  I have so much, and I refuse to put on blinders and just focus on the negative.  What I am is frustrated.

You can still be happy and frustrated, because frustration does not equal unhappiness.  Frustration equals a want to do more, to accomplish more, to better ones self so that they can be the best they can be.

Frustration is a good thing.  Wallowing in self pity, ignoring the enormous pain and suffering around you while howling about minor injury to your ego is not.  It would be like claiming a splinter in your finger is just as bad, if not worse, then a gunshot wound to the chest.

So, to sum this rambling, stiffly written post up, be frustrated.  That's fine.  That's normal.  That frustration will be the fuel to push you forward in life, but do not ignore the pain and suffering in the world around you, that will push you down a very dark and destructive path.