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.