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The Bibliotheca



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7 Ways to Celebrate Independence Day

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Jul 04 2013 · 143 views

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7. Run through the streets singing Yankee Doodle--all fifteen-or-so verses!--at the top of your lungs.
6. Call everyone you see "comrade."
5. Remind everyone how this day is a day of remembering and honoring our belligerent founding fathers' disrespect for authority.
4. Mail letters to all your British friends--gloating!
3. Write a short story about a professional baseball player. Then, reveal it to be nothing but a young boy's daydream, suddenly shattered when he hits a baseball through a window. Or otherwise write an Independence Day-themed short story, interpret the theme "Glass," and submit it to the Flash Fiction Marathon!
2. Playing with explosives. Better, watch someone else play with explosives, stand in the crowd, and say to everyone near you, "These Chinese incendiary weapons sure are pretty, aren't they?"
1. Remember the sacrifices of our forefathers, and honor their bravery, their valor, and all the many deeds throughout our history, that have made our nation great, and afforded us the blessed freedom we enjoy.
 
0. If you're not an American--then spend the day as you would any other day! Happy Thursday! :D
 

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:




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Sanguine Goodbyes

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Dec 31 2012 · 96 views

And now that my reflections are over, how better for a writer to end a year than with a story? This is, in a way, a sequel to Polychromatic Frowns; it can be called such, at any rate, because it is of the same style. And so here it is, the last words I shall pen in 2012:
 
 

Sanguine Goodbyes

 
I lost the only girl I ever truly cared about today.
 
I gave her everything. I gave her all the time I could spare and all the help I could offer and all the love I could give. But it wasn't enough for her. I don't know what would have been and I don't know what more I could have done. She told me she was breaking up with me and I guess that's what she did.
 
But just look on the bright side of it all. Sure, I'll be upset for a while, but tears don't take up nearly as much time as phone calls at all hours to talk about so many things that by the time we were done I would have no idea what I was doing before she called, or than long walks that ache my legs and make my hand stiff from holding hers so long.
 
Sure, I'll never forget her, but memories don't cost as much as expensive dinners where the lights are so low you can hardly see your food without spilling spaghetti sauce down your front which of course doesn't matter because nobody can so you anyway; or gifts for birthdays or Christmases because even though it's superficial and mercenary commercial corruption makes it incumbent, which is so much as to say its absolutely necessary and can't be avoided, which doesn't matter because everyone does it.
 
I'm sure the pain--which feels like the anesthesia wore off in the middle of an operation and I woke up to find a surgeon with rough, cold hands and some very sharp, but very shiny and pretty in a way, object poking around my heart--will go away. And then I'll never be hurt again. At least not as much. I might fall down a staircase as I sometimes do or cut my finger while chopping vegetables or hit my thumb with a hammer, or I might even go skydiving and find my parachute was replaced with an anvil or I might get run over by a car whose driver is too busy texting to notice or I might get shot, but none of that hurts as much as this does, nor even does a paper cut.
 
And I guess I'll be spared of the jealousy I might someday have felt toward her because of her general perfection in every way from kindness to wisdom to shrewdness to effervescence to temerity to veracity to liberality to patience to optimism to humility and back to kindness and all over again two or three times.
 
And I'll never feel that sensation like there are a thousand monarch butterflies migrating south from my heart into my stomach again. At least not for her face, which was altogether too pretty, anyway. After all, she beauty was so peerless in all respects that staring at her would eventually have caused me to go blind, anyway, and I'm much better off seeing, I think.
 
And besides that, being with her made me so happy that eventually I would probably just burst with the joy, and that would be very messy and very unpleasant for us both and would have left her very sad and lonely in the end.
 
When you think about it, love is really a very impractical and very inconvenient thing and it should be far preferable to be all alone with nobody else to interfere between me myself and I. I'll be able to talk to myself all I want, because I do rather enjoy hearing myself talk. She always used to, too, but obviously she got tired of it, which I can't understand at all. But that's just another reason I'm better off now.
 
So you see, it really doesn't matter than she stabbed me in the heart--metaphorically speaking, of course, because if she had really stabbed me in the heart I would be dead and she would be in prison, or else lying to police detectives who she could probably outwit anyway. It really doesn't matter, as I was saying, that she turned what I expected to be a lovely evening into the most unpleasant and anguishing time I have ever spent, even the night I spent in the hospital because I had mistaken a bear trap for a hula-hoop or the time I had gotten into an elevator so hurriedly I had only one sleeve on and forgot to pull the other through the doors before they closed.
 
So you see, it really doesn't matter that she told me she thought we should see other people. She was probably right, because like I said before if we had stayed together I probably would have lost my vision with which to see anyone else or anything at all, which are mostly things I do like to see. It doesn't matter that she turned and walked away from me for what will probably turn out to be the last time. It's all for the better that I smiled and waved as she left, and called after her,
 
"At least I won't ever have to look at your beautiful face again, which was far too distracting, or listen to your dulcet voice, which in its inimitability took all the fun out of hearing ocean waves or singing birds. And at least I won't go blind or burst with happiness!"
 

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:




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The Year in Review

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Dec 31 2012 · 86 views

And now, my friends, the time has come to ponder what this past year has been to my life.
 
It has been one of the longest years of my life, and one of the most difficult, but I cannot call it the worst. Nor can I call it the best. It was not bad, and it was not great, but it was good. There are many things upon which I can look back with joy, and those which I can look back upon with remorse, as well. That's life, though.
 
I've changed so much in the past year. I guess that's what happens in twelve months. But these twelve months especially. Probably I've learned more in the past year than I ever have in the space of a year. Likely I have undergone more alteration than I ever have in such a period. Possibly all this is true. But of one thing I am sure: in this past year more than ever, I have ameliorated.
 
I look back at last January and I just feel like slamming my face into my desk. In fact, I think I will. Ouch. Okay, that's done.
 
Reading over my journal (something all writers should keep) I wonder who that fool could have been who wrote some of the thoughts there placed, in all their obtuseness, where they will forever have posterity in my memory. Hard as I may try to forget that time, I will always keep my idiocy there to remember. Oh, not that I was an cool dude, at any rate not much more than I am now. I am, in many ways, the same person I was then. When I look back at writing style, for instance, little has changed there, bar maybe a few improvements and perhaps even a few degradations--and little, I positively believe, tells more about a person than what they write and how they write it. But in one way I was very much a fool; in one way I made a mistake I have not yet been able to live down.
 
Now the subject is decidedly personal and I am sorry that I must be vague. I can but say that, some fifteen months ago, I wronged some one quite close to me. Be assured it's not nearly as serious as it sounds; only to me. Not even to they whom I have wronged, I think, does it matter as much as it does to me. I know this sounds illogical and probably does not make much sense; even if I elucidated the situation in minute detail you would still see it that way. Possibly you're right, but that can't change how I feel about what I've done, can it? Maybe I'm being irrational--no, I confess it, I am. But maybe this isn't the place for rationality.
 
Dispensing with these recondite adumbrations, I think I will pursue the more tangible thread of thought I have extricated from the tangle. Rationality: Is it really so important?
 
No, I don't think it is. What it comes down to, I think, is prudence. That seems to be the only ubiquitously foolproof answer to any question: prudence. Not reason exactly, not logic nor rationality, but the prudence to decide when and which of these to apply, or when to resort rather to one's faith, another's wisdom, or one's own heart.
 
To put it succinctly I will quote myself, or rather my intelligent friend Reise: "Though knowledge and logic may not always steer you right, faith and wisdom will never fail."
 
The greatest difficulty is in finding a complex solution to a simple problem. Maybe my difficulty is in looking for one. Maybe it is a simple solution I should be seeking!
 
But, well, that's neither here nor there, is it? That's all in the past. And what I am to do now--that's probably been boring you, has it not? It is my philosophy not to allow myself to be absorbed in what is done and unchangeable. For to do so is to forsake the opportunity to actively carve the future. When I make a mistake, I learn from it and move on. When I fall, I pick myself and keep walking.
 
I'll trip again, there's no doubt about that. It can't be helped! One of the most foolish things a person can do is to fear the future because it holds unpredictable hazards. These same people are usually the nostalgic types, too. To yearn what is lost and fear what is to come--this is absolute folly. Natural, perhaps, but folly. We must learn from the past; we must look to the future; but we must live in the moment!
 
This is New Year's Eve; a time to look back. So I allow myself the time to do so. Tonight will be a time to enjoy the moment. And tomorrow will be a day to look to the future! 
 

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:




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The Year in Review: Writing

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Dec 31 2012 · 96 views

The Year in Review: Writing
 
In brief calculation I have written upwards of fourty short stories during 2012, most of which were flash fiction, some of which climbed above five thousand words.
 
In the Jungle, which I assure you is not a songfic based off "Wim-o-weh," is my top choice for the best short story I wrote this year. As far as story, it has been compared to Beauty and the Beast and Hunchback of Notre-Dame, and I myself compare it to Tarzan of the Apes in an inverted way. As far as style, it's been complimented as containing some of my most beautiful prose, and I am much inclined to agree. But I'll stop patting myself on the back; you're welcome to judge for yourself, if you'd like. If not, I'll give you the brief synopsis: Hahli gets lost in the Le-Wahi jungle. But, oh, there's so much more to this BIONICLE romance, and it's sequel, I Am the Jungle. And I'm still patting myself on the back, aren't I? Heh, yeah, sorry.
 
Polychromatic Frowns was not only metaphorical, philosophical, and encouraging--at least to me--but I had a darn good time writing it, too. It's little over 500 words, so if you're feeling down, I think you would enjoy it. You don't have to review it or even comment on it.
 
What else did I write this year? Well, not much, I guess. Only a thirty thousand word novella--The Last Avatar--and two novels, one of eighty-five thousand words, the other of seventy thousand. These last are not available to read . . . yet. And lastly, I wrote twenty thousand wirds of a third novel this month.
 
Any regrets? . . . Nah, I think I'm pretty happy. I'm a writer, and I feel like one; I'm not only content with that, not only happy with it, not only satisfied, but I should say I'm pretty ecstatic about my passion.
 
"No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money." - Samuel Johnson
 
I think the entire Ambage will join me in agreeing that this is probably true. Although I might paraphrase . . .
 
"No creature but a lunatic ever wrote, except for lucrative remuneration."
 
Indeed. That about sums it up.
 

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:




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The Year in Review: Television

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Dec 31 2012 · 68 views

I don't watch much television, and this year has held little broadcast significance for me. However, those ways in which television was meaningful to me were especially meaningful, so I will make note of them.
 
This year I was introduced by my best friend to The Legend of Korra, with which I immediately fell in love. I began watching Avatar: The Last Airbender posthaste, and well before Korra had run its whole season I had beheld the grand spectacle that was the Last Airbender finale. This is a great television series that will always hold for me a meaning deeper in comparison to most shows for its connection with the aforementioned friend--the same friend, by the way, for whose birthday I wrote The Last Avatar. I advertise shamelessly.
 
Sherlock was recommended to me by the same friend, as it happens, though everyone else I know advocates the same opinion in its favor, and I don't find it difficult to see why. When it comes to mystery television I doubt if I've ever seen better. These are not "whodunits," which are my preference, but which are not in the vein of Doyle, anyway. I don't believe I've ever seen a very good television "whodunit" anyway, and I feel that maybe if they are not literary they are best avoided. But I digress. Sherlock, while being quite unique in its own right, while breathing a fresh and modern breath into the classic characters, also adheres surprisingly well to Doyle's original vision of his characters and stories, and the writers are well to be commended.
 
The Dick Van Dyke Show remains to be the best and greatest television show I have ever seen, not only for its transcendence in comedy, but for a simple love of the characters and the romantic relationship between Robert Petrie and his wife, Laura. This year has introduced me to a number of episodes I have never before seen, including "To Tell or Not to Tell," "Teacher's Petrie," and "Never Bathe on a Saturday," some of the best of the series.
 

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:




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The Book of the Dead

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Nov 04 2012 · 118 views

The Book of the Dead


The fading sunlight imbued the upper reaches of the bland gray stone with a gold tincture. The shadows stretched away from my window, as if running away from me.

I felt like shooting the sun. But I knew even I couldn’t make that shot.

Besides, it was behind me. I was peering across the crowded street to the rooftop garden where a young man lounged in his undergarments, reading a book. I hoped, for his sake, it was a good one, worthy of his final moments.

As I took out my gear and began setting up, I asked myself the question. If I was about to die, what book would I want to read? To Kill a Mockingbird? I laughed at the thought. There was irony in that.

Maybe a murder mystery. An Appointment with Death. One thing was certain, if I died, it would be with the grin of my last joke forever immortalized across my inert face.

Until it rotted. But that was life. And this was death.

I peered through the sight and lined up the cross-hairs. I had a perfect shot from here. Maybe I didn’t know my employer, but he sure knew what he was about. And all I needed to know was my job, the fact that my boss had money, and a few good jokes.

I waited. Through my binoculars I could tell he was nearly through with the novel. I wasn’t busy that night; I would give him time. I’d let him finish reading, then I’d kill him.

The sun disappeared and the shadows deepened. He moved only once, to turn on a light. Then he returned to his reading.

I wondered what book it was. I couldn’t make out the title. But I guess that didn’t matter. I was less curious why I was hired to kill him, but that didn’t matter either. Even if I was just a toy, the instrument in a stronger arm, I didn’t care.

I enjoyed what I did. That was all that mattered to me.

Oh, and the money. Yeah, the money. That, too.

Finally he turned the last page. His eyes roved down the page, though I couldn’t see them. Then he closed the book, closed his eyes, and leaned back, sated and smiling.

One of those books that left you feeling there was nothing more to life than that brief escape to fiction, I hoped. Because, for this fellow, there was nothing more to life.

I aimed. I pulled the trigger. And I packed up.

Time to pick up a check and then head to the bookstore.


Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:




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"Perseverance"

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Nov 01 2012 · 201 views

Every now and then, we all feel a little despondence. We lose hope or confidence and we feel down. Especially when we're about to tackle a daunting task, we all have our misgivings.

The specific thought that brings this all to mind is National Novel Writing Month. A lot of writers are dedicating themselves to the task of writing a hefty 50,000 words during the course of the ensuing month, and that is no simple task.

So for them, for anyone who needs a little inspiration, I offer this poem. It is actually a rewrite of a poem by Edgar Best, "It Couldn't Be Done." This version is by Edward Carp.


Perseverance


Somebody said it couldn't be done,
But he with a chuckle replied,
Maybe it couldn't, but I will be one,
Who'll never say 'No!' 'til I've tried."

So he buckled right in,
With a trace of a grin
On his face, if he worried he hid it.
And he tackled that thing that couldn't be done,

And he couldn't do it.



Yeah, you might want to look up that original. But I hope I helped. ;D

National Novel Writing Month writers, or anyone in general: Keep trying, keep persevering, and never lose hope!

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:




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Start Off Each Day With a Joke

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Oct 18 2012 · 153 views

Did you hear about the stick up on the bridge?

. . . No?

I wonder who threw it up there?

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:




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I Will Now and Forever Love You (written to the tune of I'll Make a Man Out of You)

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Sep 24 2012 · 124 views

So I had the song from Disney's Mulan stuck in my head, and suddenly in place of "how could I make a man out of you?" I started singing "how could I love any one but you?" And so the irresistible urge to rewrite the whole song to suit these lyrics struck me, and so here it is.

. . . I really have no excuse to give.

I've got news to tell you

So lend me your ears

Remember all the things

That I told you dear

You're the prettiest girl

I ever met

You're so sweet

And charming, too

How could I love any

one but you?

Tranquil as a garden

But aglow within

From the day I met you

Your heart was mine to win

Mine is yours and it

Will ever be

I have always loved you true

How could I love any

one but you?


Your splendor always caught
my breath

Only you who ever

knew me

Boy, was I a foolish mule

to let you go

Now that I have

got you back

I'll show you only

the true me

Just say Yes and I swear I'll

never say No


(I love you)

You're beautiful as

a glowing sunset

(I love you)

With all cadence

of a songbird's tune

(I love you)

With all the grace

of a prancing pony
Mysterious as the
dark side of the moon

Time is racing toward us

till you'll be my bride

Not very long to go now

till the knot is tied

From this day forth

and forevermore

Now until my life

is through

How could I love any

one but you?

(I love you)

You're beautiful as

a glowing sunset

(I love you)

With all cadence

of a songbird's tune

(I love you)

With all the grace

of a prancing pony
Mysterious as the
dark side of the moon

(I love you)

You're beautiful as

a glowing sunset

(I love you)

With all cadence

of a songbird's tune

(I love you)

With all the grace

of a prancing pony
Mysterious as the
dark side of the moon

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:




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A Day of Remembrance

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Sep 11 2012 · 99 views

Eleven years. Was it really that long ago? . . . And yet, was it truly so recent?

Eleven years. I was a mere child. I had no idea what was going on. It didn't affect me.

Now I look back, I recollect the memories of others; and I think. I wonder: What are we really remembering here?

An evil deed. A horrific tragedy. A good deed. A great wonder.

An evil deed. I won't delve into that. Iniquitous men sacrificed themselves for their beliefs; it's a twisted act of distorted heroism. But while there is a nobility in war, in fighting for your country, terrorism is an act of cowardice.

A horrific tragedy. People died--good people, bad people; but innocent people. But all life ends, after all. It was untimely and tragic, but I've never been one to lament for the dead. They've moved on to a better place. So let's dig a little deeper at the truly great things this day stands for.

A good deed. I recall the story of the plane that didn't hit its target; of the people who . They died not as villains, not as victims, but as heroes. Veritable, real-life heroes.

A great wonder. What really happened that day was not a falling apart but a pulling together. People died, but an army stepped forward; a tower fell, but a nation rose to the challange. What really happened was we proved, as we have proved time and again, that we are America, and that there is only one of us.

Eleven years. Eleven years of recovering, of pulling together, of falling apart; of generally doing what we always do, what we have always done. We are America; we're one great family. We have our disagreements, we may not always get along, at times we may find ourselves unable to stand one another; but when the going gets tough, we pull together, and we pull through. We are the United States. We share one heart, one destiny; one nation.

Eleven years ago many people were killed. They deserve their moment of silence, and I won't deny them that. The heroes, the victims; let's honor them all.

. . .


That day, eleven years ago, was a shadow. But shadows serve to prove that the light is truly there, and not a mere illusion.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:








Dramatis Personae

Nuile

A young man with his feet on the ground and his head in the sky, and an inclination to implement the occasional headstand.



Nuile, Wordsmith

Penman of a number of BIONICLE and Neopets short stories, as well as three epics, based respectively on the aforementiond and Avatar: The Last Airbender. This writer has also penned a full-length mystery novel, a work in progress pending final revisions and publication.

More than that, the BZPower League of Authors was his brainchild, which he has developed into the Ambage with the help of Velox, Cederak and 55555. This refuge and practice arena for writers is open to all with a penchant for the literary arts.



Nuile, Bibliophile

For him to select a favorite book, or a favorite writer, would be impossible. But of the latter, he most admires Dame Agatha Christie, Wilkie Collins, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Harper Lee, C.S. Lewis, Edgar Rice Burroughs and Sinclair Lewis. Favorite books he includes in this chart:

To Kill a Mockingbird (Harper Lee)

The Moonstone (Collins)

Murder on the Orient Express, Death in the Clouds, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, The Clocks (Christie)

The Hound of the Baskervilles, The Lost World (Doyle)

Out of the Silent Planet (C.S. Lewis)

Free Air (Sinclair Lewis)

The Bat (Hopwood and Rinehart)

The Nine Tailors (Sayers)



Nuile, Cinéaste

This fellow thinks the world begins and ends with Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows. Before its birth, however, he confesses that Sam Raimi and David Koepp's Spider-Man, Christopher Nolan and David S. Goyer's Batman Begins, the Indiana Jones series, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Mary Poppins were films more than worthy of watching.



Nuile, Television Viewer

The Dick Van Dyke Show by far surpasses any television show produced prior or hence. Father Knows Best, Leave it to Beaver and The Andy Griffith Show are excellent series from a similar time frame. MacGyver is hard to beat. Diagnosis Murder, Monk and Murder, She Wrote are his favorite mystery series. In animation he most enjoys Avatar: The Last Airbender and its sequel; Batman: The Animated Series alongside Batman Beyond and The Batman; Phineas and Ferb, one of the most creatively funny cartoons he has ever seen.



Nuile, Cuisinier

Asian and Italian foods may be his enthusiasms, but he's not above a juicy burger or a spicy taco. As far as his own cooking, he oft gets more adventurous than his family appreciates, though when he behaves he can conjure a reason for your taste buds to celebrate. By far his favorite meal: Thanksgiving 2011, consisting of Paula Dean's Indian Succotash, Grean Bean Casserole, Orange Corn Bread, Bacon Roasted Brussel Sprouts, Coconut Biscuits, and Mashed Cauliflower and Potatoes.



Nuile, Musicologist

He pleads guilty to sheer ignorance, unworthy even of being called an amateur in this department. But dramatic scores and profound lyrics top his charts. The Impossible Dream from The Man of La Mancha and I Can Go the Distance as performed by Michael Bolton are cited as his two favorite songs, amidst much of Celtic Thunder's work.



Nuile, Gamer

Disney's Epic Mickey, the Kingdom Hearts series, and the Pokémon series are the only video games he considers worthy of notation.



Nuile, Sportsman

As fast on his feet as he is between the ears, he enjoys games of muscle and of strategy. Physically, he likes most to play football; but nothing beats a game of chess in his book.

The Art of Writing

It is my belief that a writer should be above human emotions, desires, vices, flaws; a writer should be almost superhuman, something like a monk. However, like monks, this is not an attribute that comes naturally, rather an ability that must be worked at.

More tangibly, one of the most important characteristics a writer can possess is tenacity. An artist's life is never an easy one. An artist presents themself to the world, and ineluctably there will be critics alongside the fans. But anyone who knows real love won't let it be quelled by what others think. Never give up, never despond. So maybe nobody's perfect; I'm not, and I never will be. But an artist, like a monk, is one who always strives to improve her- or himself, who never ceases to reach for the unreachable. Every amelioration is an achievement. And every day a writer achieves something merely by writing, for every word written is a word toward amelioration. If you are good, you can always be better; if you are great, you can always be greater.

What matters most for writers is that they take pride in their own own work. Ultimately your biggest fan and your biggest critic is yourself, and that's who you have to please the most. No artist truly passionate about their art does what they do for someone's approval or just to get paid. At the heart of every artist is a person who does what they do because they love to do it. I'm an artist; I'm a writer. I don't stop trying to get better, I don't stop striving for perfection--but I enjoy every step of the amelioration process, I appreciate every improvement, and I am always happy with where I am, yet always be eager about where I'm going. Writing is a journey with no destination. Writing is a quest without end. Writing is spiritual nomadism.

And it's not easy. It's frought with difficulty, trouble, disappointment, and grief--but a journey without end gives its reward not in the destination but in every step of the path.

Yet I have not even touched upon just what a writer is; which is because a writer, simply put, is everything. A writer is an artist, but also a psychologist, and a logician, a philosopher, a scientist, an adventurer, an inventor, a politician, a magician, and multitudinous others. A writer is everything because they write about everything. "Write what you know"; that's not the rule I live by. "Know what you write," that's my creed. Writers know a little about everything, and everything about a little. And when they don't know . . . they read!

That's a writer's life. It's the kind of life I love. It's a wonderful gift. A writer's life is the kind of life I live and always will live. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

September 2014

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Quotations

"The problem with putting two and two together, is that sometimes you get four, and sometimes you get twenty-two." - Sam Spade, The Maltese Falcon (Dashiell Hammett)

 
 


 
 

"Virtue is the truest nobility." - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote

 
 


 
 

"Our greatest foes, and whom we must chiefly combat, are within." - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote

 
 


 
 

"We derive our vitality from our store of madness." - E. M. Ciran

 
 


 
 

"Cultivate a superiority to reason and see how you pare the claws of all the sensible people when they try to scratch you for your own good!" - Wilkie Collins, The Moonstone

 
 


 
 

"Though knowledge and logic may not always steer you right, faith and wisdom will never fail." - Me, Stellar Quest

 
 

"I'm like an old golf ball--I've had all the white paint knocked off me long ago. Life can whack me about now and it can't leave a mark. But a sportin' risk, young fellah, that's the salt of existence. Then it's worth livin' again. We're all gettin' a deal too soft and dull and comfy. Give me the great wastelands and the wide spaces, with a gun in my fist and somethin' to look for that's worth findin'." - Lord John Roxton, The Lost World, (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)

 
 


 


 
 
 

"Why does man create? Is it man's purpose on earth to express himself, to bring form to thought, and to discover meaning in experience? . . . Or is it just something to do when he's bored?" - Calvin, Calvin and Hobbes

 
 


 
 

"Sometimes I think books are the only friends worth having." - Susie Derkins, Calvin and Hobbes

 
 


 
 

"Mother Nature never shocks me." - Melvin Coolie
"It sure must've shocked your father and mother!" - Buddy Sorrell, The Dick Van Dyke Show

 
 


 
 

"Hey, I know what that is! That's one of those old creamation urns, they put the ashes inside." - Rob Petrie
"Ugh! I wouldn't be caught dead in one of those." - Buddy Sorrell, The Dick Van Dyke Show

 
 


 
 

"I wish I was one of those Danish doctors." - Rob Petrie
"How would that help?" - Laura Petrie
"Well, it wouldn't, except I'd be in Denmark instead of here." Rob Petrie, The Dick Van Dyke Show

 
 


 
 

"What's the big deal? Lots of people have insomnia, and you don't see them losing any sleep over it!" - Grandpa, The Munsters

 
 


 
 

"Anyone who sees a psychiatrist ought to have their head examined!" - Darrin Stevens, Bewitched

 
 


 


[9:26:46 PM] Aimee: it is so adorable how authors have favorite authors
[9:27:25 PM] Andrew P: You're an author. You have favorite authors. =P
[9:27:39 PM] Aimee: yes and i get to talk to them on skype all day

- A Geste of the Ambage Chat
 

Awards

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Some random air-head decided to be pompous and condescending and "honor" me with his approbation. I guess there's a pride of some sort in being recognized by the mentally unsound. It makes me feel special--or weird, one of those two. Thanks, Tekulo!