I’ve got new responsibilities at my job, which includes a little, very little, extra money. I’m writing content for my boss’s multitude of web sites. I’m getting paid to write. I guess that’s a good thing, but it’s not exactly fun stuff. It takes energy from creative writing. I’ll need to find a way to balance the two. In other news, I’ve made a huge breakthrough on the creative writing front. There’s a full story-arc, planned and ready. I just need to write it down. In the mean while I still make my living drawing caricatures. Here’s a recent one.
Hopefully, I can get back to blogging and creative writing while still writing articles for my job. With a little luck I’ll write another post soonish.
It’s been a while. I mean we’ve been talking constantly but I haven’t updated my blog. I’ve been busy. Which is good and bad. I think I might have to give something up. Won’t be my blog though. ( The stuff I write needs to get published somewhere.) I know what I want to cut through.
I meant to get really into political cartooning, after all, there is plenty of material. Strangely enough, that ends up being the problem. There’s too much material. In order for a political cartoon to have the most punch it needs to be relevant in the moment it’s read in my opinion. Relevance does not last long in the current climate. News that happened an hour ago will be overshadowed by something that happens an hour from now. Art on that kind of schedule is hard, so I think I can let it go and not feel too bad. I won’t give up writing about politics it from time to time. I may draw a political idea, but I will focus on concepts that are important for more than a few moments.
I’m still learning, still drawing, still writing, still doing and that is the important thing.
We’ll talk gain soon,
There is a story in my head that wants out and if I don’t get it out it will make me a little crazy. To avoid insanity these past couple of weeks I found myself writing, or rather, trying to write. Writing is annoying and hard, but I still do it and I’ve discovered something.
I find my writing process has more in common with a blacksmith working with iron than anything else. My ideas collect and pool together, heating up in the fires of my brain. Purifying and distilling themselves. I pour off the impurities keeping the best parts of my idea. At least, I like to think that happens. I’m sure plenty of dross sticks around. I dump it out of my head and on to the page. Hoping to mold it into a general shape. And then beat the crap out of it and try shape it and sharpen it into something presentable, getting burned, banged and bruised in the process.
Someone should have warned me. My lit and writing teachers never mentioned this. I bet it’s easier wrestling metal into submission than my jumbled thoughts. At the very least I would get a useful object out of it, instead of a random piece of writing about writing.
Despite the disasters, natural and man-made, recent or on going, Vegas keeps rolling along. This city offers a very unique brand of escapism and sometimes that’s exactly what is needed. In my tiny way I get to help with that. For a moment, when I reveal my caricature to the customers everything falls away. It’s just them, laughing at a silly picture of themselves. Just for a second there’s nothing else going in the world at all. All is Right.
Enough the the vaguely melancholy. On to the silly.
This week I was working on a witch for a Halloween themed sample drawing and the lady in the hat comes up to me and says, “I want to be on a broom!” I was happy to oblige. Her daughter joined her for the drawing They weren’t the most sober customers I’ve had, but the were certainly a lot of fun.
Someone better would have handled things differently. Someone smarter would have known exactly what to do. He was only who he was, so he just did the best he could.
So when the gun shots rang out he didn’t have a better plan.
He just shielded her body with his.
It was the best he could do.
* * *
I live in Las Vegas. It’s been a week, give or take a few hours, since a guy decided open fire on thousands of people at a concert. I want this to be the last time. I had friends at the event and while I didn’t loose anyone I know a few folks who did. I don’t know what I can do. However, I do know that to do nothing is wrong. I’ve had this bit of flash-fiction (maybe non-fiction) kicking around my head for a while, so I decided to drop it here. That’s not the end of it for me, just the end of me posting about it.
One more thing. Don’t get hung up on the pronouns. They are just stand-ins, generic terms. Use the ones are correct for you.
I truly hope no one ever has to find out who the heroes are in their lives this way.