Euphoria’s Book Launch Birthday Giveaway

Hiya! It’s my birthday next week, and guess what? I want to give YOU a gift. FOR A LIMITED TIME (April 7 – April 11) I’m giving away my brand spankin’ new novelette Killing Sabrina. Stay tuned, and don’t miss out!

Click here for more info on Killing Sabrina.

That’s not the only great news I have for you, either. The latest chapter in the Quest for the Crystals saga has just launched on Wattpad. Hop on over to see what Regina, Dwain, and their new friend Astral Ages, are up to this week.

 

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The Quest for the Crystals: The Book of Wind

Hey, Ghost & Ghouls!

So, over the last couple of months I’ve been busy over at Wattpad, showing off my latest YA fantasy adventure serial, The Quest for the Crystals: The Book of Wind.

It’s about a skunk named Regina, and her hedgehog friend, Dwain. They’re orphans, no thanks to some jerk-ass canines who took it upon themselves to slaughter everyone in the kids’ village. Now Regina and Dwain are looking for answers — and revenge.

In a nutshell? Wind in the Willows meets A Song of Ice & Fire. That’s right. No messing around.

This first novel in the Quest for the Crystals saga a tale that’s been in the works for well over five years now. It’s something I’m incredibly proud of, and feel a liiiiiiittle selfish just keeping this tale of political intrigue and high fantasy all to one little corner of the Internet.

So, if you’re not already following me on Wattpad to take part in this weekly-serialized adventure, you’re in luck. Starting today, I’ll let you in on the action too – every single Tuesday.

Chapter 10 just dropped today. But hey, that’s no fair to you, my dear reader! Click here to start reading from the beginning.

‘Til next time, Ghosts & Ghouls!

Stay creepy. 😉

 

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Art is Pain

Someone I once knew in my old life pushed away friendships that weren’t “emotionally easy”, because she was too afraid to share herself deeper than skin-level. She was quiet and awkward, and intelligent and confident, and caring and angry.

I knew her as well as she’d let me, but at one time I considered her a best friend. We’d met in college and spent the first two years of our friendship getting stoned or drunk and bonding over cheesy ’80s movies, midnight adventures with our dorm-mates out in the campus arboretum, or sitting quietly around her kitchen table, gleefully roasting toothpicks over an open scented candle flame.

She was a person who protected her heart behind sky-cutting walls, but wrote beautiful agony inside her notebooks. Her poems spoke of deep and cryptic musings that flowed from the sorrow of her heart. Death. Love. Hurt. Confusion. Pain.

Very few people were granted access to her poetry. Not even her lovers were allowed inside. Distant and guarded face-to-face, it was clear to me that what she wrote was what helped her heal and to sort things out and try to find perspective in life.

The reason I bring her up now is for the simple fact that she’d come to mind recently.  Thinking of her brought on feelings of pain for myself, grief for what once had been. Thinking of my friend caused me to reflect on my own life up to now, how much pain I’ve faced in thirty-one years. How much pain I’ve run away from in thirty-one years.

Nobody enjoys the experience of pain. Real, heart-wrenching pain.

Loss.

Regret.

Embarrassment.

When given the option, we run from pain like it were a sickness – a common cold, the flu. We mask it with alcohol and drugs, with a bright smile and a gregarious nature – sometimes helping others feel good about themselves. Sometimes, we mask our pain with arrogance, overcompensation in our achievements to attempt to showcase a false perception of emotional perfection, that we have our “shit” together.

Many times, we mask our pain with our credit cards and bank accounts.

We do everything in our power to maintain a fleeting sense of happiness. To not be happy means that there is something wrong with us. That something deep within the woodwork has malfunctioned. And instead of putting on our work gloves and hard hats, ready to search within ourselves to fix the problem, we are expected to be stoic. “Pain is weakness,” people with bravado complexes say. Visual vulnerability within a person is taboo. To be genuine with ourselves is almost blasphemy, invokes feelings of shame and guilt.

But pain is a part of life, as natural as all positive emotion we share on the contrary – even if pain is unpleasant and messy, and sometimes shows us harsh and honest truths we would rather not be privy to.

The fact of the matter is that pain shows us who we really are. If we let it, pain can help us to grow and to help others who are in search for a guiding light.

We cannot selectively numb emotions, when we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions.

~ Brené Brown

As artists, it is our duty to peel away the flesh that keeps all that is safe and secure. Emotion is the birthright of humanity, and our exploration of the deeper self – while in no way an easy task – is what allows us to speak to our audiences. This is because artists are obligated to express themselves honestly. Most of us have something evocative to say, we stand for something that resonates with other people. Therefor, it is our responsibility to speak from a place of soulfulness, worldly experience gleaned from the experience of pain.

Whether or not our audiences realize it, we relate to their pain through our own pain. As my friend displayed, art in and of itself is healing. Music resonates with the teenager going through a world-ending breakup. Television, movies, and video games offer cathartic release to wound up adults after a rough day at the office. Books and comics fuel hungry imaginations, and often inspire change.

Art heals, because art is art is pain – and pain is honesty. This is how some of the greatest works in the world, including our own, are created. [Tweet this!]

I started writing this article out of a sense of pain. Grief has been heavy on my heart over the last year, and thoughts of anger, regret, sadness, and ultimate confusion and loss threw me headlong into a hurricane of wavering depression. Some days I have an all right grasp – others, not so much.

Truth of the matter is, the friend from my old life is no longer my friend. We were too different. Needed different things than what the other was willing to offer or compromise for.

We always said our friendship was the type that “you could go years without speaking, and reconnect like nothing separated us.” I believed that.

But I had to move on.

A lot of mistakes were made on both sides. A lot of regret. It hurts like a son of a bitch, even a year later, but when I’m being honest with myself, I know letting  go and thinking on the good memories was the best decision – for the both of us. I hold no anger. No animosity. She was good to me, the best she could be. I am grateful for what we had.

But it still hurts. A fuck ton. I sat down and started to write this article in an attempt to help aid my pain to heal. And this soon became an article about developing your inner pain into art.

It’s important to do something creative and constructive when you’re feeling emotional. It’s healthy. It’s therapeutic. My friend knew this, and so do many artistic geniuses. What I especially love about this process that I feel like the reins are being given back. The emotions have relinquished their control and something tangible, shareable, is carved and fired into existence.

Our emotions are part of who we are as living, breathing, entities of this universe. When we push away our emotions and try to mask our pain with distraction, nothing is solved. On the contrary, our pain will only manifest deeper within our souls, and over time – if we don’t release it somehow – our bodies and mind will be caught in the crossfire and will pay the price in the end.

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The Art of Vulnerability

Image credit: “Face Time Canvas 05, 2015”, by Studio Various & Gould

Last November, we talked about the art of self forgiveness, taking ownership over the life-long decisions you make as an artist. Claiming responsibility for most everything that happens to us isn’t an easy task – most notably when doing so bares the ugly truth that we aren’t as golden-gleaming as our delusional mind and memories would like us to believe.

Coming to terms with our own faults and assumptions and seemingly colossal fuck-ups isn’t easy, either. But finding room in our hearts for self forgiveness is one of the single most important lessons we as artists – and human beings – can take away from the universe.

Maybe as a student you once romanticized your chosen industry, and the stress of post-secondary education caused you to abandon your dreams and go into a field that just seemed “easier”.

Maybe as a child you had a grandiose idea that should have reached millions of fans, but now you’re a resentful middle-aged barista, brewing lattes for young purpose-driven millennials, with nothing to show for your rampant imagination but a few dusty-moldy sketch books in a box somewhere in your parents’ basement.

Or maybe a minor disagreement between you and your business partner blew totally out of proportion, and now the dread of dangling bridge ropes haunts you from the other side of a great emotional chasm.

You’ve allowed your heart to recognize the sober realization of your situation, and now it’s time to move on. You want to move on. You want to take control of your situation and try again. But you might feel lost. Afraid that the same mistakes will trip you along the way. You might have a vague idea of what you’re supposed to do, where to go – but the path looks long and winding, dark with uncertainty, and overwhelming.

But you’re not alone. In fact, there are people out there who want to help you – who want to see you succeed. These are our supports. These are our mentors.

Part Two: The Art of Vulnerability

“Learn from everyone. Follow no one. Watch for patterns. Work like hell.”

-Scott McCloud

What do Walt Disney, George Lucas, Stan Lee, J.K. Rowling, and Dr. Dre all have in common?

If you said they were some of the richest people in their industries – well, yeah, you’d be right! But what else? Sure they worked hard, yes, they never let the world beat them into the ground. But steadfast determination can only go so far. Come on, you read the title of the article! You already know the answer!

Vulnerability. Vulnerability to let go of control, to open your heart to those around you who are like-minded and wish to see you succeed.

That’s the key.

It is nigh impossible for anybody to strike success all on their own. Many amateur artists are convinced that the journey of their craft is a lonely one, but by pure nature in and of itself, human beings are social beings. Very rarely does the lone wolf make it on his own. It is through cooperative teamwork that success is born.

As artists, we need a team of people to push our limits and keep us accountable. People who will help us, be they your podunk town’s little painter’s circle, or business associates involved with your influential social media blog. By letting these people into our lives, sharing our work with them, and vice versa, brings not only strategic feedback, but also invaluable perspectives that will broaden your own.

To put it bluntly, you can’t spell “art” without “heart”. Yes, you read that correctly – it wasn’t a punch-drunken typo. Listen, we get so absorbed by our work that it’s easy to miss the obvious (and sometimes glaring) flaws. Your support group is your second pair of eyes. They are the “pre-release” consumer, if that makes sense. The beta market. The test audience. The “DaVinci’s Inquestors”.

It’s downright scary to be so wide open when it comes to sharing our art. Everything we create bears a glowing piece of our souls (like a horcrux!). However, by shutting yourself away, hoarding your art from the world convinced of a “one-man army” mentality is an honest disservice. Your art will not grow, and neither will you.

In conclusion, Dr. Brene Brown says it best: “Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen. … Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity.”

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Let your path unfold around you.

Take a deep breath.

Feel the pressure – feel it, deep in your expanding lungs.

Let it rest there awhile.

Know the pressure. Understand the pressure.

Visualize the pressure within the expanse of your lungs as the stress of 2016.

When you are ready, exhale. Let all of your stress built up from this previous year spill from your lips and your nostrils, the invisible force that it is, as your lungs rest back to their natural shape.

Take another deep breath. And this time, pay attention to the muscles in your arms, in your thighs, all of the muscles in your body.

Feel the tenseness – feel it, deep beneath your clothes, beneath your very flesh.

Know the tenseness. Understand the tenseness.

Visualize the tenseness in your muscles the stress of your artistic craft. All of your “shoulds”, all of your “wants”, all of your regrets, and all of your failures.

Exhale, and with your exhalation, feel your muscles relax.

Relax, and know that a brand new slate surrounds you. You can do anything you put your mind to. You can do anything, so long as you put in the effort, and care for yourself in the best way you are capable of.

It is a new year. It is a new now. Self pity does not serve your soul; it serves the ego.

Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and let yourself go.

Art. Art is what serves your soul. Art is what drives you. Do not close your heart this day, this month, this year, to the wonders of creativity, to the desire of your artful mind.

It is who you are. It is what you are. So stop reading this, and go make something.

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The Kids Are All Right: The Modern Family

Note: Hi! Do you enjoy badly-written, pretentious college-age analytical essays?!?!?! I KNOW I DO!  I wrote this piece a million years ago for my second-year film class when I was taking journalism at Humber. I have vague memories of publishing this essay soon after graduation, but lo and behold, there it was sitting neglected and dusty in the barrel-bottom of the drafts section. So, enjoy!

The Kids Are All Right (2010) is a drama/comedy directed by Lisa Cholodenko that comments on how contemporary Western society views the institution of same-sex marriage and child-rearing. Joni Allgood (Mia Wasikowska) is pressured by her half-brother, Laser (Josh Hutcherson) into helping him track down their sperm donor, Paul Hatfield (Mark Ruffalo), without the consent or knowledge of their married lesbian mothers, Nic and Jules (Annette Bening and Julianne Moore). When Nic and Jules discover that their children have gone behind their backs, they feel threatened that the inclusion of Paul may corrupt the balance of their family, especially when Joni confides that she would like to spend more time with him. The film comments on how marital circumstances have changed over the years, and as such, unconventional families (in this case, “the perfect lesbian family,” a quote from the film itself) sometimes feel challenged by a relatively traditional world to prove themselves, but the overall dynamic of family values (such as support, commitment, and honesty) still apply despite the change of gender roles/sexual orientation in contemporary marriage.

“Don’t mind Laser. He’s just jealous because I have a car and
he’s got daddy issues. And his name is stupid.”

A scene that reflects the idea of this comes early in the film when Jules and Nic decide to limit Paul’s involvement with the kids. Instead of flat out denying Joni’s desire to see Paul again, Nic and Jules invite Paul over for a family barbeque, with the intention of what Nic calls, “killing him with kindness”. In this scene, Lisa Cholodenko uses cinematography, proxemics, mise en scene, and light to illustrate what life for the Allgoods is like – but also to establish Nic and Jules’s secret ill feelings towards Paul, but still attempting to support Joni’s wish to see him again.

The scene is framed with contrasting medium-high-key light and medium shots, with Paul standing on the left side of the frame, and Nic and Jules standing close together, a few feet away, on the right side of the frame. This composition relates to social distance, which is typically “reserved for impersonal business and casual social gatherings” (Giannetti and Leach, “Understanding Movies”, p. 127), but Cholodenko uses these proxemic patterns to make Paul feel intimidated by the intimate space shared between Nic and Jules, suggesting “such behaviour might be interpreted as standoffish” (Giannetti and Leach, p. 127), which accurately reflects their disapproval and own intimidation of his presence.

“Who needs a man when you have wine?”

As the scene progresses, the get-together transitions to the backyard, around a picnic table where Paul and the Allgoods have a barbeque meal together. The use of high-key light and mise en scene is important in this transition, although Cholodenko uses them subtly by focusing on close-up angles of Paul and the Allgoods. Surrounding the group are various objects that suggest the ideals of a typical well-to-do family (such as an expensive barbeque, a well-maintained yard, etc) and therefore when there are quick glimpses of these objects, “the frame is likened to a window through which the audience may satisfy its impulse to pry into the intimate details of the characters’ lives” (Giannetti and Leach, p. 100). Coupled by Cholodenko’s focus on the group’s conversation about life and experience – as well as Joni’s rebelling at her moms’ embarrassing pride of her graduation speech – the scene is shot with a realist, documentary-like technique to “suggest the copiousness of life itself” (Giannetti and Leach, p. 2). The scene ends with a wide shot of the group eating and enjoying each others’ company, accompanied by a music sting. The use of high key light during the scene implies an overall sense of “security, virtue, truth, and joy” (Giannetti and Leach p.76) among the family. By using these techniques, Cholodenko creates a plausible world that exhibits the worries and triumphs of a working unconventional American family, and that the Allgoods are indeed able to survive as a family without the inclusion of a dominant male figure.

On a more personal note outside of this brief film analysis, I really enjoyed The Kids Are All Right. I’ve seen it far to many times in order to write this peice to want to subject myself to the film again any time soon, but I really do recommend it. I’m not going to spoil the movie for you, if you haven’t already seen it, but it’s genuinely well-written and really funny in a smart and sometimes dark way. The second act provides a huge twist (which I’m personally on the fence about), but that doesn’t stop The Kids Are All Right from being a quality film of 2010.