Well, this has been a really good week for working on String Finger Theatre. In fact, I'm really rather in shock about it. The Revenge of the Third Dimension storyline is done. Okay, it is almost done. The crisis has been resolved. Yes, the crisis has passed. I don't think I'm giving anything away by saying that things end happily for our little gang of misfits. What? You want bad things to happen? This is a freaking stick figure web comic. I created it because there is just so much horrible depressing shit in the world and I wanted something fun. Of course, things are going to end well for our gang. Or, reasonably well. Just remember that Attack of the Third Dimension ended with Zed in a catatonic state so things don't always end perfectly for the gang but things do end and that is what has happened.
Of course, there is still some denouncement to go. There are some loose ends to tie up or tie in knots or whatever. Hey, I still can't cope with the fact that I've finally reached the end of the major part of the storyline. This humping monster caterwauled along for one hundred and fourteen comics. I can't believe it. The number just boggles my mind. I swear I bet that I don't have any readers left. You cannot sustain an audience at three ounces a week for thirty-eight weeks. What was I thinking? And, it's not even over. Not really over. There are still a couple comics to go to cover the denouncement. Oh, well, it is what the story demanded.
Actually, I'm really rather proud of how this whole mess has turned out. I am mostly impressed with how well it hued to the ending I had in mind. This isn't like Attack of the Third Dimension where I had to scrap the ending at the last minute because I realized it sucked. I'm still not happy with Spherecone leaving to prove he wasn't a bully. It just doesn't sit well with me. Oh, well.
The ending isn't as desperate as the Lizzie McGuffin Incident where I just sat back and hoped I could stitch everything together. It still amazes me that I was able to fast-talk my way into an ending that was almost coherent for that episode.
No, I'm really happy with how they resolve the problem with the third dimension. It's goofy. It's as good as needing to find a hedgehog to appease the Beast that Forgot Time.
Of course, what am I saying? It isn't over, yet. I've still got to write the denouncement. Great big horrible things could still go wrong. This epic monstrosity of an episode could carry on for another dozen comics or more. Oh, man, I sure hope not. This was just one long puppy. I cannot believe how long it is, and the crazy thing is that it really carries. It is really plot driven, which was actually one of the things that bothered me about it in the early going. Too much was happening. Too much was being driven by events. They weren't standing around enough. They weren't philosophizing enough. Everything was must do this and must do that.
Oh, well. I've got an idea or two for what I'm going to do next. I don't think I'm going to bother with much of a transition before the next episode starts. I don't think the next episode is going to be that long so what is the point of trying to do a one off or something? Besides, I don't think I could do a one joke and out kind of thing. It really just isn't my bag.
I like story. I like carrying on and talking. I do not like setup, setup, beat, punch line. It just does not appeal to me. Besides, I don't think I could do it very well. It all comes from the fact that I am only funny when I don't think I am funny.
No, seriously, it is something I have noticed. People will tell me that I'm funny, and I'll just give them a quiet look because I don't believe them. After a while enough people will tell me that I am a kick to be around that I will start to think that they must be telling me the truth. Of course at that point, I'll actually try to be funny. I'll try to have a witty thing to say or whatever. This always results in people staring at me strangely, and I'll sheepishly apologize for my bizarre behavior, promising never to do it again. At some point shortly after this, people will start telling me that I'm funny, and the whole cycle is repeated.
So, I think I've got a snowball's chance in hell of keeping people entertained with String Finger Theatre as long as I'm not trying to make people laugh. I'm shooting for mildly amusing. I'm not even trying to fit a punch line in at the end of any given comic. In fact, I seldom if ever think the last panel is the best one in any given group. I simply try to keep myself amused with the situation and occasionally with what they are saying. I seldom if ever know how any given comic is going to end when I start it. It is not uncommon for me to be scribbling away and drawing my crummy stick figures and writing dialog while trying not to think about that last panel because I have absolutely no idea what is going to happen in that last panel. If I stop to think about that last panel, I'll just freeze and nothing will happen.
So, I just blaze ahead and hope everything works out, and amazingly enough, there is some good stuff at the end. I'm also pleased to report that Cube dominates the proceedings once he finally puts in his appearance. Here I was worried that the episode was entitled Revenge of the Third Dimension and there wasn't going to be any of the cats from the third dimension. Well, I'm happy. Cube is much more sensible than Spherecone, which was almost a disappointment, but I think it really does work for the best.
Now, I've just got to finish the denouncement. One hundred and fourteen comics and counting. Nobody cares, do they? Nobody is reading! Argh!
Well, there it is. I have now posted six of the eight chapters of The Etymology of Fire on my website, and I have really mixed feelings about having done this. On the one hand, there is this feeling of really having done something. I haven't just sat around on my bum for the past three years talking about something at great length only to refuse to show it around in the end. If I wasn't interested in showing it around, then why the fuck did I waste so much time talking about it? On the other hand, there is the whole dirty pisshole of online publication. I am somehow less of a person because the novel isn't really published. I might as well be a three year old picking his nose and showing his crayon scratches off to the other children in class.
It still stings. Oh, it is only web published. Yeah, I know I tell that story too often so I spare the details here, but it still stings.
Of course, I'm fooling myself with this strange little middle ground I have forged for myself. I haven't posted the whole damn thing on my website, which means that it isn't really even web published, right? The whole argument makes me sick.
Why does it have to be more or less? Why does it matter if somebody sitting in a big chair somewhere has decided that my words are worthy of publication? Why does the decision of validity rest with somebody else?
Maybe, it is the whole system. The simple fact that an author has fought his way past the wall of publisher and editor has somehow proven that the work is more worthy than an author who realized that you don't have to scale the wall. You can walk around it. Hey, you weren't supposed to notice that this thing doesn't stretch from one edge of creation to the other! Get back here and claw at the wall with the rest of us!
So, yeah, I don't know. I mean I never even attempted to scale the wall, and it wasn't out of some irrational fear of failure. I wasn't so scared of being told that my work was crap that I didn't even bother to try. I simply discovered that the wall did not extend from one edge of the universe to the other. I realized that it was possible to walk around it, and I simply never looked back. Of course, the wall is pretty damn wide and so I am way the hell over here where nobody is looking because they are still clustered up under the wall waiting for books to be tossed down to them.
Oh, and I cannot be afraid of learning that my work sucks because I have this rather annoying tendency to place it where just about any damn fool person can find it. You have to look away from the wall for just a moment, but that is beside the point. Anybody could stumble across my work, and anybody could decide for themselves if my work sucked. They could then send me an email letting me know just how much it sucked. So, yeah, I'm not afraid of discovering that I suck. In fact, I'm pretty damn sure that my work does suck based on people's reactions to it. Strangely enough this really hasn't stopped me from continuing to post my shit. I'm either crazy or delusional or both.
And, I've drifted way off into the sunset here. I know I had a point. I just have to remember what it was. Oh, yeah, why I only posted part of the book.
Well, I really want to do a paperback edition, and I really want it to be special. The easiest way to do this is to hold something back. It also encourages people to help support me if they want by purchasing a copy, or they will be able to purchase a copy one of these days.
This is also the self-interested part. We cannot ignore that, and it is most obviously noticeable by the fact that I have now removed the last two chapters of The Magic Flute from my website. Yeah, strange decision that. Why do it? Well, for a combination of reasons, really. The first of which is the obvious that I haven't posted the entirety of The Etymology of Fire so it looks really silly to have all of one and not all of the other. The second reason, which is really only there to reinforce the first, is that I've had people tell me to my face that they would never support my work by purchasing a copy of The Magic Flute simply because the whole thing was available for free.
Son of a bitch!
Well, so much for the idea that placing the entirety of the work on the world wide web only encourages people to support you by purchasing a copy. Oh, well.
Of course, I feel kind of foolish taking down those last two chapters since they have been freely available for so long. On the other hand, it is my work, and I can take it down any damn time I feel like.
So, if the last part of The Etymology of Fire and The Magic Flute is not going to be available online in the hopes that somebody someday might be interested in actually supporting me by purchasing a copy, then why the fuck have I left all of The Faire Folk of Gideon online?
Simple. It was always intended that way. Just like a web comic, The Faire Folk of Gideon was always intended to be freely available to anybody who wanted to drop by my website and take a look. I'm one of those really strange people who think that art should be free. This is really rather a self-destructive attitude because there is this whole problem with being able to pay rent and buy food. This basic attitude of free art forces me to find some lousy low paying job because we do not exist in a society that is interested in supporting artists.
In fact going in line with my willfully self-destructive attitude that art should be free is my other bizarrely self-destructive attitude that artists should have to fend for themselves. What does that leave us with? Well, it leaves us with the contradiction. Yes, I wish that art could be free; however, I am fully aware of the fact that this just doesn't make any kind of damn sense.
Art should be free, but the artist still has got to eat. And, I'm not one of those truly crazy people who feel that artists deserve to suffer for their art. This really is one of the most overtly cruel and heartless attitudes that I have found in people. Well, why exactly do I deserve to suffer just because I do creative stuff? Is it because you suffer? Do you not like your life or something? I'm really sorry to hear that, but it does not explain why I should be forced to suffer.
Oh, well, I think I'm being particularly incoherent and rambling with this journal entry. It just goes to show that I seldom have a plan in mind when I sit down to write these things, which is just the way I like it. This isn't an essay. It isn't a well thought out form and design with a purpose or any such non-sense. It is the insane ramblings of a creative person.
All of which brings me around to one really strange question that I have never been able to answer. Why in the hell do I put my work in a place where people could trip over it?
There is got to be some ego here. Hell, there has got to be a whole heaping lot of ego and not just the obvious kind. I'm not talking about the whole name recognition thing here with people requesting autographs and crap like that. Autographs, by the way, is one of those things I have never actually understood. When I was a little kid I got an autograph from the guy who played Trelain in that episode of Star Trek. It was really cool getting to meet him even for just a moment because Trelain was probably my favorite character out of all of Star Trek. The thing of it is that only weeks later I remember looking at that autograph and thinking so what? It was just an autograph. So, I guess I've never understood that.
I've never understood following people around and putting them on high so I guess I just can't imagine anything of the kind for myself. So, I really don't think I'm suffering from that kind of ego trip.
There is however a completely different kind of self-importance. The thought of having pleased somebody. The thought of having helped somebody. The thought of having made somebody happy or affected them or made them think about something quite possibly in a way that they had never thought about it before. Yeah, that kind of grandiose self-importance. I suffer from that one a lot.
Did you like my book? Did my web comic make you chuckle? Did you like my piece for clarinet and piano?
Really, you did?
You just made my day. I'm glad you liked it.
Now, fuck off.
This journal is a crazy thing. Sometimes the ideas are well thought out, and the entries are clear. Other times the ideas are working themselves out as I type, and the entries are rambling monstrosities that may not even have a coherent point. I'm actually more fond of the monstrosities than of the things that sound as if I actually took the time to work out the idea. Now that I think about it, I do not even feel that saying I have taken the time to work it out is even the right way to put it. It would be better to say that I feel far more strongly about something and that my thoughts are more focused on the subject, which is probably just being all semantical on your ass, but I don't really care. So, this is not in fact an attempt to bury yesterday's journal entry, which everybody so inclined should read even right down to the point where I say fuck off. This entry exists for the sole reason that I continued to think about the stuff I wrote about yesterday, and I simply could not let it go.
I'm feeling a little bit like Drake from The Faire Folk of Gideon. I feel that I should just keep talking in the hopes that the indefinite, ill-defined and quite possibly non-existent audience might understand that which I am trying to say, which is really just an attempt to justify the works to myself. And, yes, that really is what he is trying to do. Drake is trying to justify his actions, which repulse him, to himself, and I'm not just talking about the slacker part. He is trying to convince himself that it was okay to do all of those horrible evil things that he did.
So, the whole impulse that still puzzles me is how did I get from not caring about whether anybody ever actually saw anything I wrote or hear any music I composed to feeling all moody and depressed because nobody is reading or listening.
Nothing I have ever written or composed has ever been done for an audience of anybody other than myself starting from the very first stick figure drawings I ever did as a kid up to and through the book chapters I just posted on the website.
I remember many was the time I would be working on The Magic Flute or walking to class and I would remind myself that I wasn't doing it for anybody. I wasn't trying to be discovered. I wasn't trying to make money. I was doing this because I had no choice. These things were driving at me. These noises were banging around in my hand, and they simply would not stop. I had a choice. I still do. I have a very simple choice. I can attempt to express these things through writing or composing or whatnot, or I can go crazy.
You can watch me acting this out. All you have to do is go to the fiction archive and read The Walking Brain Dead or even The Faire Folk of Gideon if you want to read about my fears and anxieties over not being able to get the words out. The Walking Brain Dead is probably a better example if for no other reason than it is a short story, but it was also written years ago so it hits more exactly into the dread I felt that I might not be allowed to do this. Actually, there is another short story, which is not anywhere on my website and which is much more savagely brutal and violent than anything else I have posted, that covers the same ground. The reason it is not anywhere on my website should be obvious. Holy fuck! This guy is really sick and twisted in the head! And, no, it isn't anything like Fire at the Dawn of Night, which I would charitably describe as misogynistic. The unloaded story just beats on myself a lot. Not anybody else. Not for anybody else.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh, right, I wasn't concerned with or even vaguely interested in having my work noticed since being recognized for my stuff had absolutely nothing to do with why I was doing it.
So, what happened?
Well, I was trying to cope with people rather not very subtly telling me that I was lazy and irresponsible. I was a slacker without drive or ambition, which was just insane. You don't go into music unless you have fire eating you alive. This shit is hard, man. You don't stick with it even when the advisers and faculty are telling you that you are going to fail unless to stop would be to die. I was dedicated all right. I simply was not dedicated to anything that I could get anybody to understand, which is why I would get people telling me to grow up and accept some responsibilities for my life and to which I would say do not judge what you do not understand.
So, I remember walking to class one day and thinking something along the lines of well, fuck, maybe I should try to make some money off of my writings. They are there whether I do anything with them or not. Maybe, I should try.
I can't remember if this happened in my first semester of graduate school when it looked like my financial aid had been slashed because they were doing that to everybody so thank you very much Governor Wilson or if this happened in my last semester of graduate school when I was scuttling around to temp agencies trying to find work because simply finishing a thesis doesn't qualify you for financial aid unless you are enrolled in classes just so you can keep getting that aid even though there are no more required classes and you really want to get the fuck out of school already so stop delaying the inevitable by taking more stupid classes just to keep getting aid.
Hold crap! Was that actually one long sentence or did I string a bunch of unrelated shit together? If that is a real sentence, then it has got to be just about the longest I have ever written.
So backtracking two paragraphs, that is kind of where it started. At some point after deciding I really should try to make my writing work for me in a more monetary manner, I figured out how to post some of my stuff on the world wide web. The general idea here was that people would be able to see it and if they were trying to decide if they wanted to throw work my way all they had to do was look at what I had posted to see if they felt I could handle it. That was the idea. So, at first I was just borrowing space from one friend's website and then another friend's website. Finally, I had my very own website.
No, I did not simply post stuff on the web expecting people to come knocking at my door. Just how big a dumb-ass do you take me for? I actually submitted a bunch of my stuff to magazines. I can't remember exact numbers, but there were at least four rejections and two cases where the magazine had been canceled so they weren't really in the market for manuscripts anymore. And before you say that is hardly any rejections at all, I would like to point that there really weren't that many science fiction & fantasy rags available to choose from.
So, at some point after all of this, I became less concerned with whether or not anything I had on my website was ever actually noticed, and the website became more a thing onto itself. But, I guess the idea had been planted. Stuff was posted and nobody was interested. Nobody cared, which is very depressing if you stop to think about it too long. It is also very funny because after all why should anybody care? It is just one site out of so many others that it is not even funny. The whole notion that anybody might care or be interested is just egotistical in the extreme. Damn, there has got to be a better word than egotistical to go right there, but I just cannot think of it. Monomaniacal? Is that a word?
No, the website did not morph because I kept getting rejection letters. I forget the exact sequence, but somewhere in the middle of sending stuff out I discovered that it was possible to self-publish and simply stopped bothering to send stuff since I was now going to try to make the money directly.
Which is all kind of sort of how everything wound up on my website, and I now had an interest in whether or not anybody bothered to notice my stuff. This still didn't really faze me until much more recently. I mean when I first started self-publishing I was pretty much convinced that I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of making any money at it. In fact I went so far as to tell somebody my brother knew who owned a used bookstore that I didn't care if my book made any money. I seem to recall him saying something about my noble attitude, and I really don't know how serious he was about it. He may have been very politely trying to tell me that I was full of wet soggy shit. Well, the thing I didn't bother to try and explain was the whole reason to think of the proceedings in terms other than raking in the dough was to not be disappointed if I didn't rake in the dough.
Not that I didn't have insanely irrational hopes in raking it in. I seem to recall getting my whole family to help me shlep every single last copy of The Magic Flute down to the Alternative Press Expo under the great mistaken hope that I might sell more than a few copies. I mean I really was expecting to sell more than four, but there were reason for that having more to do with the problem of having a book at what had turned into a comic book convention. There was also the problem with the log jam at the convention door where the people were simply buying everything in sight and by the time they got around to my little table way in the back they were simply out of cash. I'm not making that up. I had multiple reports from people around the convention that this was exactly what was happening. I won't even go into how I was screwed out of my table way at the front where I would have been in the middle of all that madness. Yeah, I'm still just a little bitter about the way I was treated by the organizers of the Alternative–don't say comic it makes you sound elitist–Press Expo.
So, now I've got conflicting impulses. On the one hand, this is my crap, and I'm doing it for me. You can see it if I feel like it. On the other hand is the fact that I am waving it around, and I'm really not entirely sure why.
Sometimes, I just feel really foolish about the whole thing. Other times, it all seems to make a weirdly feverish kind of sense. I don't know. I think it is all foolish, and I mostly think that I throw it out there without really giving it much thought. I just kind of close my eyes and swing. Damn the consequences. Damn what people think. This is what I am doing, and I am doing it for wholly irrational and contradictory reasons.
There is the ego thing; however, I also have a very deep-set need to be helpful. If somebody can find something or take something from out of one of the crazy little pieces of shit that I have made available to the whole wide world, then that is just really cool. I'm glad I could help. I like being helpful.
It would also be nice if I could make a few pennies out of all of this so people would just shut up and stop telling me that I am wasting my life. Damn the puritans. Damn the Calvinist work ethic which I always understood to mean that a person's worth and whether or not they were going to get into heaven was determined by how much fucking money they accumulated during their life. Our fixation on monetary gain just really sucks rotten eggs through a tube made of purple greasy shit.
Wow, you know there were actually moments when I thought this was going to be a coherent journal entry, but I think I just totally drifted off into the sunset there. Hey, what can I say? You are reading the ramblings of a mind in motion. Enjoy.
Okay, I know. I shouldn't say anything. I'm asking for a world of trouble. A very wise person once said that there are three things you simply never discuss—religion, politics and the great pumpkin, but I've just got to say something. I've just got to.
So, it is Friday night. Laundry night. And, I'm folding clothes, listening to the radio. I've got NPR turned on, and it is the commonwealth club or whatever. They're discussing fundamentalist religion in the United States, and yeah, I know. I'm thinking I should turn it off. I'm thinking I should be listening to anything other than a discussion of religion, but I let it be.
So, one of the guys pops up an interesting analogy. He says that a lot of the fundamentalist Christians like himself do some of the things they do like creationism in science class because it is like missionary work. One of the main ideas of missionary work is that you are helping people. You are going into an area, and you are teaching them just like a doctor goes into an area and helps people.
So, taking evolution out of science class is the same as a doctor going into a backwater somewhere and helping care for people. It's the same thing. Helping people physically and helping them spiritually onto the Christian path.
Now, I really apologize if I don't have all the exact details put down just as he said them here. I really am not trying to set up a straw man. Really, I'm not.
But, literally, I heard this, and I just had to stare at the radio. I couldn't believe it. I had never heard that argument before, and it actually took me a little while to get to the heart of what was wrong with it.
The difference between a missionary going out to teach people in other countries about Christianity and a doctor going out to help people who are sick is that one of these people is basing his actions on empirically proven fact while the other person isn't. Guess which is which.
I know. I know. This is a pointless journal entry. Nobody is interested. Nobody is going to listen. Nobody cares.
But the thing of it is that not everybody agrees here. Recognize that. Not everybody agrees. And, I'm not saying you shouldn't care about what you believe. It is very important to believe in what you believe. I believe that very strongly. I also believe it is very important to understand that not everybody agrees with what everybody else believes.
Hell, not everybody believes the empirically proven fact that the world is round.
I know I'm being foolish here. I know I'm essentially contradicting myself by saying any of this, but damnit, I'm saying it anyway.
Not everybody agrees on the things that are not empirically proven fact. Not everybody agrees on the things that are empirically proven fact. Not everybody agrees. But, we're still here.
We're still here.
Okay, I'll shut up now.
So, get ready for a really boring journal entry because I should have written this at least a week ago but I didn't want to chase that last entry off of the main page. Not even out of any sense of wanting to leave that entry up since it could cause me nothing but grief. I didn't want to write another entry so soon after the last one simply so I would not give the appearance of trying to bury it in the archive. You may have noticed that I will do that. I will mention in an entry how much the previous entry had come to embarrass the hell out of me and that I was writing a new entry shortly on the heels of the last simply to bury the previous one. Not this time. I've kept my mouth shut even when I had something to write about.
The Revenge of the Third Dimension storyline of String Finger Theatre is finally over. Okay, I know, the writing part is done. The final installment probably won't make its way to the website until the end of January or something like that. And, yes, I did write once before about reaching the end of the storyline. Of course, that was really just the end of the major action and the whole revenge thing had been resolved. I figured I still had a little bit of denouncement to go.
Well, that little bit of denouncement proceeded to take up an additional ten comics. Or maybe just nine. Nine or ten. I'm not going to go back and count. It was insane. I would be sitting there drawing, and I would think that this comic had to be the end. I knew there couldn't be anything else that was going to happen. I would reach the end of the comic, and things still wouldn't be wound down. It started to drive me just a little crazy. Samantha can attest to that as she would see me sitting there holding up my notebook with both hands as if I was trying to strangle it, and I would be screaming along the lines of "Stop! Stop! Why won't you end already? Leave me in peace!"
It really was crazy, and I can't quite figure how it happened. It just wouldn't stop. They just wouldn't stop talking or get to the point. They were supposed to walk off the stage, and they were simply refusing to do it. It was a plot; I know it. They were doing it to me on purpose. Oh, you think this is over, do you? You think we're supposed to go our merry way now, are we? Well, we're not through with you yet. You will suffer. Oh, yes, you will suffer.
The only thing I can imagine was the episode was just so long that there was all of this momentum built up and that it just took an insanely long time for this drive to finally sputter to a halt.
In fact, I still kind of needed to grab the story by the short hairs and just teach it who was running the show. The last comic of the story begins with Cat yelling at Mike because it looks like he hasn't left yet. Turns out he has been and back again. Recycling a gag I really liked from the whole Search for Zed's New Groove story that everybody hated. Not the gag. I don't know if people liked the gag. I mean they hated the Search for Zed's New Groove story, which is a pity because I really liked it. Very character just sputtering around driven. You can expect more like that in the future.
Speaking of the future, I do have ideas. Much to my surprise, I do have an inkling of what is going to happen next. It won't be anything as long or grandiose as what I have just finished writing, and I for one am really hoping for something much shorter. This next one could tear off in all kinds of crazy directions, but I really am hoping to keep it relatively straightforward.
In fact, I've got a pretty good idea of what is going to happen after that and then again after that. So, I've basically got the next three episodes all set-up and ready to roll. None of which are expected to be on the scale of anything we've seen. Relatively speaking, they'll be nice quiet little affairs.
Oh, except maybe the third one. Or the second one, depending on how crazy things get. For that matter, the very next story could grow completely out of control, but I'm going to let things happen as they may.
I'm actually the most intrigued by the third story coming up. I figure it'll be quite different from anything that has come before, and it will be the first one to verge on being a serious storyline. They're going to wax philosophic about the reality of the comic like they've never done before. It could be quite interesting. It could also be quite boring, but on the interesting front, it should have overtones to the horrific. I'm really looking forward to that part.
So, we'll see what happens. I've got ideas to the future. String Finger Theatre will continue.
I haven't really gotten anywhere with music, but that doesn't surprise me at all. Aside from the fact that I've been concentrating on getting the Revenge of the Third Dimension story done and aside from the fact that work has been really super depressing these days, I've just been really slow to turn to the music. There's been something I've been expecting to come up that I thought would prevent me from working on music for at least a month, and I really think that has helped make it hard to concentrate. After all, why throw myself into something that is soon to be interpreted for about a month. Well, in the past couple of days I've learned that I don't face a long break so I'm happy about that, and I'm really hoping it means I'll get past that block.
I'm also chomping at the bit just a little to get back into The Faire Folk of Gideon, but I really am trying to hold that back. It would just be so easy for the next step in The Faire Folk of Gideon to take over and be such a convenient excuse to not think about music. But, I don't want to go there. I really want to try and get some music going before I let myself back at The Faire Folk of Gideon.
It is also kind of challenging because it is not exactly as if I'm completely changing gears. I'm not taking off a writer's cap and putting a music cap on because I've still got String Finger Theatre going. I just hope that doesn't cause any hindrances or complications.
Oh, well. We shall see what happens.