Random Scribbles

You know, I have no idea how I came up with the name The Titan’s Edge. I guess it sounded cool at the time. Ah, well.
I’ve come to realize that reading comic books all of my childhood has really prepared me for coming up with and writing scripts for artists very quickly. Ideas surge forth when I think of them visually. However, finding an artist to work with is proving trickier than I thought. I’ve got the story, just not the talent to bring it forth into reality. So this is my official plea, to all artists willing to work for free on labors of love, I’ve got some excellent scripts waiting for you. (first time you’ll hear me actually compliment my work).
In other news, welcome to week 4 of my Adventures in Florida, an exciting 52-week drama about a young couple living in the Dying Hole of America! On the plus side, I have way more time for writing these days.
This week, the woman I’ve been dating for the past six years is finally introduced to Crabby Michael, the Boy Who Never Gets Enough Sleep. He’s almost as bad as Hungry Michael, the Ass.
We’re having loads of fun though. Yesterday, I totally rocked it with Taco Siesta Day! ‘Twas awesome if I do say so myself and nothing burned/broke/blew up so I call that a good day!
Well, that’s all for now. Consider this an official news posting updating you on all the little details of my pleasant little life. So long, for now.

Secret Lab

An interesting article on Google X, a secret lab where robots and space travel are discussed with open minds and hearts. It’s probably relieving to scientists to be able to dream as big as they want without fear of their funding being pulled or being viewed as ridiculous. I’d always considered science as an art form, where big ideas are what fuel great innovations. If I choose to go into a science field, I couldn’t imagine a better place to work.

My Father

I wrote this for my father on Sunday.

I want to tell you a story.

It’s about a boy who, more than anything, wanted to be a writer. But deeper than that, it’s about the man who gave him dreams.

My father is a gentle man but a firm believer in discipline and he balanced the two well, though it must have been difficult at times. We children certainly didn’t make it easy. We still don’t. He instilled in us a desire for something greater and the thought that we can conquer the world. And for that, I love him.

I’ve wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. But I never thought I was talented or dedicated enough to do much of anything. My father, however, had two life-shaping rules and God bless him for pounding them into my head (figuratively and literally).

The first rule involved the word “can’t”. It doesn’t exist in his vocabulary and he’s tried his best to obliterate it from ours. Protests of our inadequacy fell onto deaf ears: he absolutely refused to not believe in his children. My heart swells remembering his words of inspiration.

Once you say you “can’t” do something, your mind already starts building mental blocks, so much so, that you’ll discourage yourself, and you’ll refuse to even try. In other words, you’ve given up before you’ve even made your attempt. That, to my father, was a greater sin than failure. I’ve tried to carry those words with me and have even spread them when a friend seemed to be flagging in strength. There are many who owe him a debt of gratitude without ever having known him.

My father’s second rule was no less important and goes hand in hand with the first: “Never limit yourself.” This he takes very seriously. It is a religion to him, as it should be to all. The only one who can ever hold you back is yourself. And that’s exactly what you do when you say the word “can’t”.

Hand in hand.

As a child, I was interested in many career options and my father, patient as always, took the time to nurture each one.

If I told him I wanted to study the stars, he would come home the next day with an encyclopedia of the universe, that I absolutely loved.

If I casually mentioned that I wanted to create robots, my father would bring home a guide to building machines and a set of tools.

When I told my father I wanted to write, it was he that gave me the most useful piece of advice I’ve ever gotten. He smiled at me and told me:

“Then write.”

And, well, here we are.

 

Thank you, Dad, for giving me dreams, for taking away my doubt and for never letting me limit myself.

 

I Love You,

Michael