Am I Supposed to Blog? Oops.

You can award me the "blogger who blogs the most" award. Yup, that's me.

Sarcasm.

It's been a fortnight since I've posted on here. That's a while, isn't it? Days kind of blend together in the summertime. Let's see, what's happened since I last blogged? I feel a list coming on.

- I've finished my outline for my next novel, codenamed Tornado C. Huzzah! Writing begins soon! I haven't written in any novels since November. I've done tons of revisions and completed five long short stories, but I haven't done any actual novel-writing for quite a while!

- On a whim, I've started yet another short story. It's a half-allegory-half-mystical fantasy that's going to be pretty cool. I've written a thousand words in it so far. :) The title? "The Flame That Does Not Burn". I'm focusing a lot on theme this time around. I mean, more than usual.

- I've read some books, but less than usual, since I've felt rather sick recently. DragonLight by Donita K. Paul is one, I've also read through several of the Epistles; right now I'm rereading Raising Dragons. I only have the first two books in Dragons In Our Midst, though. O_o

- I've listened to a lot of TFK and some other artists as well. My favorite songs keep changing. Right now, my favorites are Monster (Skillet), Break The Silence (Thousand Foot Krutch), Down (Thousand Foot Krutch), and We Are (Thousand Foot Krutch). They'll probably be different tomorrow. :P Down is a consistent favorite, though. I love that song.

- We have four cats and three dogs. They eat a lot of food. And now that the three kittens are growing up, I have to change out the litter box a lot more, or they "go" underneath my bed. In those times, I have to sleep while breathing through my mouth. And since it's been raining, the sand is wet and holds odor very well. Continuing on the subject of rain (and steering it away from cat litter):

- It's been raining. A lot. Our local lagoon has filled up and drained itself out once already in the past week, and it takes a lot of water to fill it up. (When the lagoon drains out, the local people turn out to go tramping down in the mud and fish in what little water is left.) Also, there's a live crab in one of our water bins. What puzzles me is how it got in there, because the steel bin is three feet high and sheer. Then I thought we ought to have a crab farm in the water bin, but I'm not sure if our crabs are edible...

- My sister (Vrenith) entered an dragon art contest the other day. Her division (fifteen and under) only has seven entries, so the proud brother I am says, "She's SO going to win!" I'd give a link, but I write my blog posts offline.

- My other sister ("Manny") also entered a contest, with me; Bryan Davis was holding a contest in which the entrants would take a picture of themselves and one of his Dragons of Starlight books. His three favorites would win an ARC of Liberator, the last of the series. (ARC means Advanced Reader Copy. That means we get it before it comes out officially!) Turns out that he decided to give an ARC to each entrant, so we got a copy. He sent it to my grandparents. Speaking of which:

- My grandparents are coming to visit in TWO WEEKS. GAAH! So excited! And they're bringing the Liberator ARC. (:

Now that I've subdued you with the Dreaded List, I will now subject you to more horrifying poetry. ;) It's in the same sort of style as "Rising Up" but I don't like the verses quite as much. I really like the chorus, though. :)

--

Hold Onto The King

It thunders outside, echoing the inside of his mind

He's putting pen to paper, knowing that he'll find

There's a way to do it, a path already traced

But now he sees it's the most difficult he's faced.

Because in his ears are the jeers

Of those who might speak

And in his tears all the fears

Of his failures peak

But he has one more thing

In the pain and the rain

Hope lends him a wing

He holds onto the King.

You wouldn't tell by the face, but he's scared inside

Because they'll tear it apart and they won't let it slide

Sometimes like this it's hard to do the right thing

But when you're facing the "saint", it's even harder to sing.

Because in his ears are the jeers

Of those who might speak

And in his tears all the fears

Of his failures peak

But he has one more thing

In the pain and the rain

Hope lends him a wing

He holds onto the King.

He can see the words they'll say, blowing in the air

He looks out the window, pain in his stare

Will he write it? Can he do it? Or will he fail?

Will he be able to follow a divinely appointed trail?

Because in his ears are the jeers

Of those who might speak

And in his tears all the fears

Of his failures peak

But he has one more thing

In the pain and the rain

Hope lends him a wing

He holds onto the King.

He decides, hope collides

With fear, and wins

He will try and he will die

The world, it spins

There was nothing, hope is rushing

Into us, it does

Make the best and the rest

Is up to us, because:

Though in your ears are the jeers

Of those who might speak

And through your tears you'll find your fears

Are gone for the week

Now you have one more thing

Through the pain and the rain

Hope will lend you a wing

You must hold onto the King.

--

I don't think I quite accomplished anything in this blog post. O_o What's happened in your week, readers? I'm sure it's been considerably more interesting than mine. ^_^ I wonder if the life of another person is more interesting simply because it's not YOUR life. Hm. I'm going to have to ponder that one...

--

Jake

The Adventure of the Ordinary

I love the Narnia movies. They're awesome, and I really hope that they come out with more. The depth of meaning found in them, despite secular production, is fantastic.

However, one thing has always bothered me. In the Voyage of the Dawn Treader (my least favorite of the three movies), Reepicheep says something that's intended to be comforting and meaningful. "Extraordinary things only happen to extraordinary people," or something to that effect.

Not only do screenwriters often butcher the PLOT of books, this one evidently didn't know the author's philosophy as well. The very thing that makes Narnia so wonderful is that it can't happen. It's not ordinary. But if an extraordinary thing happens to an extraordinary person, is it so extraordinary after all?

G. K. Chesterton says this on the subject:

"Oddities do not strike odd people. This is why ordinary people have a much more exciting time; while odd people are always complaining of the dulness of life.

"This is also why the new novels die so quickly, and why the old fairy tales endure for ever. The old fairy tale makes the hero a normal human boy; it is his adventures that are startling; they startle him because he is normal. But in the modern psychological novel the hero is abnormal; the centre is not central.

"Hence fiercest adventures fail to affect him adequately, and the book is monotonous. You can make a story out of a hero among dragons; but not out of a dragon among dragons. The fairy tale discusses what a sane man will do in a mad world. The sober realistic novel of to-day discusses what an essential lunatic will do in a dull world."

Being ordinary is the greatest adventure of all, so to speak. If we are ordinary, everything not like us—not normal—must be extraordinary. And that makes life a lot more interesting, now doesn't it?

Rising Up: A Poem

So I haven't posted on here in a long time. And that's entirely my fault. To tell you the truth, there hasn't been much to post about. With summer here, writing is taking precedence; and writing posts go to Teenage Writer. But the proud, the few, still follow this blog, eh?

Guess what? I'm going to subject you to a horrible bit of poetry. Happy birthday.

However, the poem is a rather serious and heartfelt one. In it, I ventured, through a series of words and vibrant pictures, to help the reader feel what I mean, rather than tell them. Thus, I wrote it in sloppy rhyme-and-meter. To get the best results, you can read the poem aloud in a fast manner.

--

Rising Up

I open my eyes, take a look around

Hearing not a rustle, hearing not a sound

I used to see in grey, but now—but now

I can see! is it not so? listen how

I found in surrender I was strong

I found submission in my song

Because really, is silence better than sound?

Open your eyes, take a look around.

Blinding, I'm finding

The euphoria is rising

It's crazy, hazy

But colorful as lightning

Can you hear it?

Can you see it?

It comes from within

The liquid burns

My heart churns

But I'm rising again.

Don't listen to the voices coming in the night

They're telling you to quit, that everything's all right

Don't be content with the way things are

They don't worry about the future 'cause they can't see that far

They say to look away and always leave it be

But what they don't realize is that these chains are breaking free

We can't quit, never, because nothing's ever right

Don't listen to the voices that are coming in the night.

It's blazing, and crazing

The flames are burning hot

It's calling, I'm falling

But more often than not

I hear it

I see it

It's coming from within

The flame burns

My soul yearns

Rising up again.

We'll never be content, we'll always be the rebel

We're warriors on enemy grounds, fighting off the devil

But rising up, it's burning out, it can never rest

The spirit of eternity and spirit of the blest

Don't wait for it, run, run until you faint

To victory is running the ever-burning saint

Wake up, don't sleep, 'cause here comes the devil

Never be content with sin, always be the rebel.

It's pouring rain, insane

Never let it stop

It's calling, I'm crawling

I'll make it to the top

I'll never sleep

And though I weep

It's coming from within

My passion burns

My spirit yearns

And I will rise again.

My passion burns

My spirit yearns

I'm rising up again.

--

Do you feel what I meant to say? What does the poem tell you?

And what do you think I ought to post about on this poor blog? *glances at the dusty, forlorn thing fondly*

--

Jake

Who Are We?

Some days ago, I read a rather mediocre youth book.  It was about God's will, and it was a prime example of watered-down theology. It impacted me in the wrong way and lead me to write a fiery post about passion for God and His mission purpose.  It was three pages long (over two thousand words), so I stuck it in a Word document and left it up, intending to publish it on here sometime soon.

However, yesterday my computer died, and it didn't recover the untitled document.  All that remained was a long poem that I had written after the post was finished.

Basically, the poem below is my post, in less words and a rhyme-and-meter.  The post was perhaps a little too fiery to put on here, anyway.

*ahem* In other words, enjoy the poem, and let me know what you think.

Who Are We?

Who are we? Drive this into our minds!

Beside Your holiness, we are but dust!

Reclaim us for Your purpose, Lord

We must do something, we must!

Can we sit in comfortable churches

To listen to a sermon and a song

And then go home and do nothing

As if acting on our faith was wrong?

Lord, transform us, let us not conform!

We must battle, we must fight the fight

Against the powers that hold this world

We must burn for wrongs to be set right!

There are souls to be saved—Lord

Our blackened hearts You must make anew

There are lives to be won, so Lord

Let us burn, let us burn for You!

For your glory! let it be our cry

Be of good courage, and strong!

We must wait for your glorious day

Though the night be long.

Raise up the war cry, children of God!

Raise your swords, Christians, and shout

You have the full armor of God, man

By His strength, throw the devil out!

The darkness must be held back,

It is for the soul we battle the night!

Be strong, with a passion you must love

If we are to win, we must fight!

Throw off the sin that easily entangles

Men of God, rise up! Take heed!

Though we are but naught, the God we serve

Shall strengthen us in every need!

We are nothing, our God is all!

The Savior, the Redeemer, the King!

Push back the darkness and take the call

From every nation the people will sing

We are nothing, our God is all!

--

Jake

Poeticisms: Part IV

You'd be surprised, but life in West Africa gave rise to all sorts of new poetry. I've had something of a poetry splurge the last few weeks, so this post may be a little longer than the others: however, I hope you'll brave it through and tell me how I did.

Unlike my other poetry posts, the poems in this post are almost all focused on real life or real things.

On some of these, I gave a note telling what inspired me to write that specific poem.

And any feedback is welcome. The rhyme and meter is far from perfect, but I tried getting it to the point where it rhymed minimally (at the least) and had a fairly consistent meter.

The Pen

Spreading words of inky black
A sword across a whitewashed page
The pen brings imagination back
And speaks of darkness and light and rage.

It makes the mind soar as birds
Or burrows with moles ere—
it takes you traveling in colorful words
With the pen, you can go anywhere.


Lullaby of Night

Elves dance in the night under twinkling starlight
Dwarves delve 'neath the stony ground
As men raise their burial mound
And the world is under night—
And the world is under night.

Dark things wallow in moonlight shadow
While light lays in watchful sleep
Things stir 'neath the caverns deep
Dark stirs quietly below—
Dark stirs quietly below.

The east grows pale and the men wake hale
And the fell, twisted creatures run
To deeps below, they flee the sun
But they are but a tale—
But they are but a tale.

Be not afraid of the wild, go to sleep, be mild
The morning brings a new day
Hush you, dear, heed what I say
Sleep well, my child—
Sleep well, my child.


Bar Music
(Bar music here is constant. After we moved into our house, however, the volume and consistency decreased, but some nights it's still loud. This was written on one of those nights.)

You rolled over, you turned, you tried to sleep
Hot and sticky, you closed your eyes
In the window, music began to creep
And lights obscured the eastern skies.

You glanced out the window, yes, it's true
They're at it again, all right
As if to affirm, the music grew:
The bar songs are playing tonight.


Life in Africa
(It's pretty obvious what inspired this one.)

We have hot days and sticky weather
Thin-mattress beds, far from feather
No running water, fluorescent light
Electricity by generator only at night
No wireless internet, and school to do
The list of our "problems" only grew.

Yet, can we not be thankful for things beside?
The cool sea breeze, the sound of the tide
The water pump, the security guards
The papers, the pens, the playing cards
Food to eat, cold water to drink
We're pretty blessed, don't you think?


Snowy Mornings
(One of my favorite memories is going to bed freezing and hoping to wake up to lots of snow in the morning. There's something wonderful about going to bed cold...or maybe that's just me.)

Children curl in freezing beds and blankets
While beside the heater the adults converse
'Neath yellow lights the warm faces
Bravely weather winter's worst.

O for those days of wintry childhood!
Children under quilts listen to the wind's cries
To look up grinning at the windows
Hoping to wake up to a white sunrise.


The Americans' Dinner
(We recently adopted "American Food Sunday", on which we make some American dish to change from the norm; that is, rice. I wrote this on one such Sunday.)

Dusk was simmering against inside light
And 'round the wood table were six white faces
Mashed potatoes, meatballs, corn yellow-bright
With cake, and frosting—my, 'twas a sight
An American dinner with American graces.


The Kitten

Four furry feet slip into the room
Two large eyes peer up at the bed
Then, she runs behind the broom
Stopping to sniff at a crumb of bread.

Then, silent, she slinks to the curtain
And, with tiny claws comes the attack
Then she pauses to listen, to ascertain
That the curtain won't be fighting back.

Then, appeased, she leaves the curtain behind
And springs to the bed, as if she flew
Curls up, and then pays nothing else mind
Play hard, sleep hard, that's the kitten for you.


The Land of Kansas
(I was feeling a little homesick one day and wrote this poem. 'Cos I love Kansas. (: It gives me warm fuzzies - and that's not a phrase you hear from guys every day.)

Which place has the tornadoes, the cows and the wheat?
Where is that country of grassy hills and pasture fields?
Look, see the white church where Mennonites meet
Beside the yellow field and the harvest of gold it yields;

The land as straight as an arrow and flat as the sea
The land of farmers and Indian names and small towns
It's the heartland, a great land, as you'll soon agree;
Where the sunsets give the fields their crimson crowns.

It's a place of tranquility, the farmland of peace
The place of the simple, the hard-working, the tough
So forget England and France and Russia and Greece:
The land of Kansas is the place to be, sure enough.

--
Jake

OYAN Summer Workshop 2012

For those of you who remember, this past summer I had the opportunity to go to the OYAN (One Year Adventure Novel, a writing curriculum) Summer Workshop.  It was four full days of "epic epicness", definitely some of the best days of my life, where I learned about writing and fellowshipped and laughed and made evil plots with other writers.  And also played ninja.

And I'm scheming to go to Workshop 2012.  All I need is several thousand dollars. For what, you ask?

*ahem* Yeah.  I forgot about one thing:

AN INTERNATIONAL PLANE TICKET.

Other than that, I'm set.

(If you're trying to go to the Workshop, feel free to copy the image. XD)

--

Jake

[Poeticisms] Part III

It's that time again.  I've written some poems, so why not share them?

Eh?

Be warned...they're crazy. >_>

And it should be fairly obvious to you what inspired the first poem... ;)

--

To Isengard

'Cross the fields of Rohan, a cry can be heard

Repeating, repeating, the same constant word

Calling out, shouting out, words numbered six

Jumbled into a catchy, chaotic mix.

The words repeat, the listener chuckles

Turns it up 'til the whole room buckles

The song plays, like a parody-stricken bard

"They're taking the hobbits to Isengard!"

--

Dreamworks

I look up to the starry sky

And see a sickle there

A silver curve about to die

And be reborn anew.

I look up to the starry sky

And see a sickle there

And then, bemused, I wonder why

I look up and think of Dreamworks.

--

(This one doesn't have that great of a rhyme/meter scheme thing, but bear with it.)

I Am The Doctor

Armies run at the mention of his name

A lonely madman with a blue box

Every star, every planet, every time;

From anywhere to everywhere he walks.

Bright and shining are his companions

Until he loses them or they leave

The lonely madman with a blue box

Alone, all he can do is grieve.

The most deadly man in the universe

Angry, nothing in the world can stop him

And whose tears fall for those he loves

And in loss—he's dangerously grim.

The lonely madman, last of his kind

The last of the ancient Time Lords

Destroyed by one of their own people

And now all that is left is but words.

And this madman with a blue box

Told this by a foe both evil and grim

"Fear me, I've killed hundreds of Time Lords,"

says, "Fear me...I've killed all of them."

The lonely man and his blue box

Traveling through time and space.

In different guises, in different clothes

Eleven times, he's worn a different face.

He says, "Who am I? Don't you know?

If you value your life, your existence,

There's one thing you never put in a trap,"

And then enemy stops and listens.

"There is one thing you never put in a trap,

This world is protected, and I'm the protector

Don't you know who I am? Listen—

Here's who I am—I am the Doctor."

--

The Leap

Adventure awaits, across the horizon, to the map's edge

Into the unknown, to the craggy edge of the world

I look, my cloak blowing behind me, over the ledge

It bites me hard, the wind, with icy fingers of cold

But I stand aside.  I look around.  Behind me is past

The sky shines a burned red, the time is nigh

Nothing is behind, everything ahead, at last

It is time to leap, it's time to fly.

--

Jake

The Trenchcoat

Dun dun dun.

Fear me. 

Yes, that is me.  In a field.  At the farm.  In a trenchcoat.  And a battered fedora. 

Wow, choppy sentences...

--

Jake

The Difference

THIS is a TARDIS:

THIS....is a blue dumpster.

I need to learn the difference, instead of shouting, "Look, look, I see the TARDIS!"

Ah, the curse of a Whovian.  You see Doctor Who wherever you go...

--

Jake

A Doctor Who Trailer

Won't be a long post, folks, just wanted to share a Doctor Who trailer with you.  It's one of the best I've seen, and definitely covers it pretty well.  It shows clips from the old Doctor Who (60s-80s) as well as the new Doctor Who seasons.

Watch it.  It's epic.

And a little clarification: I'm not gone yet.  I'll post before we actually head to Africa. :)

EDIT: There's a few moments of silence and blackness at the beginning of the video, so just wait it through.

See ya!

--
Jake

Goodbyes

Some things are hard to describe. Hard to put on paper. Hard to write, even for a writer like me.

And some things need to be described anyway.

In this case, I felt I needed to put my thoughts into words. And to make things easier, I'm writing it to you, blog followers and friends. There's a reason I've never written a journal; every time I try to write to myself, or a nonspecific audience, it fails. It just doesn't work.

(And be warned, I shall be redundant and wandersome in my thoughts. My head isn't that organized.)

So here it goes.

While the move to Africa is fantastic, a new adventure that I'm excited to embark on, I also look on it with a bit of apprehension. It's not the I'm-nervous-I'm-moving-to-Africa-and-I'll-be-in-a-new-culture-and-probably-just-die-or-something sort of apprehension. It's not what's to come that bothers me the most about moving to Africa.

It's what I'll leave behind.

Sad isn't the right word for this feeling. Depressed isn't either. Vaguely sadly depressed doesn't work. Like I said, it's hard to describe.

There's a word in another language—I can't remember which—that describes this feeling. A strange emptiness, a lingering sad feeling—an ache of the heart—that you can't describe. They call it "toska".

Some part of me feels like I need to be nervous and be poetically depressed that I'm leaving all I know behind. But I'm not feeling that way either. At least, I'm not really feeling "toska" because I'm leaving my house and my church and those I know in real life behind.

In a word, I suppose, it's the goodbyes that will get to me the most. Especially the goodbyes that happen over the internet. Maybe that sounds strange, but read on.

Already I've experienced the first few tastes of what it might be like. We cut our internet earlier this month. Thus, I haven't chatted with friends on email or Facebook; I haven't talked to fellow Elves on the Underground forum; I haven't checked blogs or blogged myself. The toska sets in a little bit more.

It already feels like goodbye, even if I haven't jumped on a one-way-plane to Africa yet.

I have a lot of friends on the internet. I know fellow writers and Christ-followers who wield pens in the service of the King through the internet. They're scattered across the fifty states. Leaving the internet is like leaving them.

I'm having another hard-to-put-into-words-moment... *pauses, and then continues*

And then, I read the farewells people send me. It's actually more like a wow-that's-awesome-that-you're-going-to-Africa sort of thing, but it feels like a farewell nonetheless.

Last Friday (the ninth), I resigned from administration (the admins are called "Sentinels" there) on the Underground forum. I've been on the Sentinel team for almost a year. The posts Elves made were actually farewells this time. They encouraged me and saddened me at the same time.

....And now I feel like I'm making the whole post depressing...

Main thing is, the goodbyes are what are getting to me. I'm "leaving" friends I know really well. In many cases, I know some people over the internet alone better than others I know in real life. I've prayed for them, I've asked for prayer from them, I've debated with them, I've battled with them, I've eaten metaphorical pie with them. And I had hoped (and still hope) to one day eat real pie with them in real life.

The camaraderie that can be found over the internet alone is astounding.

However, I won't end this on a depressing note. Whisper the Spy posted a great quote in this blog post that feels very applicable here. I've been pondering and musing over it ever since I read it. Since I'm writing this without internet, I'll paraphrase it. I don't have the greatest memory, wot.

"For Christians, it's never goodbye. It's always 'see you later'." ~Anonymous

And so, to all of you out there who know me in some way or form; thank you. It's been a fantastic ride. I'm honored to know you, and I really do hope that I don't disappear off the internet entirely, for my sake at least. I might gain my sanity back if I leave. (OO) I shall miss you all.

You are all awesome. You're epic.

See you later.

--

Jake

Hebrews 11—No Description Needed

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for.

By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.

By faith Abel offered God a better sacrifice than Cain did. By faith he was commended as a righteous man, when God spoke well of his offerings. And by faith he still speaks, even though he is dead.

By faith Enoch was taken from this life, so that he did not experience death; he could not be found, because God had taken him away. For before he was taken, he was commended as one who pleased God. And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.

By faith Noah, when warned about things not yet seen, in holy fear built an ark to save his family. By his faith he condemned the world and became heir of the righteousness that comes by faith.

By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God.

By faith Abraham, even though he was past age—and Sarah herself was barren—was enabled to become a father because he considered him faithful who had made the promise. And so from this one man, and he as good as dead, came descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as countless as the sand on the seashore.

All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return.  Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.

By faith Abraham, when God tested him, offered Isaac as a sacrifice. He who had received the promises was about to sacrifice his one and only son, even though God had said to him, “It is through Isaac that your offspring will be reckoned.” Abraham reasoned that God could raise the dead, and figuratively speaking, he did receive Isaac back from death.

By faith Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau in regard to their future.

By faith Jacob, when he was dying, blessed each of Joseph’s sons, and worshiped as he leaned on the top of his staff.

By faith Joseph, when his end was near, spoke about the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt and gave instructions about his bones.

By faith Moses’ parents hid him for three months after he was born, because they saw he was no ordinary child, and they were not afraid of the king’s edict.

By faith Moses, when he had grown up, refused to be known as the son of Pharaoh’s daughter. He chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a short time. He regarded disgrace for the sake of Christ as of greater value than the treasures of Egypt, because he was looking ahead to his reward. By faith he left Egypt, not fearing the king’s anger; he persevered because he saw him who is invisible. By faith he kept the Passover and the sprinkling of blood, so that the destroyer of the firstborn would not touch the firstborn of Israel.

By faith the people passed through the Red Sea as on dry land; but when the Egyptians tried to do so, they were drowned.

By faith the walls of Jericho fell, after the people had marched around them for seven days.

By faith the prostitute Rahab, because she welcomed the spies, was not killed with those who were disobedient.

And what more shall I say? I do not have time to tell about Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel and the prophets, who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength; and who became powerful in battle and routed foreign armies. Women received back their dead, raised to life again. Others were tortured and refused to be released, so that they might gain a better resurrection. Some faced jeers and flogging, while still others were chained and put in prison. They were stoned; they were sawed in two; they were put to death by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated—the world was not worthy of them.

Another Look at Doctor Who

Well, it's been a while.  Seeing as I don't have a whole lot to blog about on this blog (and my Doctor Who semi-obsession continues), I thought I'd blog about Doctor Who....again.  It's non-Whovian friendly, don't worry.  You don't have to know anything more than what I'll tell you in the post to understand what I'll be saying.

This time, I'm going to take a look at the Doctors, their themes, and some Doctor Who soundtrack.  All from the new Doctor Who seasons, of course.  And my opinion on them.  If you don't have much time, just read through the descriptions.  There's a lot of videos. XD

First, here's the Doctor, in his various regenerations in the new Doctor Who seasons.  (For those of you who don't know, the Doctor is an alien from a race called the Time Lords, and he's the last of his kind.  They possess the ability to "regenerate" whenever their bodies are near death.  Every cell is rewritten until the Doctor becomes a new person, complete with a new actor.  He shares the same memories of the previous Doctors.  Thus, each Doctor is numbered according to their number of regenerations.)

THE NINTH DOCTOR

He's the Doctor with the second-shortest run acting as the Doctor; Christopher Eccleston, the Ninth regeneration of the Doctor.  He was in the new Doctor Who seasons (starting in 2005) for just one series.  However, he is my personal favorite; for his accent, his trademark leather jacket, and especially because he showed the darker side of the Doctor.  When he met his companion, Rose, he was a Doctor who was grim and sometimes merciless.  But he grew during the seasons until he would stop at nothing to rescue those who he loved and would never let evil walk away unpunished.  Here's a clip of him in "Bad Wolf"; this is one of my favorite Ninth Doctor scenes.

THE TENTH DOCTOR

David Tennant, the Tenth Doctor.  Some consider him to be the greatest Doctor of all time.  He's quirky and funny; he can be grim and terrible; he has the greatest emotion of all the Doctors.  

He sits as a very close second to Christopher Eccleston as my favorite Doctor.   Complete with a tan trench-coat, a tie, crazy hair, and an array of emotions, he's a brilliant Doctor.  He ran for three full seasons and several specials, including the End of Time, where he regenerated.  I consider the end of The End of Time to be one of the greatest Doctor Who scenes ever; bittersweet, emotional, and utterly poetic.  It's a masterpiece of writing.  However, there are too many spoilers to post it here, so I'll post two videos of Tennant; one showing his serious side and the other showing his quirky side.

It was really hard finding anything worth posting on David Tennant's run (he has so many good scenes, and a lot of them are short) so I'll settle for this one.  It has spoilers for the episode "The Doctor's Daughter", so beware.

THE ELEVENTH DOCTOR

Matt Smith is the Eleventh Doctor.  He's also the youngest, the silliest, and the newest Doctor.  His era is also marked by a change in head writers.  Steven Moffat takes over the role from Russell T. Davies; he's my favorite of the Doctor Who writers and is known for the clever and darker episodes like Silence in the Library and Blink.  (If you've never heard of him, he also wrote the script for the first Tintin movie, which has yet to be released.)

He's definitely a great Doctor, but of the three, he's my least favorite.  While he is certainly hilarious, he has few serious moments and has a strange lack of emotion in his role.  This doesn't prevent him from being epic, however.  

The following scene is right after his regeneration into the Eleventh Doctor.  New tastebuds, new rules, wot.

And for the record....

Fezzes are cool.  And bowties.  And Stetsons.

Also, the Eleventh Doctor's most fantastic speech (also in the episode after his regeneration).

SOUNDTRACK

The Doctor's Theme

This is the theme of the Doctor.  While it is not used in the Matt Smith episodes, it is often used in the earlier seasons.  Here's the one used in Series One with the Ninth Doctor—a lone voice singing the song of the last of the Time Lords.

I Am the Doctor

Also known as the Eleventh Doctor's theme or Every Star Every Planet, I Am the Doctor is used a lot in series 5-6.  It's epic. 

The Doctor's Theme/The Tenth Doctor's Theme

The first section of this song is the The Doctor's Theme used in series 2-4, the Tenth Doctor's era.  It's basically a redone version of the first Doctor's Theme.  The rest of the song is from the fourth series, and the end is similar to the soundtrack from Tennant's regeneration.  It makes me sad...

Doctor Who Theme 2005-2007

I originally posted the longer version of this song earlier.  This is my favorite of the Doctor Who themes (used in the beginning credits).  It's the perfect mixture of alien and orchestra.

Doctor Who Theme 2008-2009

Also a great theme, this brings in a different feel to the song.  It's more action than the previous one, with a strong beat.  I like it, but not quite as much.  This one, instead of plain soundtrack, actually has the opening credits (though the credits are played over and over to continue with the soundtrack).  The credits are in the Time Vortex, and you can see the TARDIS hurtling through.

Doctor Who Theme 2010-Present

With the change of Doctors, sonic screwdrivers, and head writers, it also came with a change of credits and music, and even the Doctor Who logo changed.  The new version isn't as good as the previous two, and it's much more alien than them as well.  However, it's still good stuff.

Well, that's all I'm going to gab for today.  If you had time to look through the videos, let me know what you thought.  And my next post won't be another Doctor Who rave, I promise. ;)

--

Jake

Doctor Who, More Soundtrack, and Saruman Singing

Well, where to begin? 

Life can be a fickle and flighty thing.  I can be sulking one moment, and then catapulted into epicness by a simple song.

Speaking of which, I find this song insanely epic.  Both versions.  ;)  It makes me laugh and bounce at the same time.  Check it out, and enjoy.

I'm blasting this in my ears as I write this post.

Anyway, back to subject.  If there is one.

I've also found this hilarious video called "Trolling Saruman" in which Saruman sings and gives me nightmares. It's another spoof, and one of the best ones—very well done.

Besides this, I've also been up to something else.

My sisters and I have recently discovered the BBC science-fiction TV show, Doctor Who.  I watched several episodes at the One Year Adventure Novel Writer's Workshop, and I decided it was interesting.  And when I saw it was play-it-now instant on Netflix, I thought, "Well, let's see if it's good."

And I was hooked.

Not much else to say.  We're all Whovians now, as they say.  We think Doctor Who is epic.  We're slowly making our way through the five season available on Netflix.

Has anyone out there watched Doctor Who?  If so, what'd you think?

And if you haven't watched Doctor Who, here's sort of an explanatory video for you.  I don't think it quite captures it (and the actor that is in question is the newest Doctor, Matt Smith, who I have yet to watch).  But it does a good job of telling you what Doctor Who is about.

LOOK AT ME, I'M A TARGET!

Oh, and one more video.  Last one, I promise. ;)  This one's the theme song of Doctor Who, one of my favorite soundtracks to listen to.

That's all for now.  Ta-ta, folks!

--

Jake

When is Jake NOT a Writer?

Never, I'd say.

And that's probably the reason why I've been disappearing from this blog.  If I have something writerly to say (and that's usually the thing I want to say), I post it on Teenage Writer.  Anything else, well, it ends up over here.

Like music.  Or videos.  Or randomness.

But those are often writer-related too.

Of late, I've been listening to the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack.  I've never seen the movies (shame on me and all that), but the soundtrack is fantastic for writing and piratical things.  And that's connected to writing too, y'know.  It's quite inspiring.  Which is one reason I've put it on my Writing Music station on "Pandora" (that site where you choose your own music and thumbs-up anything you like). For instance, here's a sample below.  Epicness.

But honestly, I can't help being a writer.  I can't get away from it.

Inspiration hit me in the shower again.  He used a bar of soap this time.

I was staring at the ceiling last night—again.  Story ideas brewing and all that.

I paced my room, my imagination whirring—again.

Can't get away from it.

What's some writerly habits you pick up, if you classify yourself as a writer?

So, we've established that soundtrack is awesome, and that I'm a writer.

O_o Okay, then.  I guess I'm out of ideas for this post. xD  Ta-ta, folks.  Make some conversation to make up for my inefficiency here.

--
Jake