#82: Writing Posts In Advance

So I have discovered that Blogger allows you to schedule posts in advance. So that's what I'm doing. And it makes me happy. Oh so happy. Because now I won't have any excuses (at all, mind you) for not doing one on time (or at least having it look like I didn't do one on time).

In fact, this post was written and ready for publication to the general public on January 29, even though it was published February ??. I find that extremely awesome. And I believe I have that right.

In other news, J.D. Salinger died last Wednesday (it feels so weird to be writing this two days after his death, in the same week). And for those of you who have read some of my previous posts (or the select and special few who will go back and read every single on of my posts after you finish reading this one), the serial that I wrote on Monday, The Man Bartók, is somewhat inspired by J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye (of course). So yeah. It's almost kind of personal for me now that he's died. I almost care. Not that I knew the man, or was aware that he was alive until the announcements of his death came out. But now that he's dead, I feel some slight feeling of what might be the beginnings of sadness if made ten times stronger.

I wonder what he's doing. Probably up (or down) there looking down (or up) at us and just laughing (or crying) at us (or for us).

#81: The Eight Sides of Bartók Iduc

Part One:
I Am Born

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He hefts the knife and comes at me, hatred in his eyes. I cringe, my body obviously electing to take the "flight" response. But before my life finishes flashing before my eyes, he drops the knife and elects to simply punch me instead. I let it hit me, and grab his arm before he can draw it back again. He flails with his left arm, trying to get me to release him, but I seize this arm too, and pin both of them. He breaks free and moves back several feet. I follow him, wanting to get away from the window before he does something he might regret.

We enter the dining room and he swings at me again. He hits me, but again, I grab both of his arms and pin them, dragging him to the couch. He glares at me with unrestrained anger, and tells me to get off of him. I refuse to do so until he calms down.

Hello. My name is Bartók Iduc and I am twenty five years old.

I am a schizophrenic and possible psychopath. I also have several hypochondriac tendencies.

Before the author finishes with my story, I am going to kill someone.

Have a nice day.

#80: World Set Afire

So there's this book, American Mischief, by Alan Lelchuk, that I finished reading about two weeks ago. Even after having this time to reflect upon it, I still don't feel up to the task of reflecting upon it. It was entertaining, I feel equipped to say. But despite my belief that most writers don't insert hidden messages into their books, I feel as if Mr. Lelchuk did and I missed it.
Perhaps it was something along the lines of "No matter how much a person shakes the world, once he is gone, it will eventually return to it's normal state of inertia." This makes sense, and applies some sort of physics. But I don't like it. I know that the world will go on whether you've lived or not, and will probably not miss your passing (Apologies to Mr. Bailey, but I'm sure that some other man [possibly Harry] would have taken over the Building and Loan and saved it from Mr. Potter) or absence.

Anyway, this book inspired me. The scene about Norman Mailer's death (Oops, spoiler), in addition to other literature has inspired me to write a serial. I will not promise any regularity or consistency in publishing (since that always works out so well here), but it will come out at least three times before the end of the year. That reasonable? Ok then.

#79: Avatar and How People Are Really Stupid

Wow. It's been almost four months since I've written anything that I really cared about. I tried to do this Republican blog, as you can probably tell, but I lost interest after about a week.

So. What can I do then?

Let's write about Avatar, since everyone else seems to be doing it.

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Well. It kind of sucked. As everyone else ever has said at least once, the plot was basically a rip-off of all tribal movies. The special effects were fucking awesome, like they were in 2012 and Angels and Demons, and pretty much every blockbuster last year, but it didn't do much for me intellectually, which is something that I'm beginning to care more about now.

I don't want to label it a parable about human greed, or a analogy for the war in Iraq, or America or any overacrhing sort of theme like that. This was James Cameron's life dream and I think he just wanted to do cool stuff with special effects (re: Terminator 2 and Alien [neither of which I have seen]).

But mostly, I just think that it is possible that he just wanted to write a movie, and all of this backlash about how it's racist is us reading into it overmuch. People do have a tendency to overanalyse things (re: Every slightly imperfect relationship you've ever been in) and isn't it possible that that's all we're doing with this?

The answer is yes.

And cue an absolute lack of impact and response.

#78: Nanowrimo

Today is the first day of NaNoWriMo and I have signed up. For those of you who pay attention to this blog, NaNoWriMo is the thing I did last year that spawned the monstrosity known as Dogs of Wrath, The (yes, I have realized that it was horrible, but there is nothing that I can do about it now because I will not edit it now).

If you wish to participate in NaNoWriMo, (which stands for National Novel Writing Month, by the way) feel free to visit the website and create an account.

Wish me luck.