Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.
— Ira Glass (via nefffy)
The lack of original updates is due to finals seasons; not the result of any crazy conspiracy theories, sorry.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
New Photo Album
The Lone Thing
View the whole album here: https://picasaweb.google.com/cjonny21/TheLoneThing#
View the whole album here: https://picasaweb.google.com/cjonny21/TheLoneThing#
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
A Bunnies Easter
Every time Easter roles around Floppy gets sad. He can't help it. While all the other bunnies run around, preparing their obnoxiously seasonal eggs; Floppy sits inside his burrow, gazing towards the outside world, thinking about her.
Floppy had two things at the start of his life - plans and time; and starting out, he was pretty successful. One day, sitting in his one bedroom cage, Floppy was reading the paper. Spying an add for a suitable husband, Floppy responded down the cosmic bunny tunnels. Two weeks, an expensive whisker trim, and a confidence lesson from the Dog Whisperer later, Floppy met his potential wife. Located in the safety of his travel cage, Floppy wooed the women rabbit with his charm and charisma, effortlessly capturing the lady's heart. That very day, Floppy moved into her large pen, located on a beautiful 50 foot estate.
Only downside: the wife could be kind of a bitch, taking jabs at his face whenever he stepped out of line. She also didn't take kindly to his quick glances towards other woodland critters.
Floppy didn't love her, but it was a small price to pay for a life of comfort and ease. His wild friends would marvel at his luck, but Floppy would laugh it off, stating how he couldn't wait to reclaim his bachelorhood. He was certain he would miss his wife, but he had time to say goodbye, to thank her for a few good years of free food and occasional neutered sex.
But then suddenly, on one spring morning, as the wind whistled through the grass and the leaves gracefully fell from the trees, time was up. His wife was dead, and not wanting to let her body be claimed by predators, Floppy stood guard until the humans discovered the corpse. He swore he didn't love her. He swore.
She was taken without his permission, before he decided that the time was right, and before any of his plans could be completed. Floppy felt anger, shock, peace. Floppy felt alone.
She was his constant, his muse, and after four good years she was gone. The large pen, once seeming too confining for their adventures, now just felt empty and vast. For days Floppy didn't move, there wasn't a point.
Yet, as Floppy saw the humans mourning the death of his wife, he realized that he wasn't alone. Not only were these people going through the exact same thing, but they could offer the unanswerable question “is there anything I can do?” That’s where some scrap of comfort and the joy came from – even though it felt like he was alone, he wasn’t.
So Floppy, deciding not to remarry, instead remaining on the estate. Everyday standing by the fence and gazing towards his wife's grave, feeling a little less alone inside. For Floppy realized that his youthful ambition was based out of fear - the fear of inevitably losing the thing he loved. Yet, as Easter morning dawned, Floppy realized that even fleeting love was worth this pain.
Floppy had two things at the start of his life - plans and time; and starting out, he was pretty successful. One day, sitting in his one bedroom cage, Floppy was reading the paper. Spying an add for a suitable husband, Floppy responded down the cosmic bunny tunnels. Two weeks, an expensive whisker trim, and a confidence lesson from the Dog Whisperer later, Floppy met his potential wife. Located in the safety of his travel cage, Floppy wooed the women rabbit with his charm and charisma, effortlessly capturing the lady's heart. That very day, Floppy moved into her large pen, located on a beautiful 50 foot estate.
Only downside: the wife could be kind of a bitch, taking jabs at his face whenever he stepped out of line. She also didn't take kindly to his quick glances towards other woodland critters.
Floppy didn't love her, but it was a small price to pay for a life of comfort and ease. His wild friends would marvel at his luck, but Floppy would laugh it off, stating how he couldn't wait to reclaim his bachelorhood. He was certain he would miss his wife, but he had time to say goodbye, to thank her for a few good years of free food and occasional neutered sex.
But then suddenly, on one spring morning, as the wind whistled through the grass and the leaves gracefully fell from the trees, time was up. His wife was dead, and not wanting to let her body be claimed by predators, Floppy stood guard until the humans discovered the corpse. He swore he didn't love her. He swore.
She was taken without his permission, before he decided that the time was right, and before any of his plans could be completed. Floppy felt anger, shock, peace. Floppy felt alone.
She was his constant, his muse, and after four good years she was gone. The large pen, once seeming too confining for their adventures, now just felt empty and vast. For days Floppy didn't move, there wasn't a point.
Yet, as Floppy saw the humans mourning the death of his wife, he realized that he wasn't alone. Not only were these people going through the exact same thing, but they could offer the unanswerable question “is there anything I can do?” That’s where some scrap of comfort and the joy came from – even though it felt like he was alone, he wasn’t.
So Floppy, deciding not to remarry, instead remaining on the estate. Everyday standing by the fence and gazing towards his wife's grave, feeling a little less alone inside. For Floppy realized that his youthful ambition was based out of fear - the fear of inevitably losing the thing he loved. Yet, as Easter morning dawned, Floppy realized that even fleeting love was worth this pain.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)