I was looking at Kindle Worlds yesterday and I think I might take a spin and play around in someone else’s world for a bit. I’m going to make myself use characters that are already created. There is a certain discipline there that I like. There are at least three of the worlds that I have an interest in. What I may do is publish a fan fiction work on a schedule with original material. That way if someone likes my work they can check out the original stuff as well. I’ve never really been a fan fiction kind of person. I prefer to play around with my own ideas. This might give me some of the discipline I need to get creative.
Obviously I’m way out of practice with my drawing and I hope I’m not jinxing my effort to start drawing every day again by stating that this is what I’ve resolved to do. But there are projects I want to do that I can’t do until I’m well practiced again. So I’ll let those projects be my motivation.
Elliot will be happy with this.
G.K. Chesterton in What’s Wrong With the World
A Service of
Reflecting on today. This is a day we don’t think about.
The evening before Jesus had been buried. Today the closest followers are hidden in the same upper room where they had eaten with The Lord only a day and a half before. One of their number has betrayed Him.
The one who should be leading them is a broken man. All he can do is sit in the corner and say “Three times. How could I? Where was my courage?”
One of the other leaders is in another part of the room. He and some of the other women are trying to console the mother of The Lord. Her occasional anguished sobs can fill the room piercing their hearts.
They had all abandoned Him. When the high priests soldiers and mercenaries came they ran away. They were Galileans. They came from a region that was in constant rebellion. The were fighters, yet they all fled.
Now every sound terrifies them. It is the Sabbath and so the streets are pretty empty, but spies are everywhere? Will the High Priest be satisfied with Jesus’ death? Or will they all be hunted down?
What about the rest of the city. For a week there had been turmoil. From the moment the Galilean had entered the city there had been strife. Now he was dead. What a day that had been. A mob stirred up. The Galilean suddenly dead. Killed by the Romans. Maybe some were busy cleaning up what they could on the Sabbath. That freak storm at midday sure left some damage. Flooding everywhere. Damage from the earthquake. Rumor has it that the Temple veil was torn. Was it by a wind or did that earthquake cause it. Strangest of all some say that people who had died recently were actually up and walking around. Who knows? Some weird things happening.
Now picture the underworld, Hades, Gehenna, whatever word your language uses. They thought they had won. They had actually killed part of the Trinity. Well that didn’t last long. That earthquake felt by the humans wasn’t some simple shifting of tectonic plates. That was the very gates of Hell shattering. There He was. The Son. Radiant and shining. No denizen could look on that. This was not the puny human their schemes had slain. This was the unmasked power of God! In the face if pure light time folded in on itself. There, surrounded by the countless generation who had gone before and by those who would come He spoke. He offered them love. He offered them forgiveness. He called them to follow Him. Some looked on Him and hope was kindled again in them. And they followed him out. Nothing could stop them. Where there had been eternal despair eternal hope entered. Then he was gone. With him went those he had redeemed.
So in the homes of Jerusalem there was sorrow and despair among the followers of Christ. There was grim satisfaction among the priests and the rest of the Temple bureaucracy. The average citizen was wondering what had happened during this weekend. This was supposed to be the Holiest week. A time of reflection and remembrance. After a day like yesterday who can tell what tomorrow will bring?
According to the historian Bede there was a young man named Caedmon who lived in Northumbria. Caedmon could not sing. Whenever the harp was passed around at night Caedmon, embarrassed, would leave and go outside. One night as he was alone a man came to him and told him to sing. He said that he was unable to. The man then repeated “sing to me the beginning of all things.” Then Caedmon found himself singing. New words poured out of him. He realized that he had been visited by an angel. Then this illiterate cow-herd became a monk and composed many songs and taught the beauty of God’s creation. The only thing that we have of Caedmon is this hymn. This is what he sang the night that the angel visited him. This is the oldest work of English known to exist.
Listen and read the words a few times. Then listen to it again with your eyes closed.
I don’t complain about that. I COMPLAIN ABOUT A WHITE SHREDDER, GODDAMNIT! WHY IS SHREDDER WHITE? There is no reason for him to be white!
And why does nobody care about them making Shredder white?
I liked him being asian. Now is he only a asia-loving white geek with too much money on his hands in this movie!
I care. It’s horrible. As is almost everything else I’ve heard about that movie so far. So far I find the designs terrible as well but it’s not my main concern at all ._.
Yeah, why isn’t there a bigger uproar about the whole whitewashed Shredder thing? Or the fact that Karai is apparently in the movie, but with “Eric Sachs” being Shredder’s adopted son, her role of any importance -and she definitely has one of importance in both the original comics and in the last 2 cartoon series- is effectively erased?
(I can give some leeway with Splinter as far as ethnicity goes, loathe as I am to admit it, since they’re using the “mutated rat” origin instead of the “a man mutated into a mutant rat” origin. I just pray that Tony Shalhoub uses common sense and DOESN’T use an offensively stereotypical ‘Western man imitating old Asian Man’ voice, i.e. like the 2k3 cartoon)
The issues with the movie go much, much further and deeper than ‘ew the turtles have noses/lips and look funny’, people.
You keep referring to Shaloub as white washing. You do realize that he is of Lebanese descent. He is Middle Eastern. He is an Arab American. He is not Caucasian. Granted he is not Japanese.