Explanation for the madness

Writing opportunties and advice from yours truly

For any writer you may feel at times like you are standing alone on a rock off the coast of a jagged shore. The water is turbulent and it is constantly crashing at the limestone under your feet with the fury of raging bull. You may wonder how much longer this weak stone can continue to hold you up. And what are you doing here anyway? You are standing here making things on paper forming and shaping these creations that you feel are art. You spend hours and hours creating this thing which is to you a magical wonderful world, it is a glimpse of something more from inside you. This art, this magnificent creation, you set it upon the water and it sinks slowly before you. It disappears below the surface like it never was at all. You realize what you did wrong. You know you can do better so you start all a new. Sometimes it is reworking the same idea and sometimes it is an all new creation. Whatever this may be the result is always the same.

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Columbus life week two

My home is a hobbit hole in the ground buried into the far right corner of a labyrinth. I'm serious the twists and turns of the Fox and Hound apartments are easy to get lost within. There are hidden surprises like a clear swimming hole, running wheels and stones to lift so you might increase your strength and agility. There is also a gathering place where you'll find machines filled with various cakes and snacks easily taken with you on any adventures you my take on. And maybe there are some stinky monster dumpsters and maybe a brave dog in passing off to run some quest thanks to the aid of his loyal human so pathetically dim witted he must follow along tied to his dog champion by a string.

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Neil Gaiman speaking event in Lexington Kentucky

And there was Neil Gaiman the ineffably cool best selling author who I'd been reading since I was a teenager. Someone who's work I really respect and admire. He was going through the stack of books fairly quickly people were just sort of breezing past him and I thought to myself; you have to say something to him. Don't just breeze by say something. And so he came to my books and I opened my mouth a out spilled words like I'd been choking on water. I spoke very quickly I told him I really love all his work and comic books and everything and I'd been reading his stuff for a really long time and I think he's just great. I said it in one massive slur that he probably did not even understand. Then something surprising happened. He stopped what he was doing and looked up at me. His hand stopped moving mid signature and he seemed to be genuinely noticing my existence. I handed him my Melancholy Evil Poptart and I told him; "This is a stupid webcomic I did and at least I can say I gave it to you." He looked at it and said "Now what is this?" He asked me a question and I had to explain. I told him it started as a comic book in middle school me and my friends passed around and now this is about us all grown up and him trying to find meaning in life. I warned him that it was really depressing. He looked at the cover and said "I'll read this... Melancholy Evil Poptart" He seemed to find humor in the title. He shook my hand. He fucking shook my hand and I felt far more acknowledgement than I'd ever expected from going to this event.

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The past week and my life in Columbus Ohio

The party that night was fun. I’ve developed a habit of staying up until the break of dawn with the boys. There were fireworks of Illegal quality, ducks (I’m serious Sullivan’s family has pet ducks) a pack of seven little yapping dogs who bite and snap at your ankles anytime you walk across the living room floor, smoked deer meat, beer, sparklers, meat loaf baked into zucchini, and an orange cay named Tommy.

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I don't want to come off as an asshole when I say I've never given a shit about the fourth of July but that's basically what I'm saying here. I like BBQ's and sparklers and seeing my friends. I like smores, bonfires and beer. I cannot say however that I have ever truly associated any of these activities as a celebration of America. I realize that is supposed to be the purpose however it has never been heavily present in my mind. If anything my favorite part of Fourth of July is getting fireworks illegally from out of state. My favorite part of this holiday celebrating my country is breaking the law?

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Second to last Waffle Tuesday

And today was my second to last waffle Tuesday. Two weeks left is creeping in, seeping in, sinking in with heavy gravitational weight. So sudden I desperately want to see all my people and do everything I can before I go. Weekends are already booked and pushed and crammed into every free second I have. Weekdays I’m still charting, mapping, leaving open to the wind and getting an idea of best course to sail. I am resisting the expensive urge to go out each and every night I have left.

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A little over a weekend

I have this thing I like to call Summer Fever. It's this anxiety that sinks into your skin with the heat of the sun. It warms up your bloodstream to boiling which will cloud your vision and cause your brain to pulse in its skull shell. This fever is a need to get out, a need to be out, an undeniable craving for fun. Last summer this fever got the better of me and I got in some trouble. This year I'm trying to get a handle on it, but at least so far I'm not the only one infected. I took pictures and enjoyed nature all by myself. I find it better for observing better for reflecting when you go all alone. This last month in Dayton for me is filled with silent goodbyes. I know I won’t be far and I know that I’ll be back, but I’d like to better appreciate and remember the places and people I’ve taken for granted. It was sprinkling in a cooling summer haze as we drove home. Raindrops fat splatter on the ground far and few between. Quickly absorbed by the thirsty dry soil they leave no evidence behind.

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4 a.m.
26 May

4 a.m.

Anyway I find myself on the second album listening to The Nightmare of Lady DaDa. It's a little 80's feeling but I really like the distant scream you hear for the last quarter of the song. It's like when you hear something so far away from yourself and you don't know if it's a distant siren, a child screaming or simply the wind. So of course I jump clear out of my skin, splattering blood all over the interior of his car, when he reappears at the driver side door.

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New style trial with cats

What: Thanks to the cat in my lap I now have to lean awkwardly over my keyboard. It kinda hurts my wrist to type but I could never refuse this boy

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It’s been a while 5/21/2013

Hi, As of my last post I said that I wanted to change the focus of this blog. I still plan to do that. For now I have been focusing on finishing Melancholy Evil Poptart. I think the Kateelore.com site can focus on the Web-comics for now as the blog decides what it wants to be. I feel I should explain to you that I originally wrote Melancholy Evil Poptart over two years ago. At that point in time I...

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