Another attempt at putting together pieces of the neverending puzzle...

There are a lot of topics rolling around in my head and I want to construct cogent pieces or essays around them. I also know that if I look this stuff up, I’ll find other people trying to do and say the same.

The world is weirdly deceptive in that way. You’re surrounded by particular voices, narratives and opinions and how you can even think you have a glimpse of a global truth seems oddly arrogant considering how much your own world, your own ears and eyes are missing. That’s how I see the world, and that’s why I sit where I sit and see the fence as the only logical place. It doesn’t mean I don’t stand for anything, what it means is I stand for ensuring I have all the right information, or as much of it as I can possibly get, before I make up my mind and doing so aware of the fact that I’m not only surrounded by bias, but that I carry so much of my own.

And besides, it’s not like I don’t stand for anything, I'm clearly just as opinionated as the next person about a lot of things and I know where I stand on a number of the most 'controversial' issues, but I do so without pretending that other intelligent and logical human beings haven't reached their opposing stances with valid reason and experience. Therefore while I am tempted by sheer temper to get mad and get confused and flabbergasted by these opposing opinions, I know I have to understand that they think the way they do for a reason and what I want to do is find those reasons.

Writing is such a funny thing. Before I got onto this, I was already afraid of having to construct arguments about some of the topics I mentioned above and ended up here. A place that makes a lot more sense to me.

Saying that, I don’t want to relinquish myself of the responsibility to write out cogent arguments and I need to do that.

I am completely sick of being presented by a world that is determined not to listen. That sees it as their right not to listen.

I say being presented because I know once again, that I’m only seeing and hearing certain voices, not all the voices, and I don’t trust the overall picture I’m receiving of what people really think in the world. For every voiced opinion, there are millions of opinions that were withheld, kept quiet, not given a platform.

Facebook, for example. I know that there must be countless others like me who never comment on anything. And yet, there are so many comments available to deconstruct and it’s hard not to wonder if it’s only a particular type of personality that would make comments on such a public forum where everyone can see what they have to say. If only a particular type of person would get involved in public argument. If that means that all those people of a different type aren’t getting visibly represented in Facebook commentary, which, let’s face it, is an enormous beast of a world. Without that visible representation on the forum, it’s easy to think the world must in reality only look a certain way.

But this only then makes it important to remember that the online world has never, ever been a reliable representation of reality or real discussion or interaction. The words millions would happily say from the safety of their own homes and without having to face someone in the flesh, are so often not the words that would come out were they right in front of their friend, colleague, acquaintance, stranger.

The more I write, the more I’m tempted to say I can’t possibly know the world. I mean, there are so many things I’ve encountered on there that people in real life have never heard of, like the Cotton Ceiling, Gamergate or the endless drama of the Youtube world, just to name a few.

But at the same time, I have to face the reality I am seeing, and that the words that have been said online, have been said. They exist. They represent and reveal the truths they reveal. About the people who said them, about the likely background of that person, about the community and environment in which the words were written (not spoken).

There is knowledge and wisdom to be gleaned from that reality, that aspect of reality, however virtual it appears.

And so I am back to where I started.

I can only use that information which I have been given and that which I can clearly see. I must use it and I must learn from it and I must continue the never-ending excavation. I just have to remember that what I see and hear comes with limits. And that that those limits mean that I must never allow myself to be discouraged, hurt or heartbroken by a seemingly horrible world that may or may not even exist.

Why I Write

Writing, particularly personal writing, is often looked at in the same way prayer can be by those who don’t believe – seemingly pointless, ineffective and a waste of time, unless the results are clear and obvious for all to see.

And the error in that thinking applies to both. The way in which the real power of either doesn’t usually come about in blockbuster style miracles, but more often gradually manifests in the ordinary, subtle and more nuanced changes to the person who then further, and with just as much nuance, manifests change, simple and powerful, in their surrounding world.

Never, ever, underestimate the power of either or how often they actually collide.

A response to fear in light of all that's going on in the world...

We

There is little else to do but continue.
Let the music play on
The words write themselves
And the smiles shine on.
Fear is a friend, not an enemy
It reminds us of what we have
What we could have
Who we could be
It only becomes a foe if we let it
If we allow it to consume us
To blind us to what's true and good
And keep us from doing all we can
Being who we can be
Even then, it isn't the fear that acts
Or doesn't act.
It is us.
We make the choice.
We are the cause.
We.

******

As most who know me would be very well aware, fear is the consistent underlying aspect of my character. There's no lie in my ease or in my laughter or moments of joy, there simply exists an acknowledgement that either hovering alongside or not far beneath is that little stratosphere of anxiety and doubt that has been formed over three decades of often hyper-sensitivity, over-awareness and an unrelentingly vivid and dramatic imagination.

Saying that, I still think the world is just as scary as it's always been, simply with more coverage. What I can't control, I can't, but because I'm often mired by the fear I so feverishly ramble on about above, it's too often easy to just allow the burial to take place and sink into dead mode. Not a difficult thing to do when I picture the people I love potentially being slain as they innocently go to Mass in the morning as they do every day and when I think of family members already lost having simply gone to do their job to provide for their family and, through no choice of their own, never come back. Fear throws aside realistic probability of risk or the fact that others have lived their entire lives this way and allows the notions to grow beyond proportion making me even 'happier' to sink into nerve bending oblivion.

The above is just a brief reminder that it is no excuse. I've always been of the opinion that my life is no one else's fault but mine and so I continue to think that way, fear notwithstanding. Atop that, is the broader reality that, so far as I'm concerned, my world is also no one else's fault but mine. I acknowledge the impact of other's choices but my responsive actions will always be mine and mine alone and for that I will always hope to take ownership of everything I choose and do and, following that, everything I inflict upon the world.

Now, to put some of that fear-taking into action, I post. Regardless of its triviality, putting anything up on this takes a chunk out of me and truth be told, I know of it garnering little impact, whether it be negative or positive. It is simply here and it is simply me. For the purposes of what I do on this thing, that is enough. I understand those who question that but truly, I assure you, the purpose is vital... in the absolute purest sense of the word.

Anyway, here's to ensuring that the sense of helplessness doesn't lead to actual uselessness in the face of all the crazy in the world.

Or... we could just go full Homer, a clearly viable option.

#myswf2016

I'll put together a more comprehensive review set to adorn my sadly neglected little blogger but for now, this micro-update and Studio collage, complete with dorky touristy stickers, will do.

Such a brilliant few days thanks to 14 sessions, 28 panellists/speakers (alongside some excellent facilitators) and 1 incredibly talented performer who somehow created a seamless solo hour of Austen oftentimes without the apparent need for oxygen. I look to you, Miss Vaughan's Miss Bates. Do you not breathe?

Got in a good mix of the journalistic, the political, the philosophical and the literary this year, happy crumbs of the untaken arts undergrad and the masters that will never see completion. Particular favourites? The Danger of Ideas, The Risky Business of Breaking News and Murder in the Making were all outstanding panel discussions with amazing moderators and Emma Sky, Emily Maguire (saw her in 2 panels) and Rebecca Vaughan all particularly blew me away in sessions that, funnily enough, fantastically bookended my time at the festival. Nothing to do with primacy or recency however, they three are simply that impressive.

Anyhow, cheers to SWF for one of my favourite times of year and onward till SWF2017 a.k.a. my next run on Gleebooks. In other news, I now officially live amongst piles of paperbacks threatening to topple and bury me alive at any moment. #theymaytumble #imaydie #sweetphonicdeath #iregretnothing #canyoutellthiscamefrominsta? #myswf2016

Window

Photo taken January 24, 2016

Window

They don’t know.

They can’t know and I can never explain it to them.

That I live, and always have lived, behind a wall.

A wall with a window that only serves to taunt me

and remind me of the fact that I can never climb through it

and be a part of the Real World.

I live on the sidelines because I can’t take part in normality.

Because normality can’t help me

and I can’t help it or those who dwell there.

We are too far disconnected and the gap is uncrossable.

Is it? Is it?

Yes! It is! I’ve tried so many times!

I’ve tried and it never works!

The best I’ve been able to do is pretend.

Delude myself into thinking that I’ve reached through the window

and clasped the branch of the tree just outside it.

Clung to that branch and for that moment, owned it,

when in fact my hand only teased the air

and closed in on itself, empty as it had always been.

My closed fist can only pound on the wall for the millionth time.

It’s not my world. It never has been.

Mine is the world from which I see and don’t touch.

From which I hear and don’t cry out.

From which I smell and never taste.

Windows are not doors. They are to look through, not climb through.

If only that damned wall had a door.

But it doesn’t… and I don’t care.

Jelynn Millare © 2005

***

I wrote the above poem when I was 22 and till I posted an excerpt onto my Instagram yesterday after taking the above photo, only 2 other people had ever read it in 11 years. I'm not sure that it bears testament to my being any less afraid of sharing my writing considering the ever-delightful blend of fear and desire that overtakes any creative undertaking (not to mention, I'm still reluctant to even class this as a poem and it took me a somewhat agonising half hour to finally get over myself and put it up). It's unveiling is ultimately the product of a few test photos on my phone leading to a sudden charge of memory and the desire to share trumping my fear of judgement. 

I know we have all been there. Everyone has experienced or lived through something that makes them feel alone or strange or different. Everyone has had hopes that maybe things would get better, that maybe things were looking up, only to have reality completely knock that flimsy house of cards right down.

I've written a bit on here about the emotional fallout of having a condition which was once firmly stamped on my face and in my daily interactions with people and still nowadays, teeters on the precipice of visible and invisible. I've also definitely touched on the painful desire to creatively speak despite being emphatically ill-equipped for exhibitionism and distinctly reluctant to emotionally overindulge for the sake of being a functioning adult.  

The above is merely a snapshot of a once all encompassing mentality that has now been happily relegated to the worst moments and nothing more. The words above will always apply, such is the nature of life and definitely the nature of autoimmune disorders and creative desire, however their power to break me has been severely diminished by struggle, experience and time. 

These days, thanks to that time honoured trio, I sustain mere flesh wounds instead of scars. 

And even better? I open and close and advance and retreat through the window as I please. 

All The Light We Cannot See

Done. Found it by chance, started it on Friday morning on the train, now mired in that familiar regret that comes with literally closing the book on the worlds created. Pure story, sheer skill, insanely lyrically beautiful and totally worth however late I wake up tomorrow. I've no idea who you are, Dave Eggers, but I couldn't agree more. #readit #rereadit #books #doerr

Curse of the Caret

It blinks. Keeps blinking even as it moves and leaves a trail of characters behind. It is a stalwart figure. It blinks with a purpose. It taunts too. Each wink is a promise of a coming word, an approaching thought... a hopeful insight. Whether or not an arrival comes, it still maintains a confident uprightness. It holds the upper hand without arrogance, just a simple understanding of its power.

I can't tell whether or not I like it or hate it. Do I like it because of its beholden promise? Do I appreciate that my hands provide it with at least some of the power it wields? Or do I despise its inability to communicate those ideas to me and assist me in my own attempts to communicate them myself?

Of course I miss the point. Its power is entirely my power and its silence is a sign of my own incapacity to wield that power. The curse is self-inflicted.

Time to lift that fucker.

'Look how black the sky is, the writer said. 

I made it that way.' 

I've just finished re-reading Lunar Park by Bret Easton Ellis and this sentence has been pounding through my head since I read it a few days ago. I had genuinely forgotten almost everything about the book, having last read it back in 2007 so admittedly a reread was way overdue... and something I think I really needed.

One of my biggest struggles with any of my writing has been the constant inner battle between the wannabe journo who has to dispassionately relay facts, events, timelines and the writer desperate to emotionally delve as far as possible while doing so with some kind of lyrical grace. The battle between the adult trying to sensibly get through each day by being level-headed and not letting emotions cloud their judgement and the dreamer who can't help but see the moments for what they are, each their own fleeting tale of joy, pain, hunger, rage... the Realist versus the Idealist, round 1... the Journalist versus the Activist, round 2. 

In fact, it's not just in my writing that this discord keeps rearing itself. My general demeanour is one of optimism, cheer and openness. I like seeing the good around me and very often do. I also don't like to complain because despite my own troubles, I can't help seeing how starkly they pale in comparison to so many others. Not to mention the fact that constant complainers (read: fucking drama kings/queens) are among my least favourite people on the planet. I like to keep trying to move forward, however slowly - and in my case, it's often glacial - and I like to look around the world for all the wonder it has to behold. 

But that said, that wonder will always inevitably come with its share of drama and the creative part of me can't help pushing aside the rational part of me saying, 'get the hell over it already and move on' and wanting to pick it all apart, pull its guts out and splash it somewhere, even if only onto the canvas hanging off kilter inside my own head. It's this side of me that is drawn to the dark and the depressive, the pain and the anguish that is so intrinsically part of bouncing around on this insane rock. It was this side of me that obviously wanted to reread something written by the guy who came up with the reportedly (I haven't yet read it, although I have recently attained my own copy) vividly grotesque American Psycho. Even in Lunar Park, he refers to his writing American Psycho as 'an extremely disturbing experience', with Patrick Bateman haunting him at every turn till he was finally done. He even wrote the following: 

'But even years later I couldn't look back at the book, let alone touch it or reread it - there was something, well, evil about it.'

I do imagine this sentence was certainly dramatically tainted, but that being said, it's no secret that everything you write takes a piece out of you. Stephen King has spoken about how writing Pet Sematary was one of the hardest things to do because of the places he had to bring his mind to in order to complete it. Anyone who has read it can easily imagine why. Having attempted my own forays into the deadlights (ayup), the headspace into which you collapse can be overpowering and it can cripple the hell right out of you. A more recent attempt had me attempting to actually create a scenario that has remained one of my (and likely many people's) greatest fears and give it life (or death) on the page. I wasn't very far in when I had to shut my eyes and physically get the fuck away from my laptop. As is unfortunately my way, I never finished it, although the door is nowhere near closed on it. 

As a naturally sensitive person, navigating adulthood has involved a huge amount of personal change - or at least my trying to implement that change - with a varying degree of success. Unfortunately, what that has also come to mean is that I actively repress my creative side. I doff it in exchange for rationalisation of my non-existent right to complain when there's so, so much worse. While I'm happy to be happy, I do know we are all allowed to rant, bitch, rave and moan from time to time, but for the most part, the person I am now, the person I have become, the person I've trained myself to be, prefers to limit that allowance and try to see the good. The sad part is, it's when I'm really indulging that creative side that I feel alive. As in fully present. ME. 

And the notion of a balance between the two is so ridiculously difficult. Even now, I can hear Little Miss Sensible telling me to just get down to it, write, woman! Write! Stop trying to find time, just do it, get your ass in gear, do iiiit! Quit with all the analysis already! 

But the other part of me knows that this is who I am. This is all part of what makes me, me and I can't not try to know it, to dissect it, to figure it all out and to revel in doing so. 

But LMS is winning. Right now, having written all this, I want to wrap it up neatly by saying, make the time. That's it. Work when you have to work, socialise when you have to socialise and write and dream when you have to be. That's all there is to it. You know that. When you open your laptop and are sitting there staring at the page and that damned blinking cursor and you're wondering what in hell makes you think you have anything of importance to say and even if you did, what makes you think you have any ability to elucidate it, just do what you did just now. Start writing. Something. Motherfucking anything. And get wherever it is you have to go, as a journo, as an activist, as an artist or as yourself.  

Get writing and darken that damn sky.

To which I can only reply with, 'Ok.'

And to be honest, it's a bare victory. The very existence of this blog, technically a piece of exhibitionism that the anti-exhibitionist inside of me abhors, is proof of that. Yet, were it not, I would be defying my own words in my own article - words imploring everyone (myself) not to be too afraid to speak and be heard.

So up this goes in defiance of hypocrisy.

'Let my own lack of a voice be heard.'

A recent article I wrote for SO Magazine Australia

The Uses of Wonder - a talk by Bobette Buster at the Sydney Writers Festival 2014

In a world where we often prefer entertainment fast-tracked or easily digested in a 6-second vine or readily ‘lol’d at in a meme, we all still love a good story.

That we as humans are all hardwired to respond to a good story well told was the very essence of Bobette Buster’s presentation at the Sydney Writers Festival – The Uses of Wonder.

A highly respected Hollywood story consultant and lecturer for such studios as Disney, Pixar and Sony and a professor at the University of Southern California School of Cinematic Arts, Bobette spoke about the uses of enchantment in cinema and animation and her charisma, passion and insight proceeded to enchant the audience who had come to see her, myself included.

We were treated to an eye opening peek into the layers of cinematic storytelling behind such films as Finding Nemo, Toy Story 2, E.T. and Babe. Bobette also revealed the lesser known driving themes behind them, truths like the message of kindness and the ordinary becoming extraordinary in E.T. or the ultimate transformation of Rex the Dog in Babe as he humbles himself and gives away the much coveted spotlight to let Babe shine. Probably most piercing is the message of Toy Story 2 which shows us that people we love may very well ‘grow up’, leave us and forget about us, but, just like the toys left behind, we can still choose to love them anyway.

Insights like these are part of the staying power that is story-telling and cinema. As Bobette pointed out, though cinema is still a young story-telling medium, the use of story has long been an integral part of the human psyche.

Advancing from oral tradition, mythology and fables have maintained power over the centuries because they speak about the fundamental journey of being human. They appeal to our innate senses of courage, justice, forgiveness and hope and can even help prepare us and for whatever hardships the world may send our way.

Psychologist Bruno Bettelheim, while a Dachau inmate, observed that the children raised on Grimm’s Tales were better able to keep hoping despite their dire circumstances. One imagines that this hope of a better life was what Anne Frank harboured inside her, aided by a poster of film idol Sonja Henie on her wall, as she wrote in a diary that would end up inspiring millions.

Cinema is therefore an artform of transformation, a chance to go places we would never go, take emotional journeys with characters we’ve never met and see the world around us with clearer eyes. As Bobette stated, ‘truly great films show us how difficult it is to find those profound truths and they do so with dimensionality’ staying with us long after the last credits roll and allowing us to pass on a ‘baton of understanding’ from each generation in order to inspire and strengthen the next.

SO…

While movies and animation allow us to visit new worlds, learn about our world and about strength, courage and hope, it’s then up to us to open our eyes, take a good look at the world around us and see the extraordinary in the ordinary. We are surrounded by stories – those of our families, our friends, our community and most importantly, inside each of us. We are all creating our own story and it’s up to us to make it one that stands up and has an impact. And if you want to tell it, then do it. Don’t be frozen by fear – speak, write and be heard.

Give yourself a chance to be an inspiration.

- Jelynn Millare

WWdN Love and RE-Post #1 of People I Boundlessly Admire Online

So I finally read Just a Geek by Wil Wheaton and it was one hell of a great read. The guy is warm, witty, honest and insightful and quite frankly what more could you want from an autobiographical account of one’s journey through post-childstardom? The man has done well for himself and it’s genuinely been a pleasure going along for the latter part of the ride as I’ve followed his blog, Wil Wheaton Dot Net, for the last 10 or 11 years. I couldn’t be happier that he not only discovered his calling to the Writerhood but was able to so wonderfully re-establish himself and his life in a way that has clearly made him a happy and fulfilled guy, particularly after everything he went through.

Seriously, read it and grab a copy of Dancing Barefoot as well. That collection of blog entry derived memoirs also makes for some very entertaining reading.

Meanwhile, I wrote what’s below almost 3 years ago now. Why the repost? Well admittedly, if you’re able to suppress the tl;dr urge inside you and get to the end, you’ll see that I was next planning to write about Wil Wheaton. Having touched upon that a little above, I actually found myself wanting to share about another onliner who has only continued to impress me over the years and having already articulated my admiration, I decided 27-year-old me could take the reins on that one.

So voila!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Posted by MJ at 1:00 AM - Tuesday, July 27, 2010

So I’ve been doing the online thing for nearly 12 years now (which is, funnily enough, also how long I’ve been honing my writing skills… skills that will likely not make an appearance in this entry) and along the way - what with its ever widening reaches and its providing wonderfully artistic people with more tools than ever before - I’ve encountered some amazingly talented people during my billions of hours floating through cyberspace.

Whittling the list down so that this entry doesn’t end up ridiculously long won’t really be that easy, but I’ll do what I can. Some of them will certainly be familiar, while others will only have been known to select pockets of people with certain common interests (however dorky those interests may be. Or are). In order to simplify the process for myself, I’m going to approach this chronologically.

On second thought… I’ve decided I’ll make this a series of entries. I know I should reign in my inner rambler, but I just can’t and there’s so much to say.

#1 Nicky aka Silversun

Back in 2001, while attempting to find more info on a TV show that I had recently become rather obsessed with and that had been cancelled, I came across a place called Fanforum. The show was Young Americans and my friend, Mel, had introduced it to me and, despite the show’s complete lack of substance, talent or good writing (seriously!), we both kind of fell in TV love. It was genuinely pathetic (and only she and I will ever know just how far into the depths that pathetic plunged), however, in stumbling quite by accident upon the YA forum on Fanforum, I not only got to catch up on what Aussie TV had not bothered to air, but I also came across an amazing bunch of people and this marked the beginning of some of the most important friendships in my life.

As all this also marked my most thorough attempt at fanfic to date, an area left completely open due to a single season cancellation, I became acquainted with some extremely talented writers who had done incredible jobs of continuing a show that we hadn’t wanted to end. Nicky was one of those people.

Funnily enough, it wasn’t her alternate second season that made her catch my eye. In fact, it was a crossover fic she had written, combining YA with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Pretty left field combination, huh? But it was so well done. Never mind how well this girl knew how to visualise scenes that sprang to life in my mind, but her representations of the BtVS characters were so on point, I could hear the dialogue so clearly in my head - Buffy, Xander, Willow… seriously, I couldn’t get over it. So, I told her so.

After that, we were in touch pretty often, reading each others work and sort of beta-ing them as well. She was one of the first people to read my then developing YA fic and her encouragement was one of the few things that got me to the 100 and something pages that I eventually punched out. I couldn’t have been more grateful, especially considering how delicate my life’s relationship with writing was at the time. In fact, she was one of the first people in my life to really encourage me to keep writing, and she did this all the way from where she lives in NZ.

Her work, meanwhile, never ceased to amaze me. She wrote each episode in prose, but with some minor cinematic direction, providing teasers, voiceovers and location changes. Her use of language never failed to impress me and, as I said before, everything she wrote lived and breathed in my mind’s little TV set. Not to mention her handle on plot and continuity and her grasp of character, something so often lacking in other fic writers’ works. Admittedly, an 8-episode season only provided the most basic of introductions to character, but she took those introductions and developed them amazingly. Furthermore, she kept in style to the genre, only ‘failing’ in that her characters swore, unlike their real TV-world counterparts. Not only did she ‘resurrect’ the show for those of us who missed it, but she made it her own, breathing depth and life into it that hadn’t actually been achieved by the original creators. She gained a substantial audience and even created new fans for the show, also managing to pick up a stack of online awards in the process.

Inevitably, as time went on and studies and life demanded more attention, both our communication and our writing slowly began to wane and, although I kept up with her work, we lost touch. Yes, the sad thing about online relationships of any kind… more often than not, they end up petering out in this very way.

A couple of years passed and one day, I decided to look her up again. I found that she had continued the series and had gotten to Season 4 so every so often, I would check it out, still marvelling at her writing ability and enjoying the way the ‘show’ had evolved. Then, I noticed she had a ‘Progress Journal’ on her site so I checked it out. It brought me to her Livejournal which allowed me a little insight into what she was now up to, aside from the writing and the study, and it was here, that I found her work in vidding. Her vids revealed that her talent for creating such vivid tapestries in her writing, also spilled into the realm of visual media and I discovered a whole new level of admiration for her creativity and vision.

Now, although my memory is a little hazy on this, I am certain that by this time, I had already seen some fan vids on other fansites and on a site that, back in good ol’ 2005, was still slowly expanding (You-what?). Fan vids, at the time, were gradually developing as a form of fanart, which prior to that point had mostly consisted of Photoshop artworks and animations, and I had seen a few - albeit a poorly edited and clunky few, mostly consisting of some cheesy song playing to some chopped clips. Some had certainly stood out (one that comes to mind was a vid exploring the Harry/Hermione relationship after the release of the third Harry Potter movie. It was to Everytime by Britney Spears, which might sound kind of lame, but actually worked well with the vid), but for the most part, they weren’t much to talk about.

Nicky’s YA-Think Twice vid blew my mind. While it may be overdoing to say I thought it looked like a professional vid, it was not far from that at all. She had created a study of the Scout/Bella/Sean conflict to Eve 6’s Think Twice (an awesome song that I’m happy she introduced me to) and her manipulation of those clips to the music and lyrics was phenomenal. She was able to not only create faux-flashbacks, but her transitions were all on beat, well paced and matching the rapidity of the drums. One section that completely slayed me had an overlay of rapidly changing scenes on one scene, all perfectly in time with the song building up between the bridge and the next verse. It was unbelievable. I had never, ever seen a fan vid quite like it.

Having found one vid, I, of course, sought out more and her other clips were all just as amazing and even better. I’m sure it’s safe to say that Think Twice was an extremely well done amateur production, but it only meant that she developed her skill and created even more amazing vids after. She had also linked to some other talented vidders, notably Becky of Tired-Eyes.net, and my appreciation of the art only grew. Vidders (and I mean REAL vidders, not those people who just lump a bunch of clips and effects together with a song, but people who actually delve into character studies and even tell new stories) are a group of little known talents who are, thanks to the growth of the net, slowly getting their due (check out Vividcon 2010). Nicky herself appears to have gained an even bigger audience (hell, she’s actually had people create vids for her writing. Yourstreetserenade’s vids are particularly awesome) and a stack of accolades and I couldn’t be happier for her. She’s incredibly talented and she deserves it all.

Anyway, if you’re up for checking out her work, just have a peek at the link above. If you’re a fan of the vastly developing world of online art, I highly recommend it.

Although I still haven’t actually attempted to get back in touch with her personally (due to a dillemma along the lines of the ‘Do I say hi or not?’ persuasion), I’ve checked back in to her work every so often over the years and have only continued to be astounded by her visiotivity (thanks Barney). I remember back when we used to email, I once told her that I reckoned she could have shot and directed the YA episodes better than the original creators.

I guess I was onto something there.

Coming up next: he portrayed a few of my favourite characters - Gordie Lachance, Wesley Crusher and Joey Trotta - and was the reason I even thought of starting a blog back in 2003.

A little (albeit year old) truth about me

'Thing is, I’ve been using my imagination my whole life. I have lived in world after world, life after life… the world of make believe is second nature for someone like me because I’ve just been doing it all this time. The difference is that now, I do it on my own. I used to have playmates, but seeing as their lives have progressed one way or the other, I continue on my games on my own, in my own head. The nature of the make believe has certainly changed, grown as I have grown, but it’s definitely still there. Writing and ‘acting’ have always been a part of that.

And you know, it’s a choice, but it’s also not… it is just something I do. It’s almost like breathing for me. It just happens. I’ve read too many books, seen too many movies, watched too much TV, seen too many productions… whatever the reason, my psyche has been tinted unendingly with the extra touch of fancy’s flight.’

Anne Shirley knows what I’m talking about.

Have I put off heading down to the RO enough???

Alrighty then, RO, here I come!

~~~~~~~~~

And it's later in the day, the RO has been covered and I am now power-typing it up on the 7th floor in the library. I was tempted to truck it on up all the way to the Law Faculty (which sits snugly atop the library, with an awesome view of everywhere within a huge radius (wish I could be more specific but sadly, I can't). I love that place, by the way. Talk about cushy. It's enough to convince one to do Law (if they can, that is... my friend got a 99.6 on his UAI and he still couldn't get in as he'd missed the cutoff by what, .2?). In secondyear, I did a course up there - Human Rights in Ancient Rome and it was a really interesting course too. Despite the fact that the guy who taught it was a quiet octogenarian, he was able to get everyone's interest sparked and of course, he was greatly aided by the course material. One thing I learnt? That the Romans were a slippery lot of bastards and I'd want one to represent me if I were ever taken to court. I so wish I'd had the grades to make it into Grad Law. I wanted to do that course so badly but ah well, c'est la vie. Will direct any legal questions to May instead ;)

The wind is hollering like mad outside and you can hear it beating against the windows. I'd anticipated a different day so I'm not really quite dressed for this(although for boiling weather, this shirt is the best). It certainly did aid my walk up here from lower campus... literally pushed me up, step by step, it was that strong. My hair was extremely unappreciative. It doesn't help (or does, as viewpoint calls) that the campus tends to act like one giant wind tunnel. The sensation was one akin to some invisible and impatient (and surprisingly strong) child pushing me up towards some imaginary candy shop and I do believe the angle at which I was walking at times would have betrayed this as well. This does mean that my trek back down to lower campus (only this time, to harass the loverly people down in the Science Office) ought to be pretty interesting. 

Meanwhile, awkward moments abound as I just ran into my best friend's ex. It was your classic stare-down-as-you-walk-past and to be quite frank, I nearly burst out laughing. I'm not sure but I think he might have noticed that as well. So strange. I'm sure he's wondering what the hell I'm still doing on campus seeing as the last time we spoke was the night before my graduation (a conversation which I endured under duress I might add). Then again, maybe he guessed after spying the contraption I was carrying around. Made my day, that certainly did. Up till the final months of his rel/ship with Mel, I actually felt sorry for him at times... and overall thought he was a really great, decent guy. It's weird to look at someone after your opinion of them has been altered so much, and especially after you'd begun to almost consider them a friend.

Although I'm sure it's now over, when I got off at Central station this morning, I got a nice taste of how many people were attending the strikes protesting Howard's new IR laws. Oh man, I was so tempted to go with them and see if I could possibly get something written up. If it weren't for work, I might have. Then again, I've still very little practice as the nosy journalist (too bloody polite that's what :P)... then again, when opportunity knocks? Funnily enough, where the SMH had made it front page, the Daily Tel barely covered it. I'm a little surprised. I understand wanting to cover the terror suspects ('Grubs', in the words of Paul Kent), but come on... a strike over the new IR laws gets nothing? Hell, they even mentioned the strike in Melbourne! Unless someone clears something up for me big time, I can't say I'm on board with the new initiatives... there are a lot of shitty employers out there who will be at even greater advantage to abuse their employees. Not on. Oh, and I'm still not all that happy with a 'shoot to kill policy', although yes, I do think that I would prefer giving the police a little more leeway over having my train blow up on the way to work one morning. 

And now, it's time I ate. Will do so as I plough through some articles I want to read and some potential follow-ups I want to do on them. The assignment I've been working on has me a little stumped at the moment but only because I'm a ridiculous perfectionist when it comes to this and no idea seems good enough. Anyone here have any questions they've ever wanted to ask a range of celebrities (whatever type) which would not only be embarrassment free, but also allow them to better their image whilst being potentially creative and interesting? Hehehe... I want to tackle some writers but then I have to think of publication appeal and it's just not hitting me at the moment, who in the world would want to read about that seeing as I'm having so much trouble finding lit mags here in Sydney and the thought of tackling one of the bigger publications at this stage seems rather implausible.

Pardon my french...

...but Stephen King is a fucking fantastic writer (I don't tend to swear when I write but, having just read two Stephen King books, it sort of just came out ;)). I've just finished Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption and, to put it simply, I loved it. It's such an incredible, not to mention well written, story. That and The Body are two booksI could probably, and most probably will, read again and again... and again. I will say that I felt I could relate more to what he wrote in The Body, but Shawshank Redemption is such a great story, and Andy and Red are both characters I love. I had never thought of Stephen King as anything more than a horror writer... I'm glad to have found I was wrong (although I will agree with those who have bemoaned his rather graphic detail at times, although I think it just adds to his writing). 

Alrighty then, on to Apt Pupil.