So... (An Apology. Part of it is anyway.)

     So...

     I guess there goes my idea of using this blog super often. 

     [Insert some beautifully well-spoken apology that moves you to tears and back to joy.]

     Well, now that that's over, let's get down to the actual business of blogging because I don't think any of you actually care how long it has been since my last post or if anyone is still reading this thing. That said, I get random page views from all over the world, so who knows?

     Anyways.

     I'm at a somewhat pivotal period in my life. I'm a senior in high school, I'm eighteen, and I have so many decisions to make. It's all a bit exciting. I know I've talked about this a little in a previous post, but it really began to sink in this past Friday. It was my high school's homecoming game. The last one I will ever attend as a student. 

     Talk about the pressure. The immenent spector of college and the relative decisions is contually getting closer and closer and becoming larger and larger. It's absolutely daunting. To add to it all, senior year is somewhat stressful in and of itself (which is partially my fault).

     I just don't know what path to take. I have full faith that as long as I seek after God, He will show me His perfect will for the path I need to take, but I still can't help but wonder. I know what I want to do (a blog post for another time) and I know where my talents lie, but those ideas don't include a specific path through higher education and aren't always very fruitful, respectively.

     As scary as all of this can be, I have no fear because of 1) my faith in the Most High God (Yahweh/Jehovah!) and 2) I have always had an adventurous side. Even though it is hardly ever given a chance to get out, I certainly have that kind of adventurous spirit, the kind that thinks jumping off a cliff (figuritavely and literally) to possibly be incredibly fun.

     And how is it for you? Where are you at in your life? What kind of decisions are you facing? Are willing to go off a cliff? Do you wish you were?

With love,

Jesse B.

"A Description"

Here's a little piece I did last night that just sort of gave birth to itself and then forced its way onto my computer screen via the keyboard. Enjoy.


     "The gentle sun drips off of her hair like so many delicate drips of dribbling nectar out of the sweet throats of a thousand honey dews blossoming strong and bright with an energy that shines out of her liquid eyes and sparkles from her cuticles, her fingertips. Her face is as radiant as a field of dying wildflowers exploding into supernovas across a green night sky with its light boring into my own black hole of a soul as their strongest radiance glows reaching across the distances of cold space into my visual cortex. Her hair frames a picture that not even Vincent could have pictured in the depths of his acutest despairs and brightest fantasies all mixed together in one galaxy spiral of a swirl. Her cheeks, her silken lips are softer than that field in the gentle grip of a latter adolescent spring just becoming truly sentient of its warmth and beauty. Her nose, her chin, her lines of jaw make a simple sketch displaying a not so simply explained splendor more mysterious than that of the spiral all golden."

Your thoughts?

Well, There Goes My Nails

Hello again! See, I told you was going to start making regular blog posts! I bet you didn't expect that resolution to followed! 

Anyways...

     Sometime during last week, I'm unsure of the exact day because without any sort of repetition in my basic schedule I can't keep track of what day it is, I took a bold new step. I submitted a personal essay of mine to a literary magazine. I believe I mentioned it in my last post. I wanted to be super ridiculous and submit it to The New Yorker because then I'd be sure to get a real rejection letter (one that I could frame), but I couldn't find any clear guidelines for a print submission as opposed to an email submission.

    When I posted a status about it to Facebook (yes, I still use it, just like millions of others) I used the phrase "let the three months of nail-biting begin" or something akin to that. According to The Sun's website (which I found incredibly well-designed) it takes at least three months for them to process your submission and get back to you (which seems to be a pretty standard time frame). What I meant by the aforementioned status is that no matter what I'm doing or where I am that moment, the thought of my submission and it's upcoming fate will be ever in the back of my mind.

     I can't help but wonder at what my reaction will be when I get the results. If I am published, I'll probably have the same reaction I had when I received a letter from Christopher Paolini in reply to one I had written him. I screamed and danced like a middle school who just met Robert Pattinson. I'm really glad I wasn't recorded in anyway.

     Now, if I'm rejected, I don't really know what will happen. I'll at least frame the rejection letter because it'll make me feel like a real writer. Other than that, well, I guess it could go a few different ways. I could laugh it off, I guess. I could dig my heels into the ground and become super inspired. I could also sink into one of my periods of depression. None of these are mutually exclusive by the way.

    One thing is for certain, I'll keep writing, because that's just what I do.

    As writers, if this is something you plan stick with (think long hard about; it's a decision not to be made flippantly),  then you're going to have to deal with a lot of Stuff. On the best days, you'll feel one possessed by a muse, the words flowing off your tongue or your pen like so many drops of rain off of a tin roof in a summer storm. On the worst days, you'll feel self-doubt. You'll feel ridiculous. You'll feel like freaking out and screaming. You'll question yourself about why you even bother. At times, heaven forbid, you'll feel like giving up.

    Don't.

    I can't promise it will get better because I am not experienced enough to have that kind of information, 

and, from I've gathered, I don't think it does. You will always have bad days at times.

   If writing, if being a writer is truly something you love then isn't it worth it? Isn't worth fighting for even if the biggest enemy you face happens to be yourself? Like with all truly good things, the answer  is yes.

Growing Pains

     Once again, please insert my usual "speel" about how I'm a horrible blogger, I don't upload enough things for any of you (not that too many read these), and I promise to do better. It's summer now so I don't really have any excuses. In fact, it's been summer for a little while so I definitely don't have any excuses to use.

     So, let's get to the important things.

     My legs really, really, really hurt.

     Oh yeah, I have a job now. Via my English/drama teacher's husband I have managed to procure a job for the summer. Unlike what I suspect many of the jobs are that those my age obtain, it is full time and above minimum wage ($10.00 an hour). Oh, it's also in the sun in a shipyard in a place with a name that I originally believed to be a racial slur, but is the actual name of the town(?) or area. None is truly important.

     The point I'm trying to make is that I'm entering whole new. Compared the existence me and most of my peers, it's different to the point where it seems like being around these people is a whole new plane of existence. I'm not saying that as an educating young individual with a fairly bright future I'm above or better than of them. What I am saying is that I feel like an alien among normal people. I've finally stepped out of the dream of private school education, middle class socioeconomic status into the real world of a forty hour work week in the hot sun. Talk about culture shock.

     As I look forward to the rest of my summer, I wonder if I'll overcome that culture shock. Will I acclimate and integrate to that culture by the end of the summer? Do I want to? Will I perhaps understand them? Whatever happens, I'll certainly learn more of the world.

     When riding around last Wednesday with my father, we were driving so that I could work out where exactly I would be driving everyday for work, he said that this job would benefit me as a writer, and then he made a reference to Steinbeck (at which I glowed secretly with pride). Maybe, along with all of the other writing projects I've assigned myself will be to observe these people, to see another side of existence. I've always thought to understand the world because I've wanted to make it better. For the next several weeks, I won't be seeing it from the lofty and philosophical heights of air conditioned rooms.


                                                                                                              Good-bye for now,
                                                                                                              Jesse Byron

P.S. I'm getting published again. Same anthology, different edition. Also, I sent in an essay to a publication called The Sun. I'll probably hear back from it some time during August.

Turning Eighteen

     By the time I finally finish and post this, Monday, April's Fools, will have passed, and I will have already turned eighteen. It's a big deal for me. That in itself is highly unusual. Normally my birthday comes, and I can't be made to care any less. This year is much different. There is a lot that goes along with becoming eighteen. I've learned a lot; yet I still have so much more to learn. I've come so far; yet I still have so much farther to go. I've done so much; yet I still have so much more to do.
     So the questions are "What do a I learn?", "Where do I go?" and "What do I do?" Then those questions can be split and made into so many more. How much time do I really have left to answer any of them? I'm concerned which is odd for me. I'm usually not concern for anything. I go through life with much of the blase sort of the attitude. Yet now, I don't think that attitude will work anymore.
     I stand before an expanse; seemingly void yet full of so much. Is literally seething and swarming with opportunity. And I prepare the sale these uncharted waters? The truth is quite simple. I don't know.

     This is what scares me.

     And yet, at the same time I'm strangely exaggerated I would like for me. I have closed the door to one adventure merely to openvthe gates for another one. I sit, posed jump out of this plane into the unkown. My heart equally trembles with apphrension and a most singular thrill of excitement.

Thanks!

Hello Everyone! I just wanted to share a cool picture with you that I find really exciting:

Now, I know this a super huge deal, but it's really encouraging. I'm not sure of the international views are from the same people, but maybe they are! Anyways, thanks for reading the view posts I've done (or at least skimming them on the main page). I ask just a couple favors: 1) Please feel free to comment! I love discussions! 2) If you like what you read then please reccommend to anyone you think might be interested.

Thanks again and goodnight!

Love,
Jesse B.

Freedom?

"Alas! Why does man boast of sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute? --it only renders them more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger, thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by every wind that blows, and a chance word or scene that that word may convey to us." -Frankenstein, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

     Hello folks! Well, this is me finishing a post I started several days ago. I'm also doing it at a time when I am slightly sleep deprived. Usually, I'd put this off 'til later. However, I feel like that if I don't produce something of effort and worth before midnight then my weekend has been a total waste of, well, everything. That being said, let us discuss the above quote from whom many the Grandmother of Science Fiction.

     Why would beasts be considered free? It seems more natural to think that they are the ones chained. They are the ones unable rise above basic instincts and desires. It is homo sapiens, not any other creature, that decided to begin stocking up on food and build the complex civilizations that we have. Are we not free to perform higher level thinking? To create and compare and analyze and argue?

     Or has our freedom simply wrought newer chains?

     As with many things, perhaps the answer lies in that grey category of Yes&No. Yes, we are free of our basic instinct, but it seems that by having a broader horizon we open ourselves to be influenced more. We become subject to such a thing as sentimentality. We begin to show emotion and to interact with our emotions, but is it correct to say we are "necessary beings" because of it?

    What are your thoughts?

    As for me, I believe that it is all in how look at it. A simple man or woman may consider himself or herself the intellectual's/artist's/whatever-other-synonyms's better because his or her life is, well, simple. They aren't necessarily moved by an essay or poem or any other piece of art. They just may have no interest in it. Vice-versa, the intellectual/artist/whatever-other-synonyms might consider his or herself the better of the simple person because they have 'risen above' the basic necessities of existence and are free to have such experiences. It seems as if it is all in perspective.

(Finished before 12:00! [Actually, I didn't. I forgot to give it a proper title.])

You should probably keep this post at hand. I have a feeling it will be spurring other posts, even if only to comment on the actual post and not the content.

Thanks for reading! Once again, I implore you to leave a comment! Start a discussion!