52,825 words (so far).
2,298 words written on average per day in November.
Published novel soon to come.
That is all.
My Life
My birthday, and time for a little introspection
It’s my birthday! Happy birthday to me. Another year definitely older, probably more experienced, potentially even wiser.
I’ve now been alive for a quarter century – one-fourth of my entire life (hopefully less than a quarter, but we’ll see!). Twenty-five years. So long, and yet so short. And to think, I spent a decent percentage of this time crawling around on my hands and knees, trying to not choke on my own drool or leave a steaming, smelly pile in my own absorbent little diaper. Definitely didn’t accomplish much at that time.
That’s the real question, isn’t it? What have I accomplished? What have I failed to accomplish?
I’d say that I’ve accomplished a fair amount. It’s tough to really draw a conclusion on this without resorting to comparisons to my peers. If I try hard enough in either direction, I can find peers far below me, or above me. So comparisons are out the window.
Instead, let me consider what I’ve done over this last year:
1. I wrote a novel! Actually, I’ve written several novels, but this is the first one where I actually took the plunge and self-published it. Want to check it out? Click the Novel page in my top menu bar.
2. I have now survived for more than a year on the far side of the country, distant from my family, childhood home, and snow. A year ago, living out here felt like a vacation. To be honest, it still sometimes feels like a vacation (my apartment complex has a hot tub, for goodness sake), but I’m getting more used to it.
3. I have survived my first year of graduate school! Not only survived, in fact, but I won a fellowship, and have successfully managed to stave off poverty for the next eleven months or so. Of course, now I’m worried about the money after that, but at least my woes are nearly a year away.
4. I’ve chosen my lab! All my fear of not finding a graduate school lab, of being forced to drop out in disgrace, was unfounded. I have a lab I love, a research project I feel passionately about, and actual hope for my future. Sure, I’ve still got a scary qualifying exam to pass, manuscripts to write, and more tests to run, but at least I have a direction.
5. Because she may be reading this, my lovely SO deserves a mention. She willingly dropped her old life, moved halfway across the country to join me, and is now able to squeal and grab onto me whenever she chooses. For me, moving simply seemed like the next natural step; I can’t imagine how scary it must have been for her.
Sure, I’ve done other stuff in the last year. I have a side business now, making money off of my writing. I have moved apartments, purchased vehicles, learned new skills (including computer programming), and have run the first 3 5k races since I was approximately sixteen years old. I’ve spent far too much money, not saved nearly enough, have made new friends and drifted away from old ones. I’ve seen Yellowstone, and haven’t yet found a breadfruit to eat. Goals accomplished, goals still waiting for that check mark.
In the end, though, am I satisfied?
Not yet. I think that’s a good answer. I’m not satisfied yet, not content to stop climbing – but I’ve made a good start.
Now, bring on the densest chocolate cake in the world! I’m ready to eat!
Have you heard? I wrote a book!
I wrote a book! A novel, actually!
Check it out here:
This little project started 9 months ago, when I participated in NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month. However, just because this story was written, that didn’t mean that it was ready to be shared. Not yet.
But now, after nine months of tweaking and editing, I feel ready for it to be published. Fly, little novel! Go out into this big, scary world, and make a few people chuckle!
For anyone who wants to read what this book is about, just continue. Trust me, it’s funny.
”All I wanted was the perfect wedding. No bitter mother, no pothead father, no crazy sister or lecherous brother-in-law. No surprises. Nothing going wrong. Not happening.”
Danielle Jansen, newly engaged bride-to-be, knows that there are signs suggesting that her wedding won’t turn out perfect.
One such sign? As soon as she’s engaged, her parents can talk about nothing but divorce. Next, Danielle finds that her bitter mother has hired a wedding planner without her knowledge – and the theme appears to be Damnation & Hellfire. And just to put the cherry on top, her insane sister shows up to her bachelorette party stumbling drunk – and claims that she just seduced Danielle’s husband-to-be.
When Danielle’s boyfriend proposed, she warned him about the chaos that would shortly follow. He didn’t listen, but she did warn him. Because the old saying really is true: you don’t just marry your partner – you’re stuck with their entire family…
If the link above, doesn’t work, you can get to it here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00N552OEM
Tell your friends! Tell your family! Tell your enemies, if you think they’ll buy a copy out of spite! No Kindle? You can read this book in your browser! But please, help me continue to provide a brief moment’s entertainment by supporting me in this purchase!
No post today – MOVING
I am currently moving homes, and am thus unable to have a post up in time today. So sorry, loyal readers!
I may have a post completed by later today, and there will be a new little story up on Wednesday as usual.
Lazy Sunday
Written by request.
She’s already sitting on the couch by the time that I struggle out of the bedroom we share, still trying to wipe the last remnants of sleep from my eyes. I can’t even begin to imagine how she can manage to struggle out of the grasp of our sheets before noon on the weekends. My engine is a V8 on a cold day, slow to turn over, needing plenty of time to warm up. Hers reminds me of a scooter – always ready to spring to life, but occasionally running out of steam without warning.
I settle into the spot beside her on the couch, and she is immediately leaning up against me. Her hair feels slightly damp. She must have showered already. I slept right through the sound of the running water.
“What’re you up to?” she asks as I reach for my computer. I think she’s occasionally frustrated by how attached I am to the device. I’m not quite sure how to explain it; I’ve become accustomed to the extension of technology. My ritual begins each morning with checking my mail and various sites, catching up on what I’ve missed.
After a quick scan of my email headings, I reply. “I need to write some blog posts for next week,” I say, reaching up to rub her shoulder with one hand. “Any inspiration for me?”
She rolls over so she can look up at me as she lays across me. “Ooh! You should write about me!” she exclaims, a silly smile plastered across her face.
I smile back at her, despite the prompt. “Okay, but I need more than that!” I insist, as I’ve done so many times before. “I need a plot, not just a character!”
Her brow furrows in concentration as she consider this. I doubt that she’s even aware of how her face betrays her inner thoughts, but I can spot it now almost instantly. She thinks that I’m sensitive when I ask her about a bad day. I just think I’m being observant. But it’s nice to listen to her, to know that I’m not alone in life’s frustrations.
“I dunno,” she finally says. “Plots are harder.”
She’s right. Plots are harder. I struggle occasionally with plots; they either come to me in my mind, almost fully formed, or I muddle through pages after pages of nothing. This is why I need to throw a net on my ideas right away, to capture them and imprison them in an outline, before they can escape. “Well, what are you going to be doing in this story?” I try asking.
Her eyes are already closed again, though, as she cuddles in closer to me. “This,” she murmurs, before pressing her face into my shirt.
I gaze down at the keyboard, not quite sure how to write this. But it’s what she requested. I start clicking my fingers across the keys, putting down words, hoping that they’ll coalesce into something worthwhile.
“I did Jillian this morning,” she comments, about ten paragraphs in. I pause momentarily in my typing, glancing over at her. Her eyes are still shut and her face is still pressed against my stomach, slightly muffling her words.
Jillian is her set of workout videos. That must be why she showered already. I reach over and pat her on her stomach, my forearm slipping down to momentarily press against her chest. As always, I’m slightly thrilled by the casual intimacy, how this girl trusts me so deeply. And it goes both ways; I feel more comfortable around her than with anyone else, free to speak my mind and not fear an angry backlash or unprovoked attack. “Good for you,” I say sincerely.
She doesn’t even open her eyes at the touch of my arm. “You should do yoga with me,” she says, before turning over to press in further and get more comfortable.
I’ve heard this before. To be honest, I have wanted to try yoga – I have read multiple articles supporting its use for meditation and mental acuity. I just haven’t yet been able to bring myself to lay out on a mat and stretch myself into silly poses. “It could be fun,” I reply.
We should get up and start our day; the hours are already beginning to slip away. As always, I feel the drive to be productive rising up within me, whispering its insipid song. You’re wasting your time, it hisses to me. If you don’t get something done, this day is a waste, useless. I wonder if my couch companion also hears that little voice, inspiring a mixture of optimism and fear. Optimism that I can do something with my day, my time, my life; fear that it will all be for nothing, that I will have somehow failed to achieve. If she does hear that voice, she hides it better than I do.
But for a few minutes longer, we remain on the couch together, doing nothing. Sloth slowly deposits a miasma upon my soul, but it is pleasurable in small doses. Especially when I have someone to share it with.
How I Got the Girl
I love telling this tale to just about anyone who will listen. Hopefully some of my readers like love stories, so buddy, this one goes out to you.
I was working for Habitat for Humanity after college, and one of the events put on by the organization was a big fundraiser/gala event where all the bigwigs came out, waved their monocles around, and threw cash at the organization so we could keep helping poor people. As “volunteers”, we were being tapped to help out at this thing.
Now, I had no interest in spending a night volunteering when I could be at home, pantsless, reading Reddit. But my darn Midwestern sensibilities wouldn’t let me refuse a direct request, so I agreed to come along and help out.
One of the requirements of this gala was that everyone had to wear formal wear with a hint of construction – people wore caution tape ties, duct tape hats, steel toed boots, and so on. It looked quite strange when paired with formal wear. I had some bright orange nylon straps (for attaching wooden planks to truck roofs), and turned them into a belt and suspenders. Hooray last minute craftiness!
At the event, it turned out, like many obligations, to be much more fun than I had expected. I was put in charge of a game called Hammerschlagen, which basically consists of a drinking game revolving around whacking a stump with hammers. Good times. And most of these bigwigs turned out to be former fratboys, so they insisted that I had to have a drink in my hand at all times. Very fun.
Towards the end of the night, the games were shut down and we were all funneled into the central ballroom, where music was playing and people were drunkenly dancing. I was tipsy, wandered around, and bumped into my very drunk boss. I next had to quickly dive in and stop her from “twerking” on her boss, a board member.
After preventing this potential disaster, my eye fell on a flash of red. A gorgeous girl in a tight red dress, the outfit hugging every curve and showing off an amazing hourglass figure, was dancing over on the side of the room! And in my tipsy state, I was just lubricated enough to feel that I might have a shot with her.
I went staggering over, noting as I approached that she was wearing a child’s construction vest over her shoulders. In the epitome of smoothness, I came dancing up, tugged this vest from her shoulders, and informed her that it would look much better on me.
Somehow, this theft of her clothing didn’t seem to turn the girl off, and we shared grins as we danced together. The song ended and the girl asked for her vest back; I told her that it now belonged to me, and she’d have to give me her number to set up the next time she could get it back when she met me in person.
“Like a date?”
“Yeah, like a date.” Oh yeah, man. So smooth.
Perhaps it was the alcohol (in my system, not hers – she later revealed she was sober for all of this!), but I felt totally cool as I swapped phone numbers with her and tried to prevent my eyes from lingering too long on what lay beneath that red dress. The party was ending, the band was done, and I had to dash to go help clean up.
The whole ride back home (I had carpooled, hence the drinking), I was bragging to my coworkers about this great girl I had met. They listened politely, and I went to bed happy, with a child’s construction vest sitting on the foot of my bed.
The (Lack of) Glamour of Air Travel
Similar to riding horses, shopping in Abercrombie and Fitch, and playing craps at a casino, traveling by air is one of those activities that always seems glamorous and fancy up until you actually do it. Hold on a minute, scratch that. I’ve played craps before and it’s quite enjoyable. Replace that with taking a taxi.
I have performed all of these activities, and one of their most striking qualities is how much less fun they were to do than they seemed from afar. As a graduate student living halfway across the country from the rest of my family, I find myself at the unfortunate intersection of “needing to fly regularly” and “I’m poor and need to take three flights at 1:30 AM”. And this is not a fun intersection to be stranded at.
But traveling via airplane is an interesting combination of wonder and utter frustration. The indignity and bother of removing every single object from my person at security screenings? The incredibly overpriced and meager selection of food for sale in airports? The disturbingly squishy chairs that somehow can never be comfortable for more than five minutes? The stale, dry, dirty air on the planes themselves? All of these little frustrations come together to make traveling by air a rather unpleasant experience.
On the other hand, I can never quite shake that sense of wonder I feel as the plane finally lifts off from the runway. Wilbur and Orville Wright flew for the very first time in 1906 (I know that off the top of my head – be impressed), and now, barely over a hundred years later, we clamber fearlessly into metal tubes that streak across the sky, higher than we can breathe, propelled by the constant combustion of incredibly flammable liquids.
Flight is a marvel, something that humanity has strived to attain for thousands of years. And yet, today we treat it as an inconvenience! What plasticity the human mind possesses, to shift its mindset so radically in just a few generations.
But I’m a scientist, not a philosopher, so I’m going to brainstorm a few ways that we could shake off a few of the annoyances associated about airplanes:
1. Security checkpoints are long and annoying. We may have switched over to millimeter wave detection, but why in the world do we still need to take off our shoes and empty our pockets? Let’s get some automated smart scanners that generate a three-dimensional scan and identify weapons, combined with chemical sniffers that can detect single molecules of explosive. And to be honest, I don’t really care if some balding TSA agent happens to see my outline beneath my clothes – more incentive for me to stay in shape!
2. The single most infuriating thing about air travel, in my opinion, is the waiting. Oh god, so much waiting. I’m sure that most airlines have very complicated computer algorithms to determine when and where flights take off from and are destined to land, but let’s take it a step further. When I check in, I want to be sent an electronic boarding pass with a QR code and a date and time. I want to know that, at that specific time, I can walk straight onto the airplane. We’re already getting close with zone boarding, just put everything on a timetable! You’ll know exactly when you need to be at the airport, and with security automated, you simply walk in, spend 30 seconds being scanned by computer, and then proceed directly to your gate and onto the plane. And if you miss your flight and rant to the gate agent, let them kick you out – there’s a giant time stamp that told you exactly when you had to be there. So sorry you failed to comply with the clearly presented information; better luck next time.
3. A simple request: give us some damn couches in the waiting areas! When my connecting flight lands at 2 AM and I have three hours to kill until my next connection boards, I want someplace where I can actually stretch out without having several metal armrests enthusiastically attempt to mate with my spine.
4. Solving the food issue seems pretty simple if security can be resolved; with rapid, automated security checkpoints, it shouldn’t be hard to walk out, grab a cheap and delicious burrito from someplace like Chipotle, return in through security again, proceed directly to your flight, and then sit there regretting your choice in meal. No more taking advantage of the trapped herd of fliers inside security, tiny and unappealing food kiosks!
5. Comfort on the plane itself is a bit trickier. Sure, we could rip out half the seats on the plane so that we can all enjoy a bit more leg room, but the airlines are already running on pretty razor thin margins, and the more people they can corral onto a plane, the better. So let’s go the other way; instead of removing seats, let’s improve them! I’m thinking that we go the modern route, get Aeron in here to make us something beautiful out of nano-engineered mesh, and then make some cheap ripoffs. These seats are three inches thick and still uncomfortable – shaving off a couple inches would make the seats a bit larger (for the, how shall I say, heftier fliers), add more leg room, and probably also reduce weight, which provides greater savings to the airline!
6. Free wifi on planes. Seriously, why are we still charging for wifi on an airplane? Motel 6 and most strip clubs have free wifi, for god’s sake! (I am strangely proud of getting both god and strip clubs into that last sentence, by the way.) I’m writing this post on an airplane right now, but I won’t be able to post it until we land, as my pride prevents me from spending six whole dollars for internet access. I mean, that six dollars could nearly get me a tiny side salad in the airport.
Missing Brains Will Return!
Hello, dusty and abandoned wilderness of the internet!
Now, I know that Missing Brains, this blog that you have come to know, love, and depend on for guidance in your life, has not been updating for nearly two months now. And I won’t apologize for that. Not only have I passed my first quarter of graduate school, but I’ve also found the time in the last couple of months to write an entire novel – in a month!
So, that’s pretty awesome.
Unfortunately, the novel is nowhere near reading-quality yet – I have side characters wandering off and disappearing, and others somehow managing to completely shift and mutate their personalities as the book goes on. I’m going to have to hew at this with an axe for a while before it’s ready to see the light of day.
Also, when I do release it, it will probably cost money. Gotta pay for my cardboard box and lentils somehow!
But what about our free content? I can hear you asking. Missing Brains used to give me the occasional chuckle or groan for free, and I want that back! Well, never fear! Regular updates to Missing Brains will return in January. One of my New Year’s resolutions is invariably to write more – maybe one of your resolutions should be to read more!
Or even, if you’re feeling like an especially awesome person, to donate to that favorite blog of yours and help out the author! I’m sure he or she would totally appreciate it, and not just put the money towards booze.
So don’t despair, and keep on checking back! Like that burrito that you thought would be a good choice instead of a real lunch, Missing Brains will return!
Temporary Hiatus
Attention, my dear readers: Missing Brains, the nearly-award-winning blog, is going to be going on hiatus for the next month. Fear not, we will return, but for the next month, this blog will lie still and (mostly) dormant.
“But why!?” you might ask. “Why would you forsake us, and stop providing us with free and mildly entertaining stories?”
Well, it certainly isn’t because I’m going to stop writing! On the contrary, in honor of NaNoWriMo, I’m going to be undertaking an entire novel. In only thirty days!
I can just hear you all now. “Nano-rhyme-o? What the heck is that?”
Not quite, but good try on the pronunciation! National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, is every November, when thousands of budding novelists all around the world try to sit down and write a full-length novel in just November – in 30 days.
“That sounds next to impossible. Writing a whole novel? In just 30 days? Isn’t that, like, 5,000 words a day?”
Actually, it’s just 1,667 words per day. A novel can be as few as 30,000 words, or as many as 80,000. Some novels are even longer, but those tend to drag on, and should either be pared down or should be split into two different stories. 50,000 words is usually a good standard to aim for. And working with Times New Roman, 12 point font, double spaced, this works out to only about 4-5 pages per day.
Now that doesn’t seem too hard, does it?
Actually, as a former NaNoWriMo survivor veteran, I can attest to the fact that it is quite difficult. Plotlines change and evolve, new characters appear, and sometimes edits are needed. And edits don’t count towards length requirements.
Add in to this that I have plenty of other work that comes ahead of writing, and NaNoWriMo becomes quite the challenge. But never let it be said that I will back away from a challenge, so I’m going to give it a shot.
Want to track my progress? Check out my writer’s profile here. And wish me luck! If anything, maybe consider becoming a participant in NaNoWriMo yourself!
Talk to you all at the end of the November?
Wasted Potential
What am I scared of? That’s an interesting question.
Yes, I know what the question means! I heard Suzy, here, on my left, say “spiders” already. I just need to think a moment. Lemme take a sip of my beer.
Okay, got it. The thing that scares me most in the world? Wasted potential.
What do you mean, “What do you mean”? Do I need to explain it?
Ah. Guess that I do. I’ve got a good story here.
So this happened a couple years ago, back when I was still in my undergrad. Now, if there’s one thing that I’ve learned, it’s to not do your working or studying in your room! Get distracted in minutes, guarantee you. Instead, I always like to try and find a coffee shop, someplace with people around so that I can’t just start surfing the web or blaring music. Makes me keep on reading my textbooks.
So I go into this coffee shop, get my coffee, and I’m looking around. Place is packed. I eventually spot the only seat left, and it’s at a table where there’s already another employee, probably on his break or something, just lounging. I head over, ask if he minds if I sit, no, please, go ahead, thank you, all of that little small talk, great. I take a seat.
I’m pulling out my books and papers, dumping them onto the table as I’m digging through the crap in my backpack, and the other guy starts looking over at me and my work. Now, before I go any further, lemme describe this guy. It’s kinda important.
The guy sitting across from me was definitely in middle age, if not pushing the boundaries of it. Thinning gray hair, wrinkles around his eyes and on his hands, little bit of a paunch behind that green apron all the employees have to wear, you know. Typical middle-aged guy, maybe a little run down by life. Possibly even run over once or twice by life. But hey, I’m not one to judge.
The guy asks me what I’m studying, I tell him genetics, he makes the appropriate oohs and aahs. You know. Everyone gives me that sort of thing, like it’s any tougher to be an expert in genetics than it is to be an expert in medieval literature or something. But then this guy starts asking questions. And let me tell ya, he was actually asking good ones! I’m doing my best to explain the answers, pulling up pictures and diagrams from my books, but this guy got it.
Let me just go back and emphasize this point. This guy got it. And this was his first time, too. Not, “oh, I took this in college but am just now remembering the details of it,” nothing like that. He knew crap about genetics, but was able to understand everything I said, and make it all fit together logically. In his head! After five minutes I was skeptical, after ten minutes I was incredulous, and after fifteen minutes I was amazed. I was sitting across from a guy that probably had an IQ in the MENSA range.
But then, I start asking him about his life. “What’s your story?” – you know the drill. And man, this guy had a story. But I’ll warn you right now, it’s not a good one. Oh no, definitely not.
Hold on, I need another beer.
Aah, that’s better. Keeps the throat wet, you know?
Where was I? Oh yeah, this guy’s story. And he had quite a story. Went off to college, and got a girl pregnant in his freshman year. Yeah, not even six months in and he’d already knocked up this girl. Not even a long-term girlfriend, some girl at a party. He dropped out, tried to help support her, but things sort of fell apart, and they never even got married. So he doesn’t have alimony, but he’s barely a part of this kid’s life, either. Sends him money, sees him every couple of months or so.
So now that he’s out of college, well, this guy had to head into the workforce. And he worked a lot of low pay, hourly jobs. He eventually managed to pick up an associate’s degree, taking classes at night, and landed himself a decent financial position, but then the recession hit, and back on the street he went. Back to the hourly wage jobs. And now, he’s closing in on fifty, and still doing the same thing. No retirement, no plan for the future.
Now, if you’re not feeling pretty low for this guy, well, I don’t know what’s wrong with ya. I can tell you, I was feeling it. So then, before he got up to leave, I had to ask him that one question.
This is the question that, like an iceberg, has a lot more below the surface. You all probably hear it every single day, in some form. And you probably all shrug it off with a word or two, a quick little answer that just barely touches the iceberg’s tip. But it goes a lot deeper than that. This is the sort of question that can run a whole night’s discussion, just on it’s own. You all know it.
You don’t know it? Well, here it is.
“Are you happy?” I asked him.
And oh, ladies and gentlemen, this was the killer blow, the knockout punch. Because if you’ve been following along, you know that this guy has wasted a hell of a lot of potential. I knew, from fifteen minutes of talking with him, that he was brilliant. Not even just smart. Freaking brilliant. And he had gone and tossed it all away, squandered a life on meaningless work that really didn’t live up to what he could have done.
But when I asked him that question, I saw him open his mouth. Saw him start to give that reflex answer, of course, oh yeah, can’t complain, not perfect but a decent life, all of that. But then he stopped, and I saw that sorrow in his face. Saw him stop, risking his true self to a stranger.
“No,” he said.
And that one word, right there? That sent a chill all the way down my spine. That was, bar nothing, one of the scariest conversations I can remember. And that, that, is why I’m always questioning my life. Always taking a step back, peering over my own shoulder to see how I’m doing. Because I don’t want to destroy my life like that. I don’t want to find out, down the road, that I have what I fear most:
Wasted potential.
I need another drink.
Missing Brains 