Friday finally

My back has been killing me at work.  I'm much better now that I'm home.

I had a conversation with one of the older men at work, Steve, about having to stand and bend over a table for 8 hours a day.  It's bad enough my wrists and fingers usually hurt from computer use at home and at work, and I had a bum foot for a while after having to run around on a hard concrete for three days straight, but now my back is being affected as well.  I was just fine for a while, but slowly all these things are taking it's toll on my body.  I'm sure people in more strenuous work would call me a whiner, and even the GM of our building has told Steve that "Standing makes you more productive, if I give you chairs you wont do as much work".  If you gave us chairs we wouldn't be straining your health insurance (not that I've used it yet).

Work aside, I'm worried about my school work.  I feel like maybe I've let a few deadlines slip away (minor participation activities, nothing big like a test), and although I did the assignments it was too late.  I may end up with a lower grade than I really want in one of the two classes I'm in this semester, and the only one of which actually counts towards my GPA.  This is only my second semester in school, making for a total of five classes once spring term in done, and I'm already doubting my direction and dedication to my education.  It's horrible.  I have only myself to blame for not succeeding.  My sister is taking nursing classes, some of the subject matter boggles my mind, and how she does that plus going to work full time, plus she's a mother of twin boys... yet I can't get through a measly five classes since Fall '11.  What is wrong with me and is this really what I want?  I'm acting like it's not.  I need to man the fuck up if this is really what I want to do.

I just tried calling my family in Australia for the first time since I got the news of my dad's death on the 12th.  I waited 11 days, and when I called I think they hung up on me.  I had a sudden realization about the time difference as the phone was ringing, and once the person on the other end hung up on me I did a quick google  search for "What time is it in Alice Springs?"  It's barely 8am Saturday over there right now.  Oops.  I'll wait until later tonight and call with my apologies, if they haven't already blocked my number.

I've been hosting a somewhat of a sad little thing I call "Drawing night" on Thursdays.  So far it's just 2 to 3 other people that come over and doodle to their hearts content the various things that pop in their head.  It's not entirely the exciting art club I had hoped for but it's something, and it's allowing me to be social.  The times I feel social are very few and far between, so having a couple people over and sharing some food and laughs and showing each other the crap we just drew is nice.

I'm no artist, I don't believe anyway.  I'm a hobbyist, if anything.  I've only sold 2 paintings in my entire life, no one's ever paid me for the photography I've done.  I was paid once for a baby shower cake.  That's a total of 3 whole things my whole life which I created that I was compensated for.  I am no artist.  I'm certainly no illustrator or cartoonist.  I only wish I could be.

I read an interview from the incredible artist Phil Noto about going to art school.. He basically said that while it's not necessarily for everyone, it gave him the structure he needed to become an artist.  That's been stuck in my brain.  Do I want art school?  How can I be this far into my life and STILL not know what the fuck I want to do with my remaining years, what little there may be?

Yet another change

I've decided once again to take up this thing called blogging.  Mainly to use this as some sort of journal, whether it me daily or weekly, I'm not sure.

It will be one week today that my father has died.  Thinking back, I realized that there were so many lessons to be learned from him during our infrequent visits, but for the most part I could not recall them.  I remember the good times, and some of the bad.  Luckily I was too young to remember the truly bad times he and my mother had before they split up, I was still just a baby when they did.  My sister does, though.  She has memories of him I will never have, good and bad.  I miss him so much, and feel like I'll never get to have a million opportunities with him.  We will not grow old together, but he will live on in my heart.  Today is going to be hard, though admittedly less hard than the past week has been.  I feel so badly for my step mother, but I don't have the heart to call and check up on her just yet.  Each passing moment I don't feels like a thorn in my side.  I'm a coward.  I don't think she ever accepted me or my sister, but she's a grown woman obviously, and there is no black and white there.  My step brothers should be with her by now, and just as it's been their whole relationship, my sister and I are not.  I want her to reach out to us, just as much as I want to grow the courage to reach out to her.  I just can't yet.

I've started this again to catalog my life, or attempt to.. because now with the passing of my father I'm afraid to lose even more lessons I could have learned.  I'm afraid when time comes, and I lose others, I will not have the memories to reminisce on.  I feel horribly guilty that my memory is terrible, and I wish I could remember more about the times with my dad.  More stories and more lessons I could hold onto.  Instead I turn to writing them down in hopes that one day I will look back and say "Ahhh, I do remember that!"

Here's to the memories!

On the topic of things that have happened today, I was able to get the novelty account on reddit called Shitty_Watercolour to paint a picture of my dad on his bike in Australia.  It was fantastic.

I forgot to mention that my dad had hair, but it is amazing none the less.  Thank you random novelty reddit account!

Somewhere in the middle.

Let me start out by saying this is a little embarrassing for me to share.  It's something I've always kept to myself, almost ashamed of the childishness of my own writing.  I think now I'm ready to share what I do.

This piece lands somewhere in the middle of this character's story line.. I decided not to offer much of an explanation as to what kind of world this story is written for.  I want it to explain itself, so I apologize if it feels like you're missing huge pieces of the story.

While this excerpt story is a solo work, some of this story line involving was a collaborative effort with a few internet partners (a text based role playing).  I will not include their writing when I post my stories.

This was written during the Summer of 2010.  Excuse the lack of editing, it's a little messy.

Chelsea, London...

“I want to draw you a picture, Jules.” The man held his hands out in front of him, palms toward one other. Jules, sitting across from him, rested back into a black micro suede arm chair just watched with his mouth tightly pressed closed and his brow nestled firmly down on his face.

“I want you to imagine our operation, your job, this place, expanding.. With.. well, infinitely!” His hands swooped around in front of him like he was conjuring some miraculous picture, but Jules only held on to the words instead of the intended visual prestige.

“You. Us. Your mother. Your father, Jules. Everyone, huh? You’ll be fine. Your children will be taken care of. Your mother will live as a queen, your father will be.. the ehm.. The prince of Fulham, yeah?” Jules just continued to watch with a stern but flimsy understanding. He resisted the urge to tap his foot as to not appear impatient with the man’s explanation. Jules wanted desperately for him to get on with his story, to get to the point already.

He continued to explain with broken sentences. Grasping anything he could to inspire confidence in his young protege. He explained that “this side of the pond” had a very limited range for their particular interests. That if they could “erm, cross the pond, yeah?” they could expand their kingdom, and would never have to worry about well, anything.

Jules felt only excited because this man, this supposed mentor that he’d be assigned to the past six months, he seemed so excited and he didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Are these the Magistrate’s plans, Sir Dugan?” Jules finally spoke. His voice a gravely whisper that matched his reserve. He could tell Dugan’s expression changed, frantic at the notion.

“Don’t worry about them, my boy!” The sweat beaded. “This.. this yeah, Yes! This is what he would want.. once I convince him, you see.” There it was. The young Jules finally saw the picture. Dugan was desperate, and Jules confidence plummeted suddenly to match his mentor’s panic.

“Is there something you should be telling me, Dugan? I mean, if there’s something wrong, the council should know.”

“No no no no, m’boy. No no no. NO. no.” Jules felt anxious, and embarrassed for the man. Dugan was lying for the first time since he met him. Or at least his lying was fully apparent now more than ever.

“Well. Sir Dugan.” Jules smokey voice hung in the air a moment. “I’m being sent to America for.. other reasons.” And Dugan responded quickly with a pained, hurried nod and a wipe of the sweat from his tall forehead. Jules tried the best he could to be gentle on the man. His meal ticket was leaving the country in less than two days. His future, in the hands of the council at this point. He failed, and this was his last attempt at gaining a solid foot hold else where. Dugan will not be cleared to leave the country, nor will he be allowed to expand his operations overseas. Jules knew this. Dugan knew this, and he was terrified. “I’m sorry, Sir Dugan. I mean, I can’t do anything for you, mate. I have my orders. I shouldn’t even be here. Talking to you right now.”

Jules pressed his hands firmly against the arms of the chair and was stopped midway while getting up. Dugan lept to his feet and pressed his hand against the lapel of Jules’ suit. “Don’t go yet, m’boy. You’ve got to toss me a line, here. Have you forgotten what I’ve done for you? I’ve taken you in and taught you the ropes, boy.” His tone became rash and tempered. The anger in his eyes grew as the tears welled up around them. His face became a darker shade of red as he tried to stand over his younger and intimidate him.

Any sense of empathy he had for the man and his uncertain fate washed away. He stood up against the pressure of the man’s hand to his chest and crowded Dugan back down into his own chair. Jules leaned, bringing his face close down to Dugan’s but he remained composed, though his voice, deep and raspy before, took on a distinct level of seriousness that was unmistakable. “Listen here, you bloated old bag. You’ve done nothing for me, hm? Nothing. If anything, you only taught me which council members I could steal from. If you want to keep your fingers, you’ll retire quietly with whatever sentence they give you. Frankly...” He stood up and straightened his tie, still looking down his nose at the man. “The elder that assigned you as my mentor should be stripped naked and tossed in the Thames. You’re washed up, Dugan. I appreciate the hard work you tried to show. But this was your last chance, old mate. You failed.”

Jules turned heel and walked out the long hall to the entrance way, leaving the man in a sad simpering pile, crumpled with his head in his hands. The front desk he passed on his way out was empty. The receptionist that was once there, now long gone. On to better things, he hoped. Poor girl.

_____

The Malleus Maleficarium. The Hammer of Witches. Jules stood before the embossed glass pedestal that held the original script of the centuries-old text. Just before the Elizabethan witch hunts, several texts began popping up on the subject of Witchcraft and Devil Worship; How to identify and destroy these heathens.

Ha! Jules chuckled the first time he heard the correlation, which was at a very young age. Witchcraft and Devil Worship. The sodding nerve of these people. He remembered his mother having to post-pone the lecture in the vaulted ceiling ball room that doubled as a vast and cold class room for the students. He was reprimanded in the foyer, still choking tears back between fits of laughter.

“Do they really think we worship the devil, mum? Were they all mad back then?”

“Practically, cherub.” But Annabelle had to hold her authority over her giggling son. “People still think poorly of us, and some for good reason. Things are changed now, dear.” She straightened his vest and lead him back into class.

Standing in front of the ancient text book now, Jules wiped his dry cheek of phantom laughter tears and stared intently into the glass case below his hands. If there was anything he wished he could have accomplished for the Magistrate, it would have been to retrieve this text himself. This book caused endless suffering for their kind centuries ago. There was an inner struggle, as he stood and waited, as to whether he would have turned it in, or burned it ceremoniously out of respect. Just to be rid of something so nefarious, something that fueled unspeakable atrocities against his kin; That would be the greatest satisfaction.

It was under close watch now, locked away under bullet proof, weather tempered glass. Protected from elements and from thoughts similar to Jules own. He turned and his eyes surveyed quickly over the room around him, various other cases on stands, each holding their own treasure, surrounded the perimeter of the great room. Niches along the wall held weapons, tapestries depicting all manner of events, both important to the blood lines and the mundane tasks of previous “wise women” as they were once called, artifacts of various interest to the entire council. He stood in the Magistrate’s own personal museum where the Malleus is the focal point. The value in this room alone was too astronomical even for Jules to fathom.

“Come now, mate.” The sudden booming voice of a rather large, black clothed body guard beckoned from massive gilded doors. Light drenched the room behind him leaving only the silhouette for Jules to squint toward as he began the echoing trek across the room. He knew the man as Beetle, one of the Magistrate’s closest goons.

“All right, Beetle?” He offered a nod to the man, and was giving one in return as he passed through the doors. They were closed quickly behind him and he was left in the sun filled office, a rare sight in London this time of year.. or any time of year for that matter.

An unlit, soot streaked fireplace lay to his right and a contemporary glass desk with brass embellishments to his far left. The Magistrate himself sat behind it, a laptop closed before him, framed in a massive piece of Baroque art on the wall behind him. His hands remained folded, half covering a devilish grin as he waited for Jules.

“My finest and brightest, Jule Prentice! Please, come sit and let’s have a chat.” The man’s face was genuinely happy to greet the boy, and he used the correct pronunciation of Jules name. He was one of the two that called him by his true name: The Magistrate and Jules grandfather.

“What can I do for you, Sir?” Jules sat into a wing-backed antique chair with modern upholstery. It’s twin sat empty beside him.

“Straight to business then, Young Prentice? I see. Well. You leave tomorrow, yes?” Jules responded with a quick bow of his head and he mimicked the Magistrate’s hand gestures by folding them in front of his face. “As you know, or may not know,” He watched the young man apprehensively. “The Proctors of Massachusetts have suffered severe losses in their family over the past few years. First the death of your father’s second cousin, I believe. Then the tragic loss of the young master to grief and madness.” Jules continued to listen patiently, knowing all this, these were the pretenses under which he was told he’d be sent to US. There was an understanding that the family may require an extra hand to balance their home amidst such great sorrow. There was little rationality behind it as far as Jules was concerned, he was not a butler or an accountant, not even a handyman. He had little idea with what he should do for them. “My boy, you see. There’s more than just the issue of a few lost souls, but in fact something much more grand may be lost and I’d like you to retrieve it.”

This was a language Jules could understand. “Why have you waited to tell me this, Sir? I was told I’d be consoling a grieving family, that they are blood and it was important for me to know these people.” Jules gravel voice asked calmly as to not anger the man before him. Few could question his motives and get away with their dignity. It was obvious the questions raised a bit of irritation in the Magistrate, but the moment passed. He found extreme patience when it came to Jules Prentice, unbeknownst to many as to not show favoritism.

“You’re quite right. But. They are your blood, after all. Any other reasons for your stay in America will be kept strictly between you and I. Just know this, young master. This will be unlike anything you’ve ever hunted down for me before. I can assure you that.”

_____

Jules left the Magistrate’s building in a haze. There was a moment he stopped outside the swinging glass doors on the sidewalk and wiped his forehead. He still hadn’t received any solid information. Now he just knew that not only was this a matter of duty to his family but this will also be a matter of his professional advancement in the eyes of the council. If he could track down this item, or whatever it may be, the Magistrate promised Jules would become his first choice for anything high stakes in the future.

The idea was enticing, and Jules rode in the limo back to Fulham from Chelsea that night in dead silence. He would double check his luggage when he got home, making sure he had all the right paper work for his trip to the States.

Jules night was restless, and he left first thing in the morning for the airport.

A little change of format

I've decided to turn this little blog into a platform for my fiction writing rather than a dump for random things I create otherwise.

From now on, I hope, this blog will contain either short stories or snippets of my on going episodic stories that I write with partners on the internet. Anything before this post will be left simply to keep and remember.


My goal is to maybe draw some readers in with my stories. To gain attention and finally take credit for the things that I write rather than allow my pseudonym to get all the attention for the writing I've done.

Thanks for reading?

First webcomic!

I drew my first webcomic this weekend. With inspiration from the r/trees community on reddit. It's for the ents in my life, and those fighting for awareness of a simple yet vastly versatile plant. Enjoy.

Storm in the evening.

Maybe I should just try to draw more instead. Or sculpt. This is what gets me in trouble. I do a little of one, and want more of the others.

One day I'll get a handle on how to manage time between these things. I even have a new idea for a few stencils, too. One stencil idea I had was to contribute to the Keanu meme floating around reddit at the moment.




This is a quick sketch for next months baby shower cake. This cake should be pretty adorable. I need to make a trip to babies-r-us and take a few close ups of the bedding they told me about so I can get the little animals just right.

Pour one out.

I've been trying to take more photos lately. I've slipped from one of my passions. I could easily drop all the others I have acquired to gain this one back again.



We received some bad news about a co-worker/great guy this morning. He succumbed to the cancer he was battling for two years.
Victor was incredibly funny, easy going, constantly cheerful even when he was in pain. He'll be greatly missed by many many people. My heart goes out to his family and what must be a ton of friends this genuinely positive man must have made along the way.
When he was in the office, he'd go to lunch with us as often as possible. For some reason we ended up going to BW3's more often than not. Tonight we went to B-Dubs for dinner, minus the company of such a cool guy.

It was too humid to hike this weekend.

But we had a nice day at the parents' house. Third photo is where Jake is buried in my mom's backyard.

mini update

I have no pictures to offer today, although I have been working on my projects. 

Mostly it is a pro bono that I'm doing for my sister's twin boys.  I'm currently painting a Star Wars mural across their bed room walls.  It's going to consist of several of the main ships from the original 3. As well as the more important planets in the Star Wars universe.  I would say I'm about 60% done with the room so far.  I can't wait until it's finished, I'll get to set up my tripod and camera and attempt a panoramic of the thing in it's entirety.  Should be great.

I do have a few more things lined up for this coming month as well as July.  A co-worker has asked me to photograph her wedding on July 10th.  Then I also have a cake due for a baby shower on July 24th.

Decorating cakes has been something I've never been paid to do, this will be the first.  I'm still not sure what to charge, as it's for a cousin's friend.  Family discount?  I read somewhere that charging 3-4 times the cost of materials is a reasonable rate for a cake for family.  But even then, with cost of fondant, mix, icing, food coloring, 3-4 cost of materials will be in the 100+ dollar range.  That seems too much to me, but after all it's my first time.

I'm also hoping to have my work bench finished by next month, so I may have a few furniture pieces under my belt.  I have several ideas, including a redesign of an old gamer chair that I'd like to basically give legs so it sits higher up off the ground.

Even though I have very little to share today, I felt the need to post because it was a beautiful day. We're winding down after a wonderful afternoon in the sun, and dinner at my parent's house.  The dogs are napping (they're obviously so tired from sleeping all day), the husband is in the other room laying prone and surfing Reddit no doubt, and here I am posting the second of what may be many official blog entries to document my creative process.

Enjoy your days.

-Aske.