I have so many aspirations. There are games I want to create, games I want to play and/or stream, books to read, songs to write or remix, sketches to video, blog posts to write. I want to devote more time in general to music and art. I tell myself there will be time one day. But will there?
I’ve identified the activity that relentlessly consumes more of my time than any other. The one activity that stands staunchly between me the above aspirations. At best, aspects of that activity inspire me and give me ideas, or at least idea seeds. At worst, that activity drains me completely, mentally and physically, so that by the time I’ve pulled myself from its grasp each evening, I’m left only with the desire to stumble home under a setting sun and vegetate numbly.
Let it be said once more, and not for the last time. The day will come that my family’s expenses are met without my need to participate endlessly as a meaningless cog in the schemes of some other distant, dead dreamer. All due respect to him, but his dream will go on without me. Mine demands my liberation.
Happy New Year! May you and yours be struck by fortune and slathered in smiles for the next 365.
Except, that’s not likely, is it? Horrible things are going to happen in 2018. Millions and millions of people are going to die. In fact, in the time it took you to read the above, twenty people died on earth.
In 2018 someone close to someone close to you is going to fall victim to something unspeakable. Someone in power above you is going to do something unthinkably idiotic. Someone under a spotlight will be exposed for having a dark, horrible secret.
Therefore, let me not just blithely spurt Happy New Year at you as if it’s some sort of incantation that will thwart frowns as long as the number 18 exists in the date. Here is my wish for you: Know that 2018 is a pile of meaningless numbers. By the standards of the universe, there is not a recognizable difference between 2018 and 2017, or 2016, 15, 14, 13, etc. So when something bad inevitably happens, don’t throw your hands up and give up on the number 2018. Keep your chin up. Good stuff will happen this year, too. You just have to look for it. And if you can’t find it, then forge it with your own damn hands.
Mornin’ peeps. Last month of 2017. That’s good because I’ve been convinced it’s 2018 for months now.
Some people are wildly excited by Christmas. Maybe I’ll be one of those people again someday. Maybe not. I do like having an excuse to illuminate rooms with unusual lighting in the form of trees, candles, etc.
I literally just realized while typing this that the early winter sunset produces more hours to enjoy such ambient lighting. Hmm.
Here comes a quick one. I have a lot of writing to do.
The haunting month is upon us, bringing a chill in the air and the spirit. I relish it. My bride does not. And so I am loosed upon my neighborhood with idle hands and a nocuous curiosity. Gods be pleased, I’ll content myself stealing candy and toppling decorations. But if the Moon sees fit to borrow my earthly vessel, I take no responsibility for the grisly appetite that befalls me.
Ah, September. That fateful month when I, in an explosive crescendo of blood and embryonic detritus, was torn from a slit in my mother’s belly and held aloft in sanguine-slicked hands.
The world has never been the same.
Been writing some gruesome scenes lately. Can you tell?
Welcome to August, frans.
Turesia is up to 137,793 words. What a shite improvement over last month! Pardner and I missed a couple of Story Times. Excuses, excuses, I know. I’m just trying to get it right, rather than fast (Rothfuss’ last words).
Welcome to Summer, mein peeps. This is my most favoritest season because it’s the farthest in either direction from Winter…
I just realized the nonsense of that statement.
Still my favorite season.
Happy June to you.
Yesterday I attended the wedding of my brother Drew Cochran. You may know him as the architect of Silexare Compendium and Legendary Fail Games. It was a heartfelt ceremony and a stunning location. All their work paid off well. Congratulations to you and Lauren. Have fun in Ireland.
Here comes a brief news post.
It’s a lonely journey, writing. When Torvald makes a selfless sacrifice, or Irdessa overpowers her strongest foes against all odds, or Kraus does something disgustingly offensive, I can’t elbow my mate and go, “Would ya look at that?”
I’m tempted to try it, though. I’m tempted to race to public places to post updates on my characters, despite that you don’t know or care who I’m talking about. I’ve already filled up pages of a Compendium with Turesia creatures and characters, despite that they’re all subject to change.
I’m learning to keep it to myself. I’ll probably delete a lot of entries from the Silexare Compendium in the days to come. The porcelain of this story will not be fired in the kiln of completion until the “And everyone still breathing lived happily ever after” is in place. Until then, it’s a raw, scrotum-shaped lump of clay; not to be shown off.