Living Well

For those of you who wish to be in the know:

I am currently writing a story involving precocious raccoons, walking islands, and treacherous emperors (as if there were any other kind) and I think it should surely earn me a Literary Award.

Also, I'll be embarking on my illustrious comics career (do I smell Eisner Awards on the wind? It may just be curry, but...) with a short story. It'll be jocular and fun, and carefully balanced out by a sorrow-fest of a project that will follow, shortly before embarking on my first big publication, "Losing Ground". Losing Ground will be so amazing, Jules Verne will do a post-mortem spiral in his grave and leak corpse-tears out of sheer joy.

And in more mundane matters, tomorrow begins my efforts at employment. Hopefully this will allow me to keep a roof over my head, graphite in my pencils, and coffee in my gullet.

And to my editor, who I know reads this, I'm waiting on the return of chapter one of my prose works. I'm already working on finishing up chapter two!

With all my love/contempt/etc, everyone.

Thinking? Thinking.

Some of you who read this know my ultimate goal (or penultimate, if you consider plan: "City On The Moon Full Of Robots") of becoming the world's most powerful graphic novelist. (I meant to say 'skilled', not most powerful. That would imply some sort of ring of superhuman, fighting artists. That would be insane.)

I've been getting ideas, again! And good ones, too. With Elves and Deserts and Robots and possibly even Brain Parasites. Y'know, all the classical story elements. Jules Verne knew this, and I plan to continue his good works. If by good works, of course, one means rampant abuse of art-enhancing drugs. Oh, my, yes.

This week I have seen a man dancing with a dog. I have gone about fifty miles by foot. I've traded stories with a man who traveled with his band, inside of a van, touring the West coast. Tomorrow I'll be attending a charity concert/party/dinner thing that I stumbled upon. I have seen ladies in exceptionally strange, yet intriguing clothes that honestly boggle the mind.

I have had a very good week.

This weekend I will begin seeking employment, and from there become one of the many citizens of the world considered 'upstanding'. From there, it is only a matter of time before I begin the gradual sink into Absinthe-soaked madness. As you can tell, this year's to-do list is filling up rapidly.

And I do believe, dear readers, that I will leave that at, uh, that. Stay tuned, and become appraised of Great Happenings!

(Capitalization intended, there.)

Living In Constant Terror

A bit of an exaggeration, yeah, but hyperbole is where I shine!

I've managed to find a few nice places to eat, and can navigate... part of downtown. I still need to find furniture, and furthermore transport it to the new homestead, but I'm still tackling this one step at a time.

I've gotten, courtesy of a nice, recently re-patriated Seattleite... Sattilian?.... something-ish woman who's given me a lot of friendly advice and pointed out some interesting parts of the city.

Hell, as far as exploration goes, I haven't even managed to cover as far as Blondie and I saw, on our disastrous trip a couple of years ago. Blondie, who as far as I know is living it up back in the Midwest and cursing how much junk I left at his home before vacating, is the penultimate friend/archvillian, who I'm trying to entice up here in the coming year.

Still a lot to do, then.

This week is job-searching and furnishing my new 'crib', as they say on the MTV. Until then, expect me to continue updating this web log on the exploits of my slow, neurotic settling toward a happy medium.

Battered, Yet Unbroken

I am still alive, I have housing, and that is that.

Not really, of course. Eventually I'll have to sleep (three days with less than two hours at a time. I will crash hard), but before then I have to gather up the necessities (shampoo), and learn the lay of the land. The next step after that is to become famous.

You see, breaking your problems down into an orderly list makes them so much easier to solve!

Seriously though, job hunting begins tomorrow. It is entirely possible that I might already have a lead on that, but only patience and panic will tell.

Things have just become so weird. My routine has been obliterated. It's freeing, yet terrifying for all the lack of guidelines. I feel... that I will be composing and possibly even following a great many to-do lists in the near future.

Seattle remains incredibly beautiful. This morning I dined upon a bagel, and might very well repeat the experience.

For now, exploration, preparation, and demolition.

I Fear For My Life

Not really. Or at least, not specifically. Sure, there's this terrible, unnameable dread, but who counts that, really?

...Certainly not I!

These buses have wireless internet. This is the tripiest thing ever, and I am amazed. Currently I am in Wisconsin, ready to be shuttled toward the great wasteland that is Minnesota. I have over a day and a half left of travel, assuming we are neither set upon by mutants, struck by chain-lightning, or abandoned by the driver in a fit of manic religious fervor, as he seeks to 'find himself' amongst the Montanese... Montanian? ...Montaguish corn fields.

Last evening I hung out with the parental figures and shot pool. It was a fine and classy send-off, if ever there was one. I was left at the bus station by two good friends who informed me that it had been no trouble to do so for me, since they were already on their way to the city for an erotica convention. How fortuitous!

I've heard almost nothing but worry from everyone who heard about my plans. I can understand their concerns, but... How could I hesitate further, when it has been so long since I had an good, honest adventure?

Terrible Mistakes

Ah, blogging. Perhaps one of the lowest, crudest forms of communication yet, even surpassing the whole 'let's smear chalk on a cave wall' idea.

And yet you're here, reading! This means that you are willing to follow along in the neurotic train-wreck that is my life, or you just got lost looking for smut on the internet. And if I'm writing, well then I've probably run out of smut to find on the internet. Quite the achievement, if I do say so myself. And I do.

'Third Bad Ending' is the title of this blog. That's a video-gaming reference, by the way. Certain games, depending on the choices you make (or even those old, choose-your-own-adventure books, remember those?) can lead to good endings (defeat the evil overlord, save the princess) or bad endings (fail to save the princess, descend into a life of binge-drinking and loose sprites).

You'd have to do pretty badly for yourself to reach that third, especially bad ending.

I'm posting this thing for the benefit of friends, family, and complete strangers all seeking to learn whether or not they wisely placed their bets on 'when will Sam fail?', a betting pool I hear has managed to include just over three-hundred people at last count.

I'm writing this on a Thursday night, rooming in a friend's basement whose kindness I'm shamelessly taking advantage of. I've bought a ticket for Seattle (land of pale folk, where the coffee flows like water) and Saturday morning will be leaving the Chicago suburbs, one of the few areas on Earth where the weather is actively trying to kill you.

In a few months, I'll be trying to make my way as a professional teller of stories, illustrator of pictures, and so on and so forth. I'm sure you'll all appreciate (or at least refrain from mocking) my efforts as soon as I've provided a link. That's all, I suppose, for today.