I like to talk about my characters because they're very important to me. For the first time, I see an end in sight for the story I've been trying to write since I was 14, and it scares me a little. Mostly because I'm not ready to move on from these people I've been devoting my creative life to.

I've babbled endlessly at another time about my character, London (though even reading back on that post is funny, because he's changed in character and how I draw him even more since then). He's been around with me for a very long time and I know him very well. And care about him very deeply. I've spent hours just alone with him, his thoughts and feelings, and he (together with the main character, Torry) is probably the one I will miss the most when it's all done.

I've been writing a lot lately. It's really easy to do so when you love your characters to the vaguely delusional degree that I do, because all you have to do is imagine situations for them and then new ideas and dialogue come spurting out of your ears.

Or sometimes new characters. It's interesting, because I've spent so many years with characters like Torry and London, and it took me ages to nail their characters down. Sometimes that's what it takes. But then sometimes characters just spring at you out of the dark.


I've spent the last week fleshing out London's history, because I like to know exactly what each character has gone through before reaching the point I decided to pick them up at. In doing so, I discovered a somewhat formative friend from his younger adult years, and I've been writing about the two of them a lot the last few days. This friend appears briefly in the actual story, but the majority of the material I'm producing about him is way before the story happens, so I can't really use it in anything. I think that's why I want to share this character with the interwebs.


Kilburn J. Brown would describe himself as "a man at the mercy of a violin". He's a musician and a vagrant, living off-and-on the streets, good on the inside despite teeming with vices. He plays music frequently with London, and they support each other as best they can, their strengths somewhat making up for each other's failings (if only somewhat).
I mostly name my characters after places... in this case, it has the joint purpose of being the name of an area of London (GET IT), as well as referencing Kilburn High Road, which was also named after that area. (Listening to folk-punk has been instrumental in understanding my little vagrant musician family...)


I wrote this description of Kilburn during his and London's first meeting, on a street corner where London is playing the mandolin:

Some time into London's performance, a man walked past that captured his attention. He had dark scraggly hair that circled his face all the way around his chin, exploding into leonine whiskers off of his cheeks. A gleam came off his entire face, from his bright pair of eyes to his crooked set of teeth to his ample red nose. He wore a patchy coat, much too big for him, so that its broad shoulders sagged where nothing was there to fill them in. But what really caught London's eye was the way the man walked: a deliberate swagger, holding on to the sides of his open coat, exercising no subtlety over the fact that he was staring at London with interest. The man walked by him, staring all the while, then swung back on his heel and stood in front of him, shoving his hands in his pockets, nodding his head along to the music with a large grin on his face.


More visually, here is a picture I drew of a moment that occurs with Kilburn in the actual story. I was having trouble with the conversation and decided it needed to be sketched out (I added some colours, as you can see, but it's an unfinished job).

( oh you know, just a chat and a couple of beers )

Anyway, what I'd like to put on the internets today is an unfortunate incident shared by London and Kilburn that I wrote during class yesterday (SHAME). It occurs after Kilburn adds London's mandolin and singing abilities to his violin-playing bar act.


( Story time! )


There you have it. A small piece of a ridiculous man that I've only known for a few days. He already feels like one of my dysfunctional head-children (I know they're not real, plz do not call the psychiatrists).


I compiled in a word document all the major intersections between London and Killy's lives. Being a man who lives irresponsibly and mostly on the street, Kilburn unfortunately dies rather young, on a cold night at the age of 31. London, of course, returns to the city they shared to deliver the eulogy. And I have to say that writing that eulogy made me a lot sadder than I expected. I considered sharing that piece of writing up here, too, but I think there probably ought to be limits to one's self-indulgence. Probably. (Though, this is Livejournal, after all.)

Ah well. Poor old Killy Brown.




I've had a very accurate sense of timing the last day or so. Like, I'll walk into the kitchen and put my cup down next to the kettle the second it shuts off (signifying it's reached a boil). Or, I'll pick up my phone to see if I got a response to my text message, and the response will arrive in that second. It's a little eerie.

OH hay internets

There is a storefront below me which is under construction. Not sure what it's going to be yet... It would be nice if it turned into something cool! But I am not hoping too hard, because last time we did that we were sorely disappointed (asked for a Harvey's, received a skater/surfer clothing store for douchebags).

The point is, though, that they always do their loudest constructing right at 8 AM and it's irritating. Seriously, every day at 8 AM they'll hammer the tiles off the front of the building (shaking my entire apartment, my bed included), or use a power drill in the ceiling (i.e. the bottom of my floor right below my head), etc. Then they'll kind of chill for the rest of the day. I THINK THEY ARE DOING IT ON PURPOSE. I kind of want to ask them what they are doing and when it will be finished, but I am kind of afraid to.

Some countdowns:
5 days until I finally start classes and thus have a purpose to my meaningless existence!
16 days until my partner moves in! co-habitation!!!

( some dumb photos accompanied by a lot of rambling )

There is a bar across the street from the cafe I'm in that has a big patio, and right in my line of sight I can see this big lout sitting there. He's one of those chubby fellows with a dark five-o'clock-shadow and an inherently smug, obnoxious face. He has one arm flung casually over the patio fence. His white shirt is open almost down to his belly, exposing his chubby chest and scraggly chest hair. He lolls his head back and forth in a self-satisfied manner. With his free hand, he alternates gesticulating wildly and stuffing handfuls of food into his mouth.
The arm over the fence is clutching a cigarette which he occasionally brings to his mouth, inhales delicately from, and then puffs out a deliberate cloud, in a way that indicates that he is only smoking because he thinks it makes him look pretty fucking badass. Then he flings the arm back over the fence and stuffs more food into his mouth with the other hand.

I can't stop staring in his direction. GOD, I HATE HIM!!!!! Good thing these windows are one-way.

(OR ARE THEY? Perhaps he's looking at me too: "Oh fuck, look at that girl with her laptop in some indie cafe with some stupid unpronounceable fancy drink and her dress over pants and scarf in the fucking summer and shit. I HATE HER.)

Okay, I'm not actually wearing a scarf today, but you totally know I would. Fucking cafe kids.


...Honestly, since living in Halifax I feel naked without a scarf. Next place I move better have constant scarf-weather...



But seriously, you'll note I linked to the same clip twice in the above rant. I highly recommend watching it, and reaping its wise hilarity. My partner-in-emotions introduced me to Louis CK recently and I have decided that he is my new god. HE KNOWS JUST WHAT I AM LIKE INSIDE!




Oh, and I guess I turned 22 a little while ago. It's a nice, round age, so that's good, I guess. I'm hoping this will be an age for growth, but it's a little early to tell yet.

I finally have my computer back, and internets in the new apartment! Hurray!

I posted these images as an album on Facebook already, but I said I would post something here, so.... HERE THEY ARE AGAIN OKAY. With mostly recycled captions because I am only capable of being so creative over a period of so many hours, god.

( beach living )


Living out here on the beach is pretty sweet thus far, though it comes with the arduous task of testing numerous cafes and restaurants, particularly the endless number of sushi restaurants.
Also, I officially registered at Ryerson yesterday, so after a brief pause I am a student again. Hurray?



This morning I had the weirdest dream that I was at a funeral that was failing miserably, because it was so hilarious that the people I was sitting with and I just couldn't stop laughing.

First, some kid went up to speak about the deceased but ended up announcing that he wanted to sleep with his sister, which was fairly uncomfortable.
Then his father stood up and said "Son, I think you've put the tip in... why don't you just pull it out before you get too far." WTF? For some reason it struck us as extremely funny that he said that, and we all shot him thumbs ups.

Then in an attempt to get the funeral back on track, some old man went on to speak about the deceased, but it devolved into a rant about how he hated the deceased because his EYES were always STARING.

So then as a last resort, Nick, the dean of residence at King's, stood up and nervously attempted to make things right, with some analogy about how manhood has to do with herbal tea and chest hair. We actually died laughing at that, and I woke up breathless and with that pain you get in your ribs from doubling over laughing.

What the fuck.

Hey oh man check out this hilarious piece of delight that appeared on the front page of the Toronto Star today:



Worst of all, it had a completely innocent caption. Not even a HINT of a pun. Where clearly it should have been something like OBAMA AND SARKOZY "CHECK OUT" G8 SUMMIT; DEEM THINGS A "FINE ASS" STATE OF AFFAIRS

Man I should work for newspapers, am I right?!



I'm in the process of moving! I have an amazing apartment in Toronto's Beach area (yep, Toronto actually has a beach). Yesterday I got the biggest IKEA delivery ever, and so will have furniture once I get back over there and complete assembly of it.

Unfortunately I don't have internet over there yet. It's not even because I'm waiting for internet service, as I expected- my modem showed up super early, in the mail yesterday! I COULD have internet! But my laptop's fan is having issues, so it's out for fixin' until at least next week. God damn it.

Anyway, hopefully next week I'll be back on the internet in full force, and maybe make a visual update. I'm not sure what I'm going to do in that place by myself without internet... probably draw a lot of comics, and maybe attempt to continue the writing I'm doing right now by hand? Should I print all 300 pages or whatever and attack it with a red pen? AGGH SO RELIANT ON TECHNOLOGY



I will say it's a little ridiculous that I've decided to move from the only neighbourhood in Toronto that still has garbage collection (good old Etobicoke) out into smells-ville at the height of the civic workers' strike. (Seriously, it's been 18 days, and the mayor just said that the garbage is being "managed well"? Are you serious? WAFTING CLOUDS OF STENCH, IS MORE LIKE IT. Last time there was a garbage strike, they resolved it quicker because it was almost World Youth Day and the Pope was heading this way, but this time that's not the case, so the outlook is slightly grim... Clearly we need Papa Ratzinger up in this shit)



This is what I'm listening to right now, and I highly recommend it. It's the same band that I linked last time I linked a song I was listening to a lot, because they are just so excellent, and after a bit of a break from them, they have been demanding my attention a lot again over the past few days.

I had a few songs of theirs downloaded when I was a teen, but for some reason I never looked into them further. I'm really glad my sister gave me one of their CDs this past Christmas. I'm going to have to purchase more extremely soon. (Especially since an old CD player is one of my only forms of electronic entertainment in the apartment right now... OH GOD ELECTRONIC ENTERTAINMENT WHY DO I NEED YOU SO BADLY)

I always make a production about how I can't describe my tastes in music, but I realize "punk" and "folk" factor into it greatly. Almost everything I really enjoy has punk in the title (i.e. Irish folk punk, "cabaret soul" punk, Deutsche dance punk, etc etc), and in the cases where punk is absent, some folk-ish element usually takes its place. So there we go! Now I have an answer to the question! Hooray!

Also, I realized that 90% of the time I prefer male singers. WHAT IS THAT ABOUT.

Well, I survived, I guess! I finished everything on time, presented my thesis and subsequently wrote it (whoops), undergrad done. Frig. I've also gotten my grades back in the meanwhile, and while it wasn't the best semester ever, it was pretty solid. Finished! Hooray!


So, if I've been done school since April 20, what have I been doing since then instead of recording my every move in this Internets piece of junk? Well, our lease ended on April 30/May 1, so we had to move. Moving out of that place was a process... We lived there for 2 years, and accumulated a lot of things while there.


( Harvey House Memorial )


Anyway. As previously mentioned, I'm living temporarily with my boyfriend and cat until my parents roll into town. It's a little odd, because every time I make plans to hang out with my friends here there's this unspoken sense of it potentially being the last time we plan to hang out, which I am attempting to ignore.

Blah. I have a dinner to make. More babble later, no doubt.

My scanner is a little crummy, but I like it fine. I got it from some couple off Kijiji. They lived in an apartment building in a sea of apartment buildings in the North End, and having forgotten to write down the exact address I sort of guessed which one to try and ended up being right, proving that we were meant to be together. RIGHT. Anyway, the couple was nice enough. They gave me a recycling bag because it was pelting rain, and I wrapped the scanner in it and ran home with it cradled in my arms.

That was a while ago. When I got my new computer this January, I reinstalled the scanner software, and somehow during that I process I caused my scanner to only speak Brazilian Portugese. It's a little annoying, but... It gives the crummy little thing a bit of a character, at least.

DIGITALIZANDO
NÃO ABRA A TAMPA DO SCANNER
CANCELAR?

Anyway, yes. I am babbling about my scanner because I drew something and scanned it. Remember that time I drew lots of pictures??? NEITHER DO I LOL

( Melby )


In case anyone out there is, for some reason, concerned for my academic well-being and wondering if I kept to that efficient work-plan I made.... no, no I did not. One essay that was originally due last Thursday was extended to this Tuesday. What that means is, this Tuesday, I have two 8-page essays due, as well as my final thesis presentation. Gulp. I finished one of the essays yesterday. I have to finish the other one today. Then tomorrow morning I edit both of them... and in the evening, I finish writing and rehearse the crap out of my presentation. Nice job, Procrastinator Dan.

Then I write my thesis for 6 days straight.

BACK TO THE SALT MINES

So, my second-to-last class that I will ever attend for my undergraduate degree required us to read an ethnographic account of death rituals among the Matsigenka (also known as Machiguenga), an indigenous group from the jungles in Peru. I've always enjoyed reading about religions and rituals more than most other things, which might have something to do with why I like this so much. There's a certain beauty in how people cope with tragedy, and along that line of thinking, I think this is one of the most beautiful things I've ever read:

( Excerpt from 'Three Days for Weeping' )


The last line is my MSN sidenote right now, mostly because I'm a gigantic douchebag.


Papers to write aaaaagggghhh

I read things so differently depending on my mood. That's why a small part of On the Road is completely earmarked from moments when I was like "yeah! Yeah!!! What a thought!", while the rest of it is distinctly un-earmarked, because as I read it I was just like, THIS IS ALL BULLSHIT.

But there's definitely an emotional lens that I strap on when reading, sometimes. Some books are good enough that they force me to put it on no matter what. (Example: Fugitive Pieces. In it, Anne Michaels describes tangible, physical elements of emotions. It's incredible and shouldn't be possible, but she manages it somehow, and it forces you to feel them, and forces you to remember and discover all the ways in which it is possible to be heartbroken........ I would write her a long letter of adoration if I knew where she lived/that wasn't totally creepy.)

Similarly, last night I read a sentence that clearly articulated the feeling of mourning, and was completely touched by it. Later, I read it again, only to realize it was nothing particularly groundbreaking. Still, in the right moment, honesty just works.

I think this clarifies why I love and hate my own writing on different days. Sometimes I'm looking at it emotionally and think, YES, that's exactly what I was trying to express, and other times I look at it rationally and think... fuck, but that's some cliché garble.

I think you have to be really, really talented in order to legitimize emotional garble in your writing. I'm fairly doubtful that I'm anywhere near that talented yet. Fortunately, writing is a lifelong experience.


Sometimes I don't write for a long time and then I get concerned that I'm losing it. I haven't written anything substantial since November, and the other day my brain took over and was spurting out scenes uncontrollably, so I wrote for about 6 hours straight to quiet it down. Those kinds of episodes give me hope, even if their end products aren't always that wonderful.


Current novel length: 189 pages single spaced. 104,891 words. (+ 15 page, 7,611 word useless epilogue.) Frig.

For the next 18 days, though, I have to lay that aside and churn out the last few assignments of my undergraduate degree.
18 days. Eighteen. Jesus.


This song is helping me power through everything wearying. I recommend.

I have drafted a plan that will allow me to escape from my undergraduate degree unscathed. It allows me to survive by doing minimal amounts of work per day, with a lot of Saturdays off to ensure sanity. It also involves me finishing essays way before they are due in order to ensure that everything has enough time to happen and that there's not a big bunch of things due at once. Can I do it? No clue, but I'm going to try, gosh darn it.

Would you like to see my escape plan? Of course you wouldn't, but I am posting it anyway because I am at work and THERE IS NOTHING TO DO except bother Vincenzo, which I have already been doing for about an hour, to the best of my abilities. Time to move on to plan B: shitty HTML tables.
( Undergraduate Escape Plan )

Everything would be a lot easier if stupid 4003 didn't require me to do reading responses for every single class. It is my least favourite course ever and I am afraid of the professor, and I haven't had to attend for like 3 weeks (which was awesome) for various reasons, but because she had to cancel two meetings (it's a once-a-week class, so one meeting is a 3 hour, boring, terrible big deal) she is making us meet an extra time this Friday. Terrible 3 hour class on Friday, then again on Monday. That is the very worst bread I could ever have imagined for my weekend sammich.

Still, it's doable. Right? Doable? I will just never socialize again. Today I had a depressing talk with my boyfriend, with whom I have been spending tons of time as usual, and we realized that we'll probably have to hang out a lot less over the next month so we can both finish our thesis....es. Theses. It's a pretty shitty realization, since nothing takes down the stress levels like cuddling and watching Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job.


I've been having health problems left and right but it looks like everything is finally settled down, so I can get back to work concentrating on school. Right? Maybe? It's hard to concentrate on school when your body is going nuts. I've had 13 doctor's appointments in 2009. That's downright unnatural.

I want to vow to be more healthy now that I've been compromised for over a month, but it's really hard to stick to, especially when faced with the stress of a final term. I need to learn to channel that stress in productive ways, rather than it making me shut down and hide in my room in the dark and play computer games and pretend I have no responsibilities.

Still, I'm vaguely determined, so we'll see. I need to find something active that is also stress relieving for me. My biggest problem is that I find being out in public stressful, so it needs to be something I can do while hiding in my room. Suggestions, Internets? (No, sex doesn't count.) I should learn more yoga, I guess...


HAY MY NAME IS TIRED LISTEN TO ME TALK


I wrote this on the whiteboard at work on my overnight last week: "HAY PALS DON'T YOU JUST LOVE FACILITIES THIS IS SO MUCH FUN I AM SO GLAD I AM HERE AT 5 IN THE MORNING". For some reason, no one's erased it yet. That brings me moderate cheer.