Salutations to the Champion

First:  I know I haven't blogged in like a year.  Which is sorta depressing as it becomes ever increasingly true that I need to write more.  Not just on a sad, every-so-often basis, but as a basic need, required like sleeping and breathing.  And eating.  Let's not forget eating.  Or drinking.  I could use a drink right now.

Because, anymore, writing is the only door I can see that leads out of this dank well I sit it, waterlogged, and irritated.  Other creative endeavors continue to remind me that instead of a free and exhilarating path, they are little more than road blockades.  The biggest of these I've found in the collaborative arts are (naturally) the people.  I suppose that's to be expected with the whole "collaborative" thing - and yet, for every positive experience it seems there are 4-5 poor experiences filled with douchu-bagus who drive you fucking crazy.  I'm sure it's because they have a vision, are a true artist or were molested when they were young.  Regardless, I'm tired of this bullshit in which I have no real creative say and start to feel more trapped than liberated by the art.  And the drama.  It's theater and costuming, or work, or whatever.  But it's all drama, really.  That's the part I can't stand.  A bunch of self styled artists coming together to nurse their insecurities and stroke their egos.  Isn't that just all part of the process?  Part of the "art?"

Art.  Ha.

Anyway, this leads to the premise that I need to limit that sort of unfulfilling existence and try to limit myself to things that are within my control and are satisfying for me.  Like writing.  Whether it's my novels, my blogs, or my screenplays, it's nice to be able to do something for myself, instead of pretending I'm a designer for a production which is just a pantomime in trying to allow the director to design everything themselves.

Assholes.

Right.  So, anyway, the 1920's Murder Mystery is out of the way (I really ought to post on that) and while it was enjoyable and fulfilling, it was also a helluva lotta work and I'm over doing any of that right now.  Once I finish Adding Maching for the The Babcock, I will officially be retiring from costuming, and c'est la vie, right?  It's all good and I don't mind leaving it behind.  Because while I enjoy costuming, I don't love it it like the poor, overworked, underpaid and under-appreciated mentors I have been privy to watch.  It's time to turn to other interests.  Where my ideas and opinions have a place.  Where they matter.   Which stems back to writing.  Writing in a digital age.  Where words and images are insanely cheap.

I guess I'll never be wealthy.

When I started this blog entry I half though this was going to be a review of Dragon Age II, for no real reason since I don't generally give reviews and usually not of video games.  So why I felt compelled I do not know, but I do (oddly) feel it is important to explain my feelings on this game since it sorta left me sad and empty when it ended.  Like Arkham Asylum.  And also it's been sending me winding back towards my guilty (or not so) pleasure of the Fantasy genre, in reading, writing, and imagining.

Yes.  I'm rambling.

And I'm writing a blog in the same manner Tim writes letters from the mission.

Hmm.  Well, I'll send out the rest of these thoughts later, perhaps picking up more on the writing, the mystery, the death of my lackluster costuming career and video games.  But in the meantime, it's a good day and it feels better now that I finally threw some words out.  More to come.  Def.