Inspiration: The Notorious Epiphany

You ever have that moment when you have an innate moment of realization that just completely, for lack of a better phrase, blows your mind? Some may recognize this as the renowned instant of inspiration that the creatively inclined desire for in order to influence their work to make it great--the epiphany.

This is a rare occurrence (I mean, if it were an everyday thing, it wouldn't have such a renowned reputation), and thus is to be grasped and held onto upon inception. I myself can remember one time when one came upon me. I was so excited that I simply had to tell someone about it. The only one in the room was my mother, so I attempted to explain the great moment of transcendence which had struck my brain. For those of you who have experienced the epiphany, you'll know what I'm talking about when I say that it makes a lot more sense in my head as opposed to on my tongue. I found myself stumbling over my words, trying desperately to make her understand just how magnificent this thought was--to no avail. All I received was a blank stare as it failed to offer the same effect.

Inspiration is a funny thing. There have been countless books, articles, and speeches written on this subject on how to gain this kind of revelation. Is this really something that is able to be attained by following a set of steps? How exactly does one acquire this state of mind? When I show people my art, one of the first things they ask me is "what was your inspiration?" Unable to answer them right away, I had to take a moment to really think about it. How was I inspired? It's not really something I think about when I'm actually painting or drawing; some things I create simply because I personally think it would look cool. Does personal taste count as inspiration? Perhaps not, but I am still able to function with it all the same. Why do we need this great moment of clarity then? It is then that I am able to think of the projects when I did have this marvelous feeling. I think the best way to describe it, is that it just makes things easier. With its presence, the process suddenly seems simple in all of it's complexity. A newly found joy is present, and the creativity just flows in a way that doesn't seem like the tedious work it feels like other days. The epiphany just adds to this and lasts a little bit longer--it is why it is so coveted.

Now I know that some of you may be wondering, what exactly was my astounding epiphany? Well, even though I hate it when people do this and I apologize accordingly, my lips are sealed on that subject. I already tried to explain it once and failed, so I would be doing you a disservice to set it up to fail again. It's like when someone builds something up so much, greatness is the only thing expected. Then once the content of their tall tales is revealed, if it isn't described properly to match the built up assumption, disappointment is then quick to follow. I believe that an epiphany should be a closely guarded secret; something to tap into from your own personal reservoir of inspiration so to say for those times when none of your creativity seems to sound amazing enough. If this secret was divulged, a little piece of something special would be lost in the inability to explain it. Inspiration is not always around, but when it is, it's imperative

that we make the best of its presence and hold on to what we can to save for future bland moments--and therein lies the key to the creative process. 

[These are a couple of my art pieces; the one of the left is one I completed with Inspiration on my side; the one on the right was done because it was assigned--notice any differences?]

The Ticket

So I recently looked over my first post and saw all that had been promised forth within concerning the contents and layout of this blog and would like to clarify the turn it has taken. Obviously I have not been posting drawings or reviews for "books without pictures" as this requires time, which I don't always have. In order to think of illustrations to do, one must first read a book in its entirety, which I have not done for a few months now (consequently, I have started and not finished about six different books, but this is pretty normal for me--what can I say? I get distracted). But, I've decided not to worry about sticking with formalities; it is, after all, my blog, so I will post what I will, and that will be that.

Thus having said that...

I've been thinking about my speeding ticket lately. Is it just me, or have there been more cops on patrol lately? As I was driving to the store today, I saw about three different flashing lights. Anyways that, and the fact that my defensive driving deadline is rapidly approaching, caused me to think about the actual day when I was pulled over myself, and I had to laugh at how insignificant it all seems now, and what a big deal it was when it happened. And then I remembered that I had written an entry the night after to just get my thoughts on paper. As I read it now, I feel slightly ridiculous and feel the need to apologize for how trivial this may be for probably most who read this, but then perhaps it will be pathetically entertaining, or... something. Anyways, without further ado, my recount of my first ticket...

"Something happens to a person when they receive their first speeding ticket. As those flashing lights come up as you’re driving, a surreal feeling of guilt comes over your being as you realize that those sirens are meant for you and not some other law breaking vagabond.The world becomes more real and dangerous as you realize that yes, the law applies to you too. I am not a law breaking vagabond, or a speed demon on the roads (not really). I do prefer to go fast as opposed to a granny slow, but I automatically cease pressing down my pedal once I’m about five miles over. This was the night when my innocence was snatched away and I felt as if I had become part of that crowd. A big deal? Perhaps not. But in the eyes of an 18 year old driving not yet a full year, such an experience creates some perspective.

"I had been dreading my first speeding ticket ever since I was given my license. It happened to everybody, why would I be the exception? While there were days when I thought that perhaps I would be the perfect exception and never see those lights flash behind me, there was always the recurring question of what would it be like? In the movies and TV shows, things are much more dramatic, and the drivers always found something witty to say or were even able to get off with an excuse. As is usually the case, movies do not prepare you for real life. However, before we jump the gun to when the sirens first sounded, let’s take a few steps back and set the scene.

"It was a cold Friday night, and I had just got clocked out from my job at the local frozen yogurt establishment. Being close to midnight, I just wanted to get home, take a hot shower, and wind down. I had pulled out of the parking lot expecting to go the way I usually do, when I noticed the blockades on the road and heard the sounds of construction. The quick way thwarted, I was forced to take the winding back roads. My music was turned up loud, and I was in a daze as I made the numerous turns just going through the motions as I usually would. This night was the same as any other night. The streets were dead, and I had one last turn to go before reaching the turn in to my neighborhood. Turning at the light, I would be on this last road for less than 30 seconds before I turned again. 30 seconds. There was a car in front of me. There were no speed limit signs on this short stretch, and I unthinkingly tried to match this car’s pace. Bad idea. I pulled into the neighborhood, and then heard the sirens behind me. This was it. Those lights were for me. I pulled onto the side of the road and waited, not really believing that this was really happening to me right now.

"The cop, a large muscular guy with a bad haircut, approached my car with his official flashlight and shined it in my face--completely unnecessary. Before he spoke, I quickly ran through the reactions I had imagined for such an occasion: hysterical crying, angrily disputing the accusation, a witty banter that would make me and the cop best buds, or a polite excuse that would get me off the hook. In the actual instance, however, I felt guilty more than anything, and that probably did not help my case at all. He asked me what the speed limit for the road was, and I truthfully answered that I didn’t know. He then of course let me know, and continued to inform me that he clocked me going 53 in a 40. I didn’t dispute this, thinking that it was certainly possible I could’ve been going that fast, but there was no way to be sure. It was late, I wasn’t looking at my speedometer; I was matching the speed of that other car... that other car. I mentally kicked myself and felt resentment.

"Despite the fact that the speeder in front of me got off easy, I did not think to mention this, and simply signed and accepted the ticket. What else could I do? It certainly seemed like that was the only solution at the time. Calmly accept the ticket and drive away. As I think about it now, I realize that I might’ve been able to explain my situation and maybe get off with a warning; after all, it was my first time. Thanks to my tendency to not think well on my feet, this will always remain a speculation, and I am now forced to take defensive driving  in order to ensure that this does not go on my record--fun stuff:P

"This was not a fun situation to be in, and as soon as I started driving away the tears began to flow. It was past midnight, I was tired, stressed, and now had the feeling that I was a criminal. I now use my cruise control more than ever, and cringe every time I see a police officer. That thing that changed? I used to look at the police cars and think that we were on the same team. I used to laugh at those who got pulled over. I used to think that my record would forever be spotless. Just goes to show that despite any plans or expectations we may have, nothing is certain, and movies are not an accurate representation of reality. Big surprise."

Thank you for your indulgence in my innocent rantings on paper.

College: Is it all Worth the Trouble?

As a graduating high school senior, it shouldn't be surprising that I would be going through some kind of college application process. It is simply the thing to do. Practically every senior I know is announcing their choices, acceptances, and awards to various Universities, and parents are singing praises with them. But sometimes I wonder, is it all worth it?

Unlike my proud peers, my experience of wanting to go to college (more specifically, a snobby University) has been a topic of shame within my house. Why can't I just do as all my siblings had done before and go get my basics done at community college, and then, if I really have to, transfer to a university in town. Why must I go to college if all I want to do is start a career within the Fine Arts department? Time and time again, I am bombarded with questions and comments concerning my life choices, and it's stressful to say the least. So I put the question out there: why does the up and coming generation, which includes myself, feel a need to attend a prestigious university, when you could get by with less? After all, community college, as Dave Ramsey would say along with my father, is the logical choice to save money and graduate debt free (insert infomercial and guitar band here)!

Speaking first from my own personal observations, despite what the bad quality commercials would have you believe, community college is not where it's at. All my siblings before me went to San Antonio College for their first two years, and from what they've told me, it was not a fun experience  Credits were misplaced, the system was unorganized, people were inconsiderate, and the campus is a bit run down. This was not a place you go for an experience; this is where you go to get through and survive. People will tell me that I'm being pretentious, but it is true what they say: you do get what you pay for. Granted, I believe that community college would be wise if one simply felt a need to go to college without a clue as to what they wanted to do in life. Then that would be a good test to see which subject you felt inclined towards before writing a hefty check. But if you know what you want to major in, and can point to a career waiting for you on the other side, I would say to strive for what would be most helpful towards that goal (shoot for the moon, as they say).

The fact is, society is no longer taking people's word for it; they look for a degree, not a independent self made wild card. The Bachelor degree is the new determining factor with a lot of companies, and the Masters degree is rapidly rising up to take the cake. One of my friends told me how her brother, who is graduating with a technical writing bachelors degree, was denied a position because another candidate (who wasn't necessarily more qualified as far as talent was concerned) had a masters degree. It's all a game about who can one-up who, and money is apparently not an object for people as loans are taken out without a second thought.

On the subject on loans, I would like to say that I'm not a supporter of them. Who would be? It's not a fun process to have to endure, so why do it unless you had to? And therein lies the punch line: have to. I believe that one should exhaust all other means of financial aid  before turning to loans, but the idea that one won't take out any loans to attend college is one of ignorance. The reality is that universities are getting more and more expensive as the years progress, and America is getting poorer and poorer. While it's an unfortunate position to be in however, I think that in the long run, taking out a loan wouldn't be the end of the world. The statistics are on our side as one who earns a degree compared to those who don't earns a much larger paycheck.

Another answer as to why I would choose to get out of the house and go to a university is for the experiences and connections I would gain on the way. For practical minded people, this would be a completely foreign concept. Experience? Pah! All you need to do is get in, get your degree, and get out. I disagree, which is why I encounter so much opposition. I could've gone to public school if I wanted; that certainly would've been the logical choice as it's cheaper with more resources. However, I wouldn't trade my high school years at the small private school I've attended since Kindergarten for anything. And being committed to a school all four years is the best way to make relationships, connections, and really establish yourself, which would be beneficial to your future as well.

Advice?

Stay determined. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you should always stick to your convictions. I'm tempted to waver as I consider all the possible failures that could occur myself, but if we questioned ourselves about everything, we wouldn't get anything done. Someone once told me that the obstacles on the way just make the success at the end that much sweeter. Stay strong; if it's meant to happen, it will definitely happen, no matter what anyone will tell you.

Really get to know your University--get personal. One of the determining factors of which University I chose was based on how much personal attention the staff was willing to provide. I mean, I would be paying an arm and a leg to go there, so the service should be good. For instance, I knew that the college which kept transferring me to automated voice messages and then calling back during school hours was most likely not going to be the best fit. Its helps to know that you'll be replied to swiftly when you're turning in important, time-sensitive items such as a financial aid appeal for instance. How will you know? Believe me, you'll know.

Scholarships...? I place a question mark on the end of this because this is a piece of advice that all will give you, but, if you're a white American, it is often worthless. I've applied to many a scholarship with no luck as of yet, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying. This gives you something to do to sort of keep you going. Sure, rejection letters are no fun, but it's helpful to have a driving force to keep your mind occupied and motivated.

Prayer. It is important to keep God in the picture instead of attempting to figure it all out on your own. The decision making process is an excellent opportunity to grow in your relationship with God. Believe me, He has a better idea for what's best for your life than you will ever have.

These are the random rantings of one without sleep, so take it as you will. I won't force my ideals, as that would be the opposite of what I would hope to accomplish, but still--if nothing else, it is something to think about.

Insomniacs Anonymous

So this post doesn't have any pictures... yet, but there may be some illustrations later. This is just a short comedic story I was able to complete in my spare time:) hopefully it's as entertaining as I think it is...

“Insomniacs Anonymous”

“Hi, I’m Steve.”
“Hi Steve.”
“And I’ve been an insomniac for about ten years.”
The wave of compassionate looks was slightly disconcerting as he took his seat, and the next poor soul stood to state his name and reason for being here. He really didn’t know why he was at this IA meeting (Insomniacs Anonymous); as if discussing your stress levels and reasons for staying awake ever helped anyone. In fact, he was fairly certain that he was sleeping even less because of this torture. It had been weeks since he’d been able to sleep for more than a few minutes. The other day he had finally managed to fall asleep at the respectable time of 8:30, had a dream even, and woke up very proud of his accomplishment until he looked at the clock which showed 8:45. His instructor, Candy, enthusiastically called this “progress”. He called it “pathetic.” But, he still had to be there. They all had to be there.
They said it was because somebody loved them, but in the back recesses of his mind, Steve sometimes wondered if this was just some cruel joke the world was playing. Perhaps it was all a conspiracy; everything always seemed to end up being connected to some form of espionage or some wacko with a sign. This he could understand. Everyone needed their own form of excitement he supposed. Perhaps this was why his wife left him; for his lack of adventure. He remembered vaguely of a fight concerning his lack of emotion, but one wouldn’t ditch a commitment for something so trivial, would they?
This was why he didn’t sleep. Once he let himself think, one thought would just lead to another, and another, until he was overwhelmed with boundless questions about his own life, and then life in general. He realized this, and had an effective coping mechanism to be able to gain at least a few hours of rest; just don’t think. Take everyday as it comes, and don’t think too much about the past or the future. Of course, this all went through the window once the instructor laid out the “lesson plan”, if you will, which often included “speaking our thoughts” and answering questions like “so what makes you lie awake in the middle of the night? It ok to be honest, this is a judgement free zone.” True, but most likely because most everyone here are incoherent walking zombies.
As far as Steve was concerned, his sleep patterns were of no concern to this bright eyed communist... okay, they most likely specified that in the contract. But let’s be honest, when you sign on the dotted line saying that you have “read and agreed to the terms and conditions”, you don’t really know what was “stated above”, but when a belligerent wife is threatening divorce papers, you really don’t care and sign any way despite your lack of commitment. Of course they don’t show you the extra fine print stating that you’re committing to a whole year through which your once beloved sends you the papers anyway.
He still came to the arduous meetings though, but it wasn’t for the therapy; it was for a girl. She was pretty much the only one he’d seen who could pull off the dark circles under her eyes look and still retain a unique beauty. She was also quiet, which he was able to appreciate, especially when Candy would start talking in her chipper voice about wellness, sleep, and other nonsense like that. It was aggravatingly clear that the bright eyed instructor was one of the “rested”.
Many times he had tried to score a seat next to Sarah, but the setup of assigned chairs always managed to place him in the farthest corner from her. The forces had smiled on him today though, as he somehow ended up just one seat away from his newfound interest.
The only problem was that he was still one seat away.
The gentleman in between them was an older fellow who was constantly nodding his head, fighting sleep instead of inviting it. It was “Mixer Monday”, where another therapy group would combine with their own to supposedly increase effectiveness. Ironically, the other group today was the “NA” group (“Narcoleptics Anonymous”). The instructor had staggered the group to where the sleep deprived had two comatose sleepers flanking each side; hence his chances at sitting next to Sarah were nixed.
Steve didn’t understand this concept at all and looked on in annoyance at the drooling man beside him as a deep rumble began to emanate deep within his throat with every breath. He thought he would envy these people who could drift in and out of dreams on a whim, but as he looked from narcoleptic to narcoleptic, he was suddenly grateful for his “problem”. At least he didn’t have to worry about collapsing in the middle of a department store and looking like a complete moron; at least he could function perfectly well in society... for the most part. For this reason, you’d expect he would feel pity toward the man next to him, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that even though he could function better, the man was still taunting him with every snore. Perhaps he was annoyed simply for the fact that the sleeping giant was allowed to sit next Sarah, when he couldn’t. Candy’s voice rang out, interrupting Steve’s thoughts, and arousing Mr. Sandman with a start.
“Alright, now that we know each other, and why each of us is here today,” as if that weren’t obvious, “we’re going to start our first exercise that will eventually lead toward a better and more rested or, for our guests, attentive lifestyle.” The instructor paused and smiled in excitement.
This can’t be good. It never was.
“I want everyone to grab a partner from the opposite group, with whom you will then conduct a short session of providing each other with suggestions on how the other is able to sleep or not sleep. This will be very fun and educational, and I’m very excited to try it since it is one my own exercise ideas. So, without further ado, start mingling!" Gramps turned toward Steve first (which he thought was an odd first reaction when the old man could’ve been with Sarah), and he shrugged when the man asked him if he wanted to be partners saying “sure, why not,” even though he could think of a million reasons why not.
The man’s name was Donald, he was a retired veterinarian who had never owned an animal in his life, but had saved many lives in his career, and bla bla bla, bla... well, then again, bla bla... It was amazing how much Steve could tune out as he focussed in on Sarah sitting directly behind Donald. She looked wonderfully tired at the moment, and he smiled at how uninterested she looked to be towards her partner (who was aggravatingly handsome for his age). Donald didn’t suspect a thing as he continued to pour out his life story. It was a long process of Steve staring at Sarah while catching on to only tid bits of his partner’s long winded speech. Something about “lonely life”, “the war effort”, and him having his fair share of “quack scientists”. These all seemed to be basic conversation topics that Steve was able to not listen to. It was when he heard his mother’s name that Steve’s attention snapped back to Donald.
“I’m sorry, what was that you said?”
“I was just saying how, even though I’ve been a lonely old coot with sleep problems for a while now, in all my years, I did manage to find one thing that was able to keep me awake- all night in fact- and her name was Helen Jackson, and man was she a spunky little thing back in the day... what’s the matter son, you look a little disturbed.”
“My last name is Jackson.”
Donald didn’t look like he saw the point.
“My mother’s name was Helen.”
Realization started to flicker within his eyes, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Are you saying you slept with my mother?”
At this, Donald opened his mouth as if he were going to explain, but just before the first syllable left his mouth, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he was out. Steve stared at him incredulously for a while, not sure what to think. What a cop out, he thought as he sat back in his chair and turning so that he wouldn’t have to look at his disgusting partner anymore, and get a better view of Sarah at the same time. He was disappointed by the view when he saw her partner passed out, and Sarah herself, gone. He was about to go and try to find out where she went, when he heard a loud scream.
After that, everything seemed to turn into chaos.
The scream had come from the narcoleptic lady who had been on his right and kept going until she fainted- or fell asleep, it was hard to tell- and collapsed on the ground. This led to a domino effect among the other narcoleptics as almost all of them fell at the same time. One of my fellow insomniatic friends started whooping and running around like a madman. Someone else had apparently cut off his hand in response to the suggestion that intense pain would definitely keep them awake (it was an attempt at a joke, but that quickly became besides the point). Steve didn’t know what to think, and indeed, could do nothing but stand and watch.
The lights had started to flicker, people began disappearing, and the air conditioner had apparently gained the power of a tornado as items started flying in the air. He thought he saw his ex wife for a moment, and even his mother at one point. Above all the screaming, the yelling, and the snoring (from Donald, who had not stirred once despite the tumultuous environment), gleeful laughter was heard to erupt out of Candy’s mouth in increasing hysteria. What was happening?
And then there was Sarah, standing in the middle of the room and looking at him.
Nothing mattered anymore. Those dark eyes had his complete attention. Chairs flew, blood was all over the floor, and nothing made sense, but he started walking in her direction with determination. A narcoleptic collapsed on him, he pushed her out of the way. A table was knocked over in front of him, he stepped calmly over it. He managed to walk without obstruction or stumble and was soon holding her close. She looked up at him expectantly, and he said the first thing that came to his mind.
“My friend over there told me a great idea on how to spend your time staying awake, and I think we should try it out.” She smiled, leaned toward him, and...
...everything went black.
Steve sat up from his chair with a start. He was in his apartment, alone, and still very tired. He sighed when he looked at the glowing numbers on the digital clock.
It was only 8:45.

End of the World?

So I realize that I have failed you all in this whole "I will actually keep up with a blog this time" resolution. I have not kept up with it all, but to be fair, it's senior year- and no, it's not the easiest year of high school; that was a terrible lie I had once believed long ago, but nevermore as I have remained busy since. But we are one step ahead of the game since I have decided to not delete the entire blog to start again (we all know by now, it would only continue to be an eternal circle of procrastination); thus, we will continue on, and though posts may at times be few and far between, they will be posted, and we'll start today- at what many assumed would be the end of the world.

To get in the spirit of things, I painted a scene depicting a possibility of what things might look like in the end, but you must understand that I don't normally think of painting art which resembles doom and destruction. My intended purpose was to enter it into a contest where this fateful day was the theme. I was blindsided, however, when said contest required an "upgraded membership" in order to submit (aka, money). So, now I have this lovely painting with no purpose... until I remembered my long forgotten blog, and thought, well here is a purpose. So, this is not a scene from a book, but it is an illustration of a thought and the product of a misconception; until next post (when and what: none can say)

Mara Daughter of the Nile

"Come, perfume your mouth with the figs and grapes she has brought you... a few minutes later she was hungrily eating a fig and mourning the skimpiness of Egyptian breakfasts."

As per request, I have read and drawn a couple pictures inspired by the book "Mara Daughter of the Nile" by Eloise Jarvis McGraw. I didn't know what to expect when I read the plot line, but I was not disappointed. 

The tale is set in Bible times in the land of Egypt and focuses upon a sly slave girl named Mara. She'd been passed on from one awful master to the next, wishing meanwhile of a better life and attempting various rebellious acts instead of the quiet submissive life of a slave. One day, her antics are noticed and she is purchased by a new master who causes her life of folding shentis completely around, and she soon finds herself on her way to be the royal interpreter of a Babylonian princess in order to spy (on behalf of Pharaoh Hatshetsup) in on conversations in the presence of king Thutmose. As one thing leads to another, Mara soon finds herself serving two completely politically opposite masters, and tries desperately to equally serve each one. Things also become complicated when she finds herself falling in love with one.

The story was intriguing and, contrary to my assumptions, held my attention throughout. With the time it took to read the book, and schedule juggling underway, I apologize for the lack of pictures. I had wished to sketch out one of the landscapes described, but found my time lacking. If a particular scene was wished, I will gladly oblige and add it. But for now, thank you for the suggestion and great read. 

"She was everywhere at once, snatching up the loaves and dusting them, soothing the apprentice with smiles and sympathy... only Sheftu, shaking with silent merriment, observed the good half dozen honey cakes that found their way into her sash instead of the basket."

"The silence was shattered as a chariot clattered into view... with a crack of his whip they lurched forward. For the next few minutes Mara had all she could do to keep her footing as they rattled along at a furious pace..." 

The Night Circus

["The finished clock is resplendent. At first glance, it is simply a clock, a rather large black clock with a white face and a silver pendulum... The changes are slow... the color changes in the face, shifts from white to grey, and then there are clouds that float across it... there is a silver dragon that curls around... books with actual paper pages that turn... At the center, where a cuckoo bird would live in a more traditional timepiece, is the juggler."]

-The Night Circus-

"The Circus is Coming..."

Deciding to begin with one of my favorites, some of you may recognize the reference to the bestseller "The Night Circus". This story is an amazing mixture of romance, intrigue, and suspense. It focuses on two characters chosen to compete in an abstract game instigated by two magicians. In the midst of their challenge lies a unique circus designed to attract audiences with it's fantastic oddities as well as provide an active playing field. My description is vague, but only because great books should not be ruined, and believe me, this is poetic literature that charms and captivates its audiences. 

There are so many descriptive and beautiful scenes, it was hard to choose, but I finally settled on these few...

["Bailey finds a gap in the side of one pof the tents... Then he sees the tag... The picture side shows a black-and-white etching of a child in a bed covered in fluffy pillows and a checkered quilt, not in a nursery but under a star-sprinkled night sky."]

-The Night Circus-

["He recalls what the tag said about openin things, wondering what could possibly be in  all of these jars... He picks up a frosted-glass mason jar and unscrews the silver metal lid... The scent that wafts from it is the unmistakable smell of the ocean, a bright summer day at the seashore..."]
-The Night Circus-

["The statue herself is still, but her hand is held out, and only then does Bailey notice the younge woman with a red scarf standing in front of her, offering the love letter-clad statue a single crimson rose."]

-The Night Circus-

They may not do the words justice and are a little hard to see, but that is what I have for now. Again, if there are any suggestions any would like to make, please feel free to comment. 

May it ever be a pleasure till the next read.

[Cloud Maze]