I've been having a lot of trouble writing lately. Not in that I have trouble deciding what to write - I always do - but just that I don't want to. Like, I want to write, and I want to work on my book, but I don't want to sit down and do it. It feels like the pages are almost mocking me, which sounds stupid when I say it out loud. It feels like I've just done this too consistently for too long, sometimes. But when I even just think about taking a day off from it, I feel frustrated and angry. I hate myself for even letting the thought cross my mind. I think I'd throw a tantrum if I actually let myself go through with it.
I've been doing a lot of mobile gaming lately, which isn't really something I normally do. A week ago, Nintendo came out with their first mobile game, Miitomo, though to describe it as a game is a bit of a stretch. It's like a personalized social media - kind of. And it's about as close to social media as I'll ever get. A couple days ago, Namco Bandai released Tales of Link, their mobile tie in to their Tales of series, which I am a fan of thanks to a couple of my friends. It's interesting little thing, though to be honest, it can't hold my attention all that long. I'm not sure how long I'll keep playing it.
The one that really caught me was Kingdom Hearts: Unchained X (that X is pronounced key, by the way. It's complicated. Don't worry about it). It just came out today, and seeing as Kingdom Hearts is my favorite game series of all time, I couldn't just pass over it. Plus it actually has some plot relevance to the series, because fuck you for only wanting to play the numbered entries. But god, dude, it's actually fun. It's the first time I've ever played a mobile game that actually felt like an enjoyable gaming experience. Though it would be better if my big fat fingers weren't covering the speakers all the time, because I love the music in the KH games as well.
Speaking of music, there's actually another game that I got into just yesterday. Me and games, I know. Almost like I'm a gamer or something. It's called Amplitude, and it is a very bizarre little rhythm game that has a storyline about going into the brain of a comatose patient. If that sounds like it doesn't really make sense, well, that's because it really doesn't. It's kind of only briefly presented between stages, and half the time it's just like "Look, it's a picture of a brain. Coma!" But the gameplay is fun, and the music is pretty fitting, even if it's something I wouldn't normally listen to. I'm insane, so I tried to jump straight from beginner mode to expert. It's really hard, but I enjoy it. I honestly have more fun with these kinds of games in the harder difficulties, even if I'm not particularly good at them. I get really frustrated, too, but... Oh well.
Thursday, April 7, 2016
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
Magic
Jennifer picked up the old and ragged book, flipping through the pages without much thought. "Such a shame," she muttered under her breath. "This isn't exactly what I would call well loved. You'd think that such important pages would be better maintained. But perhaps your old owner didn't want anyone else to take a look at your contents. He should have removed you better, in that case." She flipped her hair as she found a page she wished to stop on, scanning the words with her eyes.
She held out her open hand, the magic in the air pulling into her fingers as she prepared for an incantation. A gust billowed gently around her, blowing her hair and dress against her form in a way that she was well aware was irresistibly enchanting. She had stolen the hearts of many men in the process of casting her magic - love charms were unnecessary. She was beautiful enough as it was.
The words flew under her breath, shocking the air around her. She could feel the bolts in the air shoot back into her, and out of the corner of her eyes she could see vibrant shots of dark green staining her pitch black hair. An emerald necklace around her neck began to glow and float up away from her chest, pulling the magic into it in a more concentrated form. It filled her with vigor and youth, smoothing her skin and lips. Though she could not see it, her ordinarily grey eyes burned a vivid purple, and the spell began to take affect.
The world around her melted away, melting off of the blackness that was its canvas. For a long moment, Jennifer stood in darkness, the sound of her heartbeat the only thing to give her solid footing, and plant her to reality. But there was no tightening of her muscles, no stress or shock in her system. Only a smile that spread across her luscious lips, knowing that she now commanded forbidden magic that most could only dream of being powerful enough to tame. And she had done so on the first try.
When her new world formed around her, it was nighttime, and the air was hot and damp. Without hesitation, she stripped out of the green and brown silks of her home, unafraid of her nudity, letting the hair drooping over her shoulders be the only thing to hide her breasts. She stood in the middle of an abandoned home, which she raided to look for supplies. She found small amounts of still safe food, and a lack of clothes to replace those she had been wearing. She didn't mind.
Gently, she closed the book of magic in her hand and held it tight. This would be her key to achieving the things she desired. She smirked as she left the small home, excited to see her new opportunities, both in action and in men.
She held out her open hand, the magic in the air pulling into her fingers as she prepared for an incantation. A gust billowed gently around her, blowing her hair and dress against her form in a way that she was well aware was irresistibly enchanting. She had stolen the hearts of many men in the process of casting her magic - love charms were unnecessary. She was beautiful enough as it was.
The words flew under her breath, shocking the air around her. She could feel the bolts in the air shoot back into her, and out of the corner of her eyes she could see vibrant shots of dark green staining her pitch black hair. An emerald necklace around her neck began to glow and float up away from her chest, pulling the magic into it in a more concentrated form. It filled her with vigor and youth, smoothing her skin and lips. Though she could not see it, her ordinarily grey eyes burned a vivid purple, and the spell began to take affect.
The world around her melted away, melting off of the blackness that was its canvas. For a long moment, Jennifer stood in darkness, the sound of her heartbeat the only thing to give her solid footing, and plant her to reality. But there was no tightening of her muscles, no stress or shock in her system. Only a smile that spread across her luscious lips, knowing that she now commanded forbidden magic that most could only dream of being powerful enough to tame. And she had done so on the first try.
When her new world formed around her, it was nighttime, and the air was hot and damp. Without hesitation, she stripped out of the green and brown silks of her home, unafraid of her nudity, letting the hair drooping over her shoulders be the only thing to hide her breasts. She stood in the middle of an abandoned home, which she raided to look for supplies. She found small amounts of still safe food, and a lack of clothes to replace those she had been wearing. She didn't mind.
Gently, she closed the book of magic in her hand and held it tight. This would be her key to achieving the things she desired. She smirked as she left the small home, excited to see her new opportunities, both in action and in men.
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
Breaking in
The atmosphere shifted abruptly, stopping Jacob in his tracks. The air had become thick and hot, yet it sent shivers down his spine, the hair on his skin standing on end and threatening to tear away from him. He felt a pair of eyes staring down on him maliciously, but he couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from, and everywhere he looked, there was nothing. As far as he could see, nothing in the world around him had changed. But he could feel it.
The fire exploded in front of him without warning, spreading along the ground with a crack and a boom like an invisible molotov landing at his feet. He leaped back in an instant, hands defensively by his head, eyes darting from side to side, desperately wishing he had some kind of weapon on him. At least then, he could feel like he could do something. As he was now, he was helpless to defend himself.
A figure stepped through the raging flames on the ground, a massive sword in his hand, dragging along the ground. As the blazes moved aside to permit him through, and the details become clear, it was the sword that drew Jacob's eye first. The blade itself was red hot from the flames, but its vivd blue inscription shone like it was from not just something else, but somewhere else entirely. It was blocky and broken, like trying to read data off of a broken computer monitor.
Looking at the face revealed that his sword was not the only thing with such a strange appearance. The skin on the left half of his face had been brutally torn away, bloody and fleshy remains revealing not muscle or bone, but more of the burning red metal, with eyes and teeth of that same, disturbing, out of place blue. He grinned wickedly at Jacob and flicked his sword through the air a single time, blowing away the flames on the ground. But his sword continued to burn.
"Who are you?" Jacob asked, the terror clear in his voice. The man said nothing, only continuing to grin as he raised his hand into the air and let it, too, burst into flames. None of this could have been real. This was not some fantasy world, Jacob thought. This was the real world. Things like this couldn't happen.
He had to be dreaming. It was the only explanation. Perhaps with a fever, too explain the hot and cold feelings. But the man's glare sent shivers down his back too cold not to be real.
"Why are you doing this?"
The man's arm snapped forward, like a major league baseball pitcher throwing a fast ball, and an orb of flames shot through the air like a bullet, directly at Jacob's chest. He didn't have the time to dodge out of the way. It hit him with full force, dissipating in an instant, but the burn in his chest and the hole in his shirt were agonizing, dropping him to his knees.
He could barely look up to see the man approaching, still grinning cockily, his head twitching slightly as if he were mad in the head, or perhaps not quite functioning correctly. He opened his mouth, and the words broke free like they had been trapped behind his disturbing teeth, loud and sharp. "You can not continue, Jacob," the man said, his lips not moving other than to be open. "And so you will not."
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
But his words fell on deaf ears.
The fire exploded in front of him without warning, spreading along the ground with a crack and a boom like an invisible molotov landing at his feet. He leaped back in an instant, hands defensively by his head, eyes darting from side to side, desperately wishing he had some kind of weapon on him. At least then, he could feel like he could do something. As he was now, he was helpless to defend himself.
A figure stepped through the raging flames on the ground, a massive sword in his hand, dragging along the ground. As the blazes moved aside to permit him through, and the details become clear, it was the sword that drew Jacob's eye first. The blade itself was red hot from the flames, but its vivd blue inscription shone like it was from not just something else, but somewhere else entirely. It was blocky and broken, like trying to read data off of a broken computer monitor.
Looking at the face revealed that his sword was not the only thing with such a strange appearance. The skin on the left half of his face had been brutally torn away, bloody and fleshy remains revealing not muscle or bone, but more of the burning red metal, with eyes and teeth of that same, disturbing, out of place blue. He grinned wickedly at Jacob and flicked his sword through the air a single time, blowing away the flames on the ground. But his sword continued to burn.
"Who are you?" Jacob asked, the terror clear in his voice. The man said nothing, only continuing to grin as he raised his hand into the air and let it, too, burst into flames. None of this could have been real. This was not some fantasy world, Jacob thought. This was the real world. Things like this couldn't happen.
He had to be dreaming. It was the only explanation. Perhaps with a fever, too explain the hot and cold feelings. But the man's glare sent shivers down his back too cold not to be real.
"Why are you doing this?"
The man's arm snapped forward, like a major league baseball pitcher throwing a fast ball, and an orb of flames shot through the air like a bullet, directly at Jacob's chest. He didn't have the time to dodge out of the way. It hit him with full force, dissipating in an instant, but the burn in his chest and the hole in his shirt were agonizing, dropping him to his knees.
He could barely look up to see the man approaching, still grinning cockily, his head twitching slightly as if he were mad in the head, or perhaps not quite functioning correctly. He opened his mouth, and the words broke free like they had been trapped behind his disturbing teeth, loud and sharp. "You can not continue, Jacob," the man said, his lips not moving other than to be open. "And so you will not."
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
But his words fell on deaf ears.
Monday, April 4, 2016
How and why
I've talked before about how part of the reason that I prefer fantasy over science fiction, at least from a writing perspective, is that there is significantly less need for explanation of what's going on. If you want something to happen, the vast majority of the time you can get away with explaining it away as magic. Scifi, on the other hand, needs in depth explanations for nearly everything - thus the science part of the title.
But that doesn't mean that you're not going to explain anything in fantasy writing. In fact, in a way, it makes the explaining that you do do that much more important. Much of the mystery in a fantasy story is based around the lack of explanation, and I need to find it. Where does the magic come from, and why is it bestowed upon who it is, and how does one control it? These are the questions that are the basis for your entire world, and if you don't have an answer for those questions, you're going to find yourself facing a massive problem.
Which is one of the problems I have been facing with the novel I wrote for Nano. I mean, it's not like I've just been blissfully ignoring the question of magic, and why it is, and how it is. It's a huge focus of the story, the main character trying to understand her own magic, and how she inherited it, and how she controls it. Her character growth is directly tied to her understanding of her magic. The problem is that when I tried to make that explanation, I just wasn't happy with what I ended up with. And while I have ideas for how I want to go forward from where I stopped, I'm not happy with how I stopped.
I don't have a problem with being cliche, up to a point. But when you're writing everything very quickly and on a time limit, you start to cut some corners and lose track of what you're doing. And when you look back on what exactly you're doing, you come to realize that you're not happy with what you did. But trying to come up with a better solution after you've already written the one can be incredibly difficult, which is why you need outside help. But when you don't like something that intensely...
Such a simple question. How? Why? You wouldn't think just by looking at it how heavily it can affect what you're writing or doing. But the more you think about it, the more important it becomes, and the more difficult it becomes to answer. And the longer you delay the answer, the harder it becomes to make that answer. But you can't just throw it out at the beginning, because the more you write, the more you learn. And the more you learn, the more you realize that some of the assumptions you made at the very beginning simply aren't true.
But that doesn't mean that you're not going to explain anything in fantasy writing. In fact, in a way, it makes the explaining that you do do that much more important. Much of the mystery in a fantasy story is based around the lack of explanation, and I need to find it. Where does the magic come from, and why is it bestowed upon who it is, and how does one control it? These are the questions that are the basis for your entire world, and if you don't have an answer for those questions, you're going to find yourself facing a massive problem.
Which is one of the problems I have been facing with the novel I wrote for Nano. I mean, it's not like I've just been blissfully ignoring the question of magic, and why it is, and how it is. It's a huge focus of the story, the main character trying to understand her own magic, and how she inherited it, and how she controls it. Her character growth is directly tied to her understanding of her magic. The problem is that when I tried to make that explanation, I just wasn't happy with what I ended up with. And while I have ideas for how I want to go forward from where I stopped, I'm not happy with how I stopped.
I don't have a problem with being cliche, up to a point. But when you're writing everything very quickly and on a time limit, you start to cut some corners and lose track of what you're doing. And when you look back on what exactly you're doing, you come to realize that you're not happy with what you did. But trying to come up with a better solution after you've already written the one can be incredibly difficult, which is why you need outside help. But when you don't like something that intensely...
Such a simple question. How? Why? You wouldn't think just by looking at it how heavily it can affect what you're writing or doing. But the more you think about it, the more important it becomes, and the more difficult it becomes to answer. And the longer you delay the answer, the harder it becomes to make that answer. But you can't just throw it out at the beginning, because the more you write, the more you learn. And the more you learn, the more you realize that some of the assumptions you made at the very beginning simply aren't true.
Sunday, April 3, 2016
Secret blade
Brandon picked his sword up off the ground and heaved it into the air so that he could rest it on his shoulder. It was far too large for one to carry comfortably in one hand, but Brandon was no ordinary man. His muscles heaved and strained as he wielded the blade, yet his face gave away no sign of discomfort and effort towards the task. He had been given a challenge, which made a smile spread across his face, for he was not about to take it lightly.
Even if the man who had challenged him was clearly lesser than he. The man was small and lanky, and the blade he wielded was thin and cracked. He was barely able to hold the loft with two hands, and his eyes were dull and aged. Yet they had a strange certainty burning within them, which made the curiosity burn in Brandon's own chest. It was those eyes that made him feel a need to put everything he had into this fight. If it ended in a single instant, then that was it. But he had a feeling it would not be so simple.
The strange man stood with his sword held out in front of him, both hands wrapped firmly around the handle, the tip of the blade pointed at the space between Brandon's eyes. His feet were planted firmly on the ground, and he was clearly using all of his strength in order to hold the blade aloft. After a moment of watching, Brandon stepped in, grabbing the end of his handle with his other hand and ripping it down onto the man's head in a savage blow.
But his blade stopped very abruptly, sending a shiver down his arms and into his spine, shaking his very core and threatening to collapse him. His blade was stopped in the air six inches above the man's own sword, which had moved in an instant to stop his own. The man was showing an unknown agility, but that barely registered. Brandon's sword was being stopped by nothing.
He pulled it back, bouncing on his shoulder before steadying itself, and glared at the man, trying to read his eyes to learn what had happened. The man smiled coyly back at him, and dropped one hand from the hilt, easily holding it up now, where before it had been such a struggle. His free hand glowed for a moment as he passed it slowly over the length of his blade, an invisible force around the blade beginning to be revealed. Thick, solid energy surrounded it, the span of which demonstrated where Brandon's sword had been stopped.
A magic user. He should have known. They weren't common these days, but they were also more than legends. This changed things. Though he could hardly turn down the opportunity to have such a fight.
Very well, he thought. Bring it on.
Even if the man who had challenged him was clearly lesser than he. The man was small and lanky, and the blade he wielded was thin and cracked. He was barely able to hold the loft with two hands, and his eyes were dull and aged. Yet they had a strange certainty burning within them, which made the curiosity burn in Brandon's own chest. It was those eyes that made him feel a need to put everything he had into this fight. If it ended in a single instant, then that was it. But he had a feeling it would not be so simple.
The strange man stood with his sword held out in front of him, both hands wrapped firmly around the handle, the tip of the blade pointed at the space between Brandon's eyes. His feet were planted firmly on the ground, and he was clearly using all of his strength in order to hold the blade aloft. After a moment of watching, Brandon stepped in, grabbing the end of his handle with his other hand and ripping it down onto the man's head in a savage blow.
But his blade stopped very abruptly, sending a shiver down his arms and into his spine, shaking his very core and threatening to collapse him. His blade was stopped in the air six inches above the man's own sword, which had moved in an instant to stop his own. The man was showing an unknown agility, but that barely registered. Brandon's sword was being stopped by nothing.
He pulled it back, bouncing on his shoulder before steadying itself, and glared at the man, trying to read his eyes to learn what had happened. The man smiled coyly back at him, and dropped one hand from the hilt, easily holding it up now, where before it had been such a struggle. His free hand glowed for a moment as he passed it slowly over the length of his blade, an invisible force around the blade beginning to be revealed. Thick, solid energy surrounded it, the span of which demonstrated where Brandon's sword had been stopped.
A magic user. He should have known. They weren't common these days, but they were also more than legends. This changed things. Though he could hardly turn down the opportunity to have such a fight.
Very well, he thought. Bring it on.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Dungeons and Dragons
People have been recommending to me basically since I was old enough to play a game that I should play Dungeons and Dragons. And don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't like the idea, or even that I don't particularly want to. The problem is more in the kind of people - at least that I know - that like to play it. And even then, not necessarily all of those people. It's just a couple, but if I were ever to want to get a group together to play it, there's no way in hell I'd be able to pull it off without one of those people getting in on it.
I wrote a little while ago about stats, and how I'm not a big fan of micromanaging them when I'm playing a game. I don't want to permanently sink points into stats that I might regret down the road, and be unable to reallocate. I'm inexperienced in these types of games, and while I've played quite a few, that doesn't necessarily mean that I know what kind of character I want to play. From a giant tank of a man who takes and deals damage like nobody's business, to a mage who dies in a single blow by the weakest foe, but can destroy an entire battlefield from a distance, I enjoy playing all kinds of characters. And a lot of times, half way through a game I'll change my mind on how I want to play.
But the kinds of people I'm talking about - who, I should point out, I'm not saying are bad people, I just really don't want to play DnD with them - have been playing for years. They know exactly what they are doing. But they know it too well. They're so used to playing the game that they're already thinking six fights ahead of where we are in a single instance, while I'm still trying to catch up to what's going on. And because of that, they're trying to plan all of the steps they need to take to get there. They know what they're going to need way down the road, but they have to decide how to get there.
That means that, while I may take a minute deciding what to do now because I'm trying to keep track of the consequences, they take five minutes deciding because they want to make sure that they are doing the exact right thing in every situation so that they can get all of the experience they need, while conserving as many resources as possible, in the most efficient way possible. And there's nothing wrong with that - when you're playing with yourself. But when you're playing with a group of five people, and each of them individually have to take a turn that may take some time because it's a very precise and elaborate game, taking as long to take your one turn as it takes everyone else to take all of their turns...
The game just takes so long. So, so long. By the time I get to take a single turn, I feel like I could have made ten times as much progress in any other game I have ever played. And if I have so much time to be thinking about what else I could be doing with my time, well... I'd rather just be doing those other things.
I wrote a little while ago about stats, and how I'm not a big fan of micromanaging them when I'm playing a game. I don't want to permanently sink points into stats that I might regret down the road, and be unable to reallocate. I'm inexperienced in these types of games, and while I've played quite a few, that doesn't necessarily mean that I know what kind of character I want to play. From a giant tank of a man who takes and deals damage like nobody's business, to a mage who dies in a single blow by the weakest foe, but can destroy an entire battlefield from a distance, I enjoy playing all kinds of characters. And a lot of times, half way through a game I'll change my mind on how I want to play.
But the kinds of people I'm talking about - who, I should point out, I'm not saying are bad people, I just really don't want to play DnD with them - have been playing for years. They know exactly what they are doing. But they know it too well. They're so used to playing the game that they're already thinking six fights ahead of where we are in a single instance, while I'm still trying to catch up to what's going on. And because of that, they're trying to plan all of the steps they need to take to get there. They know what they're going to need way down the road, but they have to decide how to get there.
That means that, while I may take a minute deciding what to do now because I'm trying to keep track of the consequences, they take five minutes deciding because they want to make sure that they are doing the exact right thing in every situation so that they can get all of the experience they need, while conserving as many resources as possible, in the most efficient way possible. And there's nothing wrong with that - when you're playing with yourself. But when you're playing with a group of five people, and each of them individually have to take a turn that may take some time because it's a very precise and elaborate game, taking as long to take your one turn as it takes everyone else to take all of their turns...
The game just takes so long. So, so long. By the time I get to take a single turn, I feel like I could have made ten times as much progress in any other game I have ever played. And if I have so much time to be thinking about what else I could be doing with my time, well... I'd rather just be doing those other things.
Friday, April 1, 2016
New Weapon
Jake couldn't help but grumble under his breath as he wiped the sweat off of his brow, careful to do so with the towel in his left hand and not the sandpaper in his right. He had already made that mistake twice - he wasn't going to make it a third. He had slipped away from school for more than a week straight. If he was going to build a new guitar, he needed to do it right, and he needed to do it sooner rather than later. He still couldn't believe that Ramses had broken the body of his old one. Dude needed to watch where he was flinging rocks during rehearsal.
He could feel the burn in his chest, aching to be let loose. It had been a long time since he hadn't had a guitar to let loose with. He longed for the feeling of the strings under his fingers, the tones mixing in his brain and in his ears like a melody of magic that pulled the fire forth and free. But he knew how badly that could backfire with a poor guitar. It made his skin burn, his ears burst. Only he knew what he needed. And if it took him a month, he would do it right. And then beat the ever loving hell out of Ramses.
He could feel the music in the wood he had chosen. Firm and flexible, with a resonation that rung through its rings even when the wood was flat and fat. A day each of carving for each face of the body, and another day for the walls. But that was just the carving itself. Rough cuts to get the shape, but assembling it in that condition, the strings would have sounded like rocks thrown against the walls of a two foot deep cave. And they already had one idiot sounding like that as it was. They didn't need two.
The sanding had taken him longer than anticipated. He had run through nearly a dozen sheets of each level of paper, which was taking him the better part of a day when he had anticipated only hours. And when he had first started to sweat, he had to move fast and careful so as to prevent it from dropping on the wood. A couple drops might not do much, but too much moisture would cause the wood to expand, ruining all of the work he had already put into it. That's what was taking so long. When he sweat too much, he had to stop and take a break. He wasn't the fittest guy in the world, and it took his body a long time to calm down - no amount of working out would have done anything about that.
At the end of the day, he lay out the pieces to analyze the appearance of his soon to be guitar. It would still take another week before he could finish, but he could go back to school in the meantime. The next step was to start gluing. It would take a while to make sure it was all connected just right, but the more important part was to let it dry. He couldn't do anything while that was happening. Hopefully in the meantime he could get a loaner. But trying to find a guitar he could play without anyone seeing him do it...
That would be harder than making one himself.
He could feel the burn in his chest, aching to be let loose. It had been a long time since he hadn't had a guitar to let loose with. He longed for the feeling of the strings under his fingers, the tones mixing in his brain and in his ears like a melody of magic that pulled the fire forth and free. But he knew how badly that could backfire with a poor guitar. It made his skin burn, his ears burst. Only he knew what he needed. And if it took him a month, he would do it right. And then beat the ever loving hell out of Ramses.
He could feel the music in the wood he had chosen. Firm and flexible, with a resonation that rung through its rings even when the wood was flat and fat. A day each of carving for each face of the body, and another day for the walls. But that was just the carving itself. Rough cuts to get the shape, but assembling it in that condition, the strings would have sounded like rocks thrown against the walls of a two foot deep cave. And they already had one idiot sounding like that as it was. They didn't need two.
The sanding had taken him longer than anticipated. He had run through nearly a dozen sheets of each level of paper, which was taking him the better part of a day when he had anticipated only hours. And when he had first started to sweat, he had to move fast and careful so as to prevent it from dropping on the wood. A couple drops might not do much, but too much moisture would cause the wood to expand, ruining all of the work he had already put into it. That's what was taking so long. When he sweat too much, he had to stop and take a break. He wasn't the fittest guy in the world, and it took his body a long time to calm down - no amount of working out would have done anything about that.
At the end of the day, he lay out the pieces to analyze the appearance of his soon to be guitar. It would still take another week before he could finish, but he could go back to school in the meantime. The next step was to start gluing. It would take a while to make sure it was all connected just right, but the more important part was to let it dry. He couldn't do anything while that was happening. Hopefully in the meantime he could get a loaner. But trying to find a guitar he could play without anyone seeing him do it...
That would be harder than making one himself.
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