In the spirit of honesty, I can't claim this joke as my own. But I couldn't resist turning it into a comic!
Click to see Warped Plastic #5 and #7.
Saturday, September 30, 2017
Warped Plastic #6
In the spirit of honesty, I can't claim this joke as my own. But I couldn't resist turning it into a comic!
Click to see Warped Plastic #5 and #7.
Tuesday, September 26, 2017
Ten Minute Word Vomit: What World Peace Looks Like to Me
Things have been pretty quiet on the blog lately--minus the weekly webcomic updates--so I thought I'd give you all a little update on what I'm doing.
I'm still writing every day, though in small spurts rather than the BIC (Butt In Chair) time I'm used to. It's actually working out better than I thought it would: I get to think about my writing while I'm out and about, then when a line or two of words come to me, I can open Google Docs on my phone and get those thoughts down. The pages add up surprisingly fast.
My main endeavor recently, though, has been a new job in customer service. This month I started with a company that sells contact lenses, and even though that may not sound terribly exciting at first, I've loved it so far. Every morning I wake up with a mission to go help people see, and it's so rewarding getting to talk to people all around the country every day.
One of the best things about my company is that, while we do deliver a product, what we sell is service. I have the power in my position to truly help people, and I don't have to ask a supervisor if it's okay to do A, B, or C to make my customers happy. I'm learning to think more creatively about how to serve people, and I feel like I've already grown a lot as a person from doing that.
But as great as the job is, still nothing beats coming home at the end of the day.
I walked in last night to find my kids digging for dinosaur fossils in a sand table. They made a mess, but they were having so much fun. After dinner, I even joined them.
These are the moments to remember.
And this is what world peace looks like to me.
While the Internet is busy falling to pieces over NFL players and Presidential tweets, each of us have people in our real lives to love. That's not to say the online flavors of the week aren't important--open dialog on serious issues is a vital channel for positive change, too.
But man, imagine a world where, for just one hour, we all came home, put down our phones, turned off the computer, and just loved the people in our lives.
I'm still writing every day, though in small spurts rather than the BIC (Butt In Chair) time I'm used to. It's actually working out better than I thought it would: I get to think about my writing while I'm out and about, then when a line or two of words come to me, I can open Google Docs on my phone and get those thoughts down. The pages add up surprisingly fast.
My main endeavor recently, though, has been a new job in customer service. This month I started with a company that sells contact lenses, and even though that may not sound terribly exciting at first, I've loved it so far. Every morning I wake up with a mission to go help people see, and it's so rewarding getting to talk to people all around the country every day.
 |
| I'm still not as good as this guy, though. Image credit: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints |
One of the best things about my company is that, while we do deliver a product, what we sell is service. I have the power in my position to truly help people, and I don't have to ask a supervisor if it's okay to do A, B, or C to make my customers happy. I'm learning to think more creatively about how to serve people, and I feel like I've already grown a lot as a person from doing that.
But as great as the job is, still nothing beats coming home at the end of the day.
I walked in last night to find my kids digging for dinosaur fossils in a sand table. They made a mess, but they were having so much fun. After dinner, I even joined them.
These are the moments to remember.
And this is what world peace looks like to me.
While the Internet is busy falling to pieces over NFL players and Presidential tweets, each of us have people in our real lives to love. That's not to say the online flavors of the week aren't important--open dialog on serious issues is a vital channel for positive change, too.
But man, imagine a world where, for just one hour, we all came home, put down our phones, turned off the computer, and just loved the people in our lives.
Friday, September 22, 2017
Warped Plastic #5
Friday, September 15, 2017
Warped Plastic #4
Friday, September 8, 2017
Tuesday, September 5, 2017
No, Writing Is NOT My Hobby
A while ago, someone on a Lego fan page presented an interesting challenge: explain your hobby poorly.
With some thought I came up with this:
I play God to a world I keep either in my closet or on a folding table in my basement, where I dismember people if they're wearing the wrong pants, the wrong shirt, or the wrong expression.
I also sniff packets of material imported from Denmark.
Don't judge. That's the Lego experience.
I had so much fun describing that hobby I then turned to butcher others, too.
Like, every week I get together with other weirdos and rub horsehair against strings most people think are made of sheep's intestines while I watch a stick bob up and down in order to channel the spirits of dead Europeans.
I also enjoy pushing peasant foot soldiers across a field full of traps and tell them they can't run. If any make it to the other side alive, I endow them with incredible powers and they get an immediate sex change (assuming they're male, but they all get the same operation).
Then there's writing.
I could give a terrible description to what I do as a writer. There's plenty to work with.
But I don't feel comfortable explaining it as a hobby, because it's not a hobby. Not for me.
Often when I've told people I'm writing a book, they've said something along the lines of, "Oh, I'd love to write a book someday."
And I think, You could do it now if you took your ideas seriously enough!
Other times I almost feel embarrassed to admit I'm a writer when I introduce myself, because I think it sends a more casual image than I intend it to: one of a lonely Friday night where I have nothing better to do than blow dust off an old notebook and scribble down some terrible emo poetry I'll never finish.
Not that there's anything wrong with writing terrible emo poetry on a lonely Friday night. I think we've all done it.
But especially after I introduce myself as a writer who doesn't actually have a writing job, it can be easy for anyone to minimize that aspect of my life and classify it as a hobby.
A nice hobby, sure. But still a hobby.
So what's wrong with that?
Hobbies serve an important purpose. They relieve stress. They provide a creative outlet. They give you something to think about besides work. We all need them.
I've talked about my own hobbies quite a bit here on the blog. I have more than there's time for, unfortunately, but as sad as that makes me sometimes, I can live with that.
I can live without playing chess all the time.
I can live without hiking in the mountains every summer.
I can even live without Lego.
Shoot, I still feel the urge to play any piano I come across, whether it's in someone's house or in a public square. But despite the central role my musical instruments have played in shaping who I am, I could probably live without those, too.
Maybe I'd just be a shadow of my complete self. But I could live.
But writing? I can't live without it. And I've tried.
From the first story my older brother helped me write when I was five--a little fold-up book about a dragon and a knight--through a childhood filled with short stories, attempts at novels, storyboards for Lego movies, and a multitude of blogs, something has always compelled me to write.
When the time came for me to put aside all other pursuits and serve as a missionary for my church, I told myself, I don't need to be a writer. I'm not supposed to be a writer.
Well, that lasted a whole day. My letters home quickly turned into weekly epics that my brother posted to a blog for all my friends to see. When I got home, one reader half joked, "Now all you need to do is print it all out and publish it!"
I couldn't even stay away from writing fiction very long: eventually, I directed some of my journal writing time each night to a novel adaptation of a story from the Book of Mormon.
It's not that I wasn't dedicated to my work as a missionary. I put my whole heart into that, too. But that black badge doesn't change who you fundamentally are.
Looking back, I'm amazed it still took me three years and a host of changed college majors after my mission before I convinced myself to major in English. I tried to silence it--tried to tell myself it wasn't worth it, that it wouldn't pay the bills.
But I'm supposed to be a writer.
That's why writing is more than just a hobby to me. Yeah, it relieves stress, provides a creative outlet, and gives me something to think about besides work. And it definitely doesn't pay the bills (yet)--like any of my other hobbies.
But here's the difference: I can't live without it.
I can't sleep when I know the house will be quiet and I can jot some lines down.
I can't eat when I'm in the middle of crafting a scene.
I can't breathe without making mental notes of things to use in stories later: the musical quality of someone's voice, the flowery pattern of the wallpaper, the dewy way the air smells after rain.
Writing is the way I live. It's who I am, who I've always been, and who I want to be.
Calling it a hobby sells it short. Sells me short.
Because it's so much more than what I do for fun.
Because it takes up more than just free time.
But, if you must know how I would describe it poorly, I might say this:
I stare at walls and talk to myself about people I will never meet who live in places I will never visit but who I'm convinced are real and no one's thrown me in an institution yet.
I view the world through my opinions about the Oxford comma and the definition of literally.
I've looked into different types of poison and how to make a bomb, even though I can't squish a spider without lamenting it.
Etc., etc., etc.
This is the life I chose.
For more strange writer quirks, check out my post Nine Weird Things Writers Do.
Want to describe your hobby poorly? Share it in the comments!
A while ago, someone on a Lego fan page presented an interesting challenge: explain your hobby poorly.With some thought I came up with this:
I play God to a world I keep either in my closet or on a folding table in my basement, where I dismember people if they're wearing the wrong pants, the wrong shirt, or the wrong expression.
I also sniff packets of material imported from Denmark.
Don't judge. That's the Lego experience.
I had so much fun describing that hobby I then turned to butcher others, too.
Like, every week I get together with other weirdos and rub horsehair against strings most people think are made of sheep's intestines while I watch a stick bob up and down in order to channel the spirits of dead Europeans.
I also enjoy pushing peasant foot soldiers across a field full of traps and tell them they can't run. If any make it to the other side alive, I endow them with incredible powers and they get an immediate sex change (assuming they're male, but they all get the same operation).
 |
| Image credit: Mark Pain |
Then there's writing.
I could give a terrible description to what I do as a writer. There's plenty to work with.
But I don't feel comfortable explaining it as a hobby, because it's not a hobby. Not for me.
Often when I've told people I'm writing a book, they've said something along the lines of, "Oh, I'd love to write a book someday."
And I think, You could do it now if you took your ideas seriously enough!
Other times I almost feel embarrassed to admit I'm a writer when I introduce myself, because I think it sends a more casual image than I intend it to: one of a lonely Friday night where I have nothing better to do than blow dust off an old notebook and scribble down some terrible emo poetry I'll never finish.
Not that there's anything wrong with writing terrible emo poetry on a lonely Friday night. I think we've all done it.
But especially after I introduce myself as a writer who doesn't actually have a writing job, it can be easy for anyone to minimize that aspect of my life and classify it as a hobby.
A nice hobby, sure. But still a hobby.
 |
| Image credit: Know Your Meme |
So what's wrong with that?
Hobbies serve an important purpose. They relieve stress. They provide a creative outlet. They give you something to think about besides work. We all need them.
I've talked about my own hobbies quite a bit here on the blog. I have more than there's time for, unfortunately, but as sad as that makes me sometimes, I can live with that.
I can live without playing chess all the time.
I can live without hiking in the mountains every summer.
I can even live without Lego.
Shoot, I still feel the urge to play any piano I come across, whether it's in someone's house or in a public square. But despite the central role my musical instruments have played in shaping who I am, I could probably live without those, too.
Maybe I'd just be a shadow of my complete self. But I could live.
But writing? I can't live without it. And I've tried.
From the first story my older brother helped me write when I was five--a little fold-up book about a dragon and a knight--through a childhood filled with short stories, attempts at novels, storyboards for Lego movies, and a multitude of blogs, something has always compelled me to write.
When the time came for me to put aside all other pursuits and serve as a missionary for my church, I told myself, I don't need to be a writer. I'm not supposed to be a writer.
Well, that lasted a whole day. My letters home quickly turned into weekly epics that my brother posted to a blog for all my friends to see. When I got home, one reader half joked, "Now all you need to do is print it all out and publish it!"
 |
| Like this guy. Image credit: OverDrive |
I couldn't even stay away from writing fiction very long: eventually, I directed some of my journal writing time each night to a novel adaptation of a story from the Book of Mormon.
It's not that I wasn't dedicated to my work as a missionary. I put my whole heart into that, too. But that black badge doesn't change who you fundamentally are.
Looking back, I'm amazed it still took me three years and a host of changed college majors after my mission before I convinced myself to major in English. I tried to silence it--tried to tell myself it wasn't worth it, that it wouldn't pay the bills.
But I'm supposed to be a writer.
That's why writing is more than just a hobby to me. Yeah, it relieves stress, provides a creative outlet, and gives me something to think about besides work. And it definitely doesn't pay the bills (yet)--like any of my other hobbies.
But here's the difference: I can't live without it.
I can't sleep when I know the house will be quiet and I can jot some lines down.
I can't eat when I'm in the middle of crafting a scene.
I can't breathe without making mental notes of things to use in stories later: the musical quality of someone's voice, the flowery pattern of the wallpaper, the dewy way the air smells after rain.
Writing is the way I live. It's who I am, who I've always been, and who I want to be.
Calling it a hobby sells it short. Sells me short.
Because it's so much more than what I do for fun.
Because it takes up more than just free time.
But, if you must know how I would describe it poorly, I might say this:
I stare at walls and talk to myself about people I will never meet who live in places I will never visit but who I'm convinced are real and no one's thrown me in an institution yet.
I view the world through my opinions about the Oxford comma and the definition of literally.
I've looked into different types of poison and how to make a bomb, even though I can't squish a spider without lamenting it.
Etc., etc., etc.
This is the life I chose.
 |
| Image credit: Pinterest |
For more strange writer quirks, check out my post Nine Weird Things Writers Do.
Want to describe your hobby poorly? Share it in the comments!
Friday, September 1, 2017
Warped Plastic #2
Yesterday, after weeks of teasers, Lego announced its biggest, most expensive set to date: an updated version of the Ultimate Collector's Edition Millennium Falcon. Weighing in at 7,541 pieces and with an $800 price tag, it's sure to be a hit with hardcore fans and loan officers.
Click to see Warped Plastic #1 and #3.
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