The NaNoWriMo website has been reset, meaning that NaNoWriMo 2015 is approaching quickly!
I’m preeeeetty sure I’m going to participate this year…that might change due to school stuff if necessary, but barring that, I’m totally going to do it. I think my idea for this year’s novel will come from a dream I had awhile back. It was about this realtor in some town out in the desert who not only had to act as a realtor for the living inhabitants of the town but for the dead ones as well (the ghosts). That is, he had to figure out how best to divide the real estate market between those who wanted to live in houses and those who wanted to haunt them. Every time he screws up, someone ends up living in a haunted house.
It’s a pretty dumb idea, but I like the title “Ghost Town Realty” for it even though it’s not really a ghost town he’s dealing with.
Blah. We’ll see how it goes.
So I’ve edited 45 more (single-spaced) pages of Prime since I started working on it about a month ago. That may not sound like much, but it’s 45 more pages than I’ve edited in the past year and a half. (Blame Nate, he’s giving me the motivation to write/edit.)
I seriously doubt I’m going to ever do anything with it (mainly because it will still be crap even after the 30th edit or whatever), but it’s nice to be working on it again. As crappy as Prime is, it’s my baby and I love it.
I’m pretty sure hell has just frozen over, as I’ve decided to go back and edit Prime some more. I was on an editing streak way back in summer of 2013, but then I stopped because I got to a rough part at the end of one chapter and I wasn’t quite sure where to go from there to get to the next chapter I’d written. And being me, I didn’t want to just skip a part and continue editing—I wanted to edit everything in order.
So I just…stopped.
But I’ve had the urge to work on that story for about a week now, and today I finally just went back and started where I’d left off. I finished editing the chapter I’d left and then continued on. Is the edit good? Not really. But it’s better than what it was, and it’s not like there won’t be more drafts of this nonsense (if I don’t just get completely sick of it and delete it off the face of the earth) in which I can make things even better.
That is, if an 80-or-so page setup for a really horrible “divide by zero” joke is even capable of being bettered.
So yeah. Prime’s still around and it’s finally going to be worked on again. Yay for everyone.
Hey, so tomorrow is the halfway point of NaNoWriMo 2014, which is traditionally (not really) the day I post an excerpt. But tomorrow I’m hoping to hit 500 miles and thus I’ll be dedicating my blog to that.
So let’s break (non-)tradition and post an excerpt today!
So here’s the setup you need to understand the excerpt: I’m writing about TREES! Specifically, I’m writing about six giant redwoods in the Grove of Titans in California. The basic plot (so far) is this: Hesher is the oldest tree in the grove at 2,762 years old. Dooser, the tree growing next to him, is quite a bit younger but is the tallest tree in the grove. Since the two trees grow so close to one another, they are practically best friends.
One night, Hesher secretly tells Dooser that he is tired of living—he’s lived so long he feels like he’s seen everything and is tired of every day feeling the exact same. He doesn’t tell Dooser to kill him, but he tells him that it would be a great favor to him if ever an opportunity would arise for Dooser to somehow shorten his life.
(I know that sounds like the most morbid, emo plot ever, but Hesher is looking at death from an optimistic standpoint—he realizes that he’s been alive a very, very long time and feels in part like it’s time for the next step, which is to become part of the earth once more and be recycled back into nutrients for other trees).
Anyway. One night there’s a pretty bad wind storm that’s powerful enough to shake even the redwoods. After some thought, Dooser determines that this is one of those opportunities Hesher had been talking about, so during a particularly big gust of wind, Dooser lets one of his larger branches fall on Hesher. This causes the older tree to collapse (he was partially rotted through in the lower portion of his trunk) and he is mostly uprooted once he falls to the ground
The other trees, of course, are extremely upset by this, as they know that Hesher will now die a slow death on the forest floor. Some of them blame Dooser and claim that the “accident” was no real accident. Dooser, however, keeps quiet about this, as he knows that if he tells them about Hesher’s wishes, he’d be disrespecting him and his authority as the oldest tree.
Following this storm, there is an extremely hot and dry period with no rainfall and very little relief from an abnormally hot summer. Dooser starts been spending his nighttime talking to the fallen Hesher, keeping him company, but one night Hesher falls asleep as the sun sets while Dooser stays awake at night. However, he realizes that Arrodine, the tree across the grove, is awake and he starts talking to her. The two are about the same age and have been friends for a long time, but they had grown apart recently, partially due to the branch incident. This is their first one-on-one conversation in a long time.
(Note that this is unedited NaNoWriMo blathering, so apologies for the lack of quality.)
But one of those rare nights during which Hesher slept, during the midst of the drought when there was still no rain in sight, Dooser found that he was not alone in the dark. Around sunset, Hesher had fallen into a sleep that had started out restless but progressed rather rapidly into a deep, motionless sleep. It was rare for trees to be completely still, even when asleep, but Hesher was so completely exhausted that there was not even a flutter of his leaves, save for the bit of motion caused by the winds that managed to make it to the forest floor. Dooser didn’t know if Hesher’s stillness was due solely to exhaustion or to the death that was slowly taking over his body. He didn’t want to think about the latter option.
But as he stood towering into the night sky, unable to sleep as always and keeping a watchful eye over his fallen friend, he realized that Arrodine was awake across the grove. He couldn’t see her, of course, save for the dim glow of moonlight flickering against her leaves and coating the rough edges of her sheaths of bark in a velvet-like glow. But he could tell by the way she was moving that she wasn’t asleep like the others.
He ventured to speak to her, but as soon as he spoke her name he knew it had been too soft for her to hear. He was so used to speaking to Hesher, who was much closer and much quieter (Arrodine would have to hear him over the rustle of her great mass of leaves; Hesher wasn’t able to move his leaves like he used to) that his voice now naturally took a quieter, more gentle tone than it did during the day.
But to his surprise, the large tree answered from across the grove. “Dooser? Are you awake?”
He gave a rustle of his branches in confirmation. “Can’t sleep?” he asked her, relieved to find that he wasn’t going to have to spend the night alone in silence.
“I can’t,” she replied. There was a hesitation before she spoke again. “I…I’m thirsty.” Though there was an undertone of shame in her admittance to this fact—she never liked to admit discomfort—there was also a great sense of relief in her voice. Dooser suspected she would probably never admit such a grievance to any other tree in the Grove.
“I’m thirsty, too,” Dooser said, hoping to validate her complaint by stating that he felt the same way. “I wish it would rain. We all need it so badly.”
“I hate this drought,” Arrodine said. “I hate not having enough water. I hate being so dry. It makes it easier for the bugs—” She paused, giving her massive trunk a quick torque—one that was enough of a twist to disrupt the dozens of bark beetles that had chewed their way through her dry, brittle bark and had made a passage to her inner trunk. They scuttled out and over her rough surface, their shells glittering in the moonlight, and disappeared into the forest floor from whence they came.
Arrodine resumed her sentence. “—it makes it easier for the bugs to latch on and chew on my bark. They’re trying to get to my heartwood. I’m surprised they haven’t yet in this dryness.”
Dooser looked across at her. She was no more illuminated than she had been when they first started speaking, but the twist of her trunk left her leaves in motion and they glimmered like twinkling stars against the dark night. The great presence that was her trunk groaned and creaked as it settled back into place. For a brief moment, Dooser’s attention turned to Hesher, whom he could see slightly better owing to the tree’s supine position on the forest floor. Hesher was clearly illuminated by the moon, and Dooser could tell that he was still in a deep sleep. He was in such a sleep, in fact, that a conversation with Arrodine wouldn’t wake him.
So Dooser spoke again. “I’m sorry about your beetles,” he said earnestly. Arrodine had been plagued on and off by the bark beetles and similar other pests for as long as she had been growing opposite of him. What made her more of a frequent target than any of the other trees around her, Dooser didn’t know. Perhaps it was because the sheer size of her trunk made it almost impossible for her to monitor every inch of it every second of the day. Dooser himself had a hard enough time doing that, and he was probably a fourth of her size, volume wise. He tried to change the subject to something a little bit more optimistic, though he found himself unable to talk about anything but water. “I can’t wait ‘till it rains.”
“Neither can I,” she replied. “I almost forgot what it’s like to drink from saturated soil. My roots are as deep as they can get and they’re starting to run out of moisture. If only there was a way to get closer to the ground in order to dig deeper and—” She let her sentence trial off. Dooser felt her glance toward Hesher, who lay as close to the ground as any redwood could possibly get. He realized that she didn’t find it appropriate to talk about such a thing when their oldest member lay dying on the forest floor.
“Do you think Hesher will make it ‘till it rains?” He asked, thinking about the fallen tree.
“Dooser! It’s not right to talk about such a thing. Of course he’ll make it to the rain.”
“You don’t know that,” Dooser countered. “I don’t know that. I don’t think even Hesher knows that. It depends on a lot of things.”
She spoke after a bit of hesitation. “Like how many roots he has still functioning,” she eventually said, as if to rationalize what factors were needed in order for the old tree to live until the drought had ceased.
“And how deep they are.”
“And whether or not there’s a fire.”
“Don’t talk about fire,” Dooser was quick to comment, shuddering at the thought of flames ripping through the dehydrated forest. “It’s too dry for there to even be clouds. No chance of them, so no chance of lightning.”
They were quiet for a moment or two.
“I’m starting to think that half the forest won’t even make it until the rain,” Arrodine said finally. “It’s so dry. We’re so thirsty. When the sun comes up in the morning, I think to myself, ‘this is it, it’s going to start turning around today, it can’t be this dry forever.’ But then I see those firs behind you—there’s five of them—who sit in a sunny patch all day long—I see the dread that overcomes them as the sun’s rays hit the very tops of their branches and then slowly descend down their entire trunks. They’re suffering, Dooser. They’re brittle and they look almost ready to collapse. And as the day goes on I see no relief in the dryness, and the sun just keeps shining on those firs. They’re so relieved when the sun goes down. So am I. I’m starting to like the night more and more.”
Dooser didn’t quite know what to say to this. “It will rain,” was his weak, unconvincing response. “It always rains. I’ve been through bad droughts before. It always rains.” He stopped. Arrodine said nothing in response, so he said, “I like the nights, too.”
“I hear you talk with Hesher,” she said softly, almost gently, as if she were forbidden from doing so. “Every so often I wake up for a few minutes or so; you’re always talking when I wake up like that. Do you talk to him a lot?”
“Every night,” Dooser replied with a bit of caution. He didn’t want to accidentally make her feel guilty for not speaking to the old redwood as much as she had when he’d been standing, but he also didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that it was one of his branches that had downed Hesher in the first place—a fact about which he was sure the other trees thought he should feel guilty. He added, “does that bother your sleep?”
“No,” she answered. “Not at all. I like the sound of it, of the two of you talking. It’s almost—” She paused, thinking, and Dooser suspected she was going to say that it was almost like old times—like when Hesher had still been standing.
But instead she said, “It’s calming. I like hearing conversation when I wake up. It makes the nights not as lonely, especially now that I’m starting to prefer them to the day.”
They were silent for a moment, with nothing but the dry sound of their branches swaying in the hot wind. Even at night they couldn’t escape the heat in its entirety.
Dooser said, “I miss talking to you, Arrodine. Remember how we used to talk at night so often?”
“I do,” she replied. “I miss it too.”
In the silence that followed, a memory was shared between the two trees: a memory of their younger selves staying up well past sunset until the others of the Grove went to sleep, and then, in hushed tones, discussing anything and everything they could think of. Apart from Hesher, Dooser’s relationship with Arrodine had been the closest relationship he’d ever had to another being. The fact that they had been slowly drifting apart in the sense that their nightly conversations had grown more and more infrequent—not to mention shorter and shorter—was a fact that he hadn’t wanted to face up until this point. But here it was, staring straight at him.
Across the Grove, he heard Arrodine shift her branches restlessly. Was it the silence getting to her? Or the memories? Or possibly just the heat?
“We should start talking like that again,” he said to break the uncomfortable silence.
“I’d like that,” she said.
“It will be just like it was, back when we were younger. And shorter,” he laughed, referencing himself.
She laughed, too. “And smaller.” She creaked her trunk for emphasis.
“We should talk again soon,” he said, excited about the prospect of revitalizing his relationship with the large tree across the Grove.
“After—” It was Dooser’s turn to stop himself. After what? He couldn’t help his gaze from traveling down to Hesher. The fallen tree lay still in his deep sleep. For now, he was oblivious to the heat still hovering in the air, making the other trees and plants and creatures uneasy and uncomfortable. He was oblivious to the extreme lack of water plaguing the forest, this by virtue of the majority of his roots either being ripped from their anchoring or simply snapped as he had fallen. He was oblivious to the passing of time that would once again bring a new day and would bring him, thus, one day closer to his death.
And he was oblivious to the fact that this inevitable death of his was now being used as a marker in the future—a point at which Dooser could resume his nightly talks with Arrodine. He felt shame at even hinting at such a thing wash over his body, but Arrodine was quick to attempt to repair his blunder.
“After the rain?” She suggested.
Dooser heaved a sigh of relief, though he was sure that she was just being kind and had realized that he had unconsciously been referring to Hesher’s death.
“After the rain.” He ruffled his leaves as she did, trying in vain to relieve himself of some of the heat. He peered up into the night sky, its color a deep, velvety blue-black dotted intermittently with the pinpoints of stars. Even in the vast expanse toward which he reached, into which he towered further than any other living thing as far as he could see, Dooser could not escape from the heat. He could not escape from the here and now.
He let his branches come to a shuddering standstill, listening as the dry, browning leaves crackled against one another until they all became silent, not to speak again until he wanted them to, like a million dying creatures waiting for an excuse to voice their last thoughts.
He sensed Arrodine looking across at him and he looked back at her, the massive tree swaying her branches and creating the slightest breeze. Her leaves, like his, crackled like death.
“I hate this drought,” he said.
So this is the first NaNo where it’s felt like my story should have a soundtrack. Not sure why. If this were ever good enough to be adapted into a movie, it’d sure be a slow-moving one, what with the main characters being trees and the whole story mostly consisting of tree thoughts and tree conversations (though there is a fire). But over the past few days I’ve already found some good tree music (both in my music library and in general), so I figured why not make a list of songs that sound very “tree-like” to me.
- I Bet My Life – Imagine Dragons (this would be like the main song; this is very tree-ish to me for some reason)
- I See Fire – Ed Sheeran
- Magma – The Vein
- All That We Had Is Lost – Postiljonen
- Touch the Sky – Iambic
Haha, okay, so I guess there aren’t that many. BUT STILL.
Sorry, not much to say today.
And happy midnight kickoff of NaNoWriMo!
So I’m definitely doing my tree story. I have no idea what the plot’s going to be yet, but I have two character names in mind. Considering this is the most I’ve ever had planned out before a NaNo, I figured why not.
Be prepared for a lot of tree posts.
(I tried to think of a good pun but I failed. Great start to the new month, huh?)
My NaNoWriMo this year is going to be about trees.
Probably from the perspective of one (or more) trees.
Because hell, when has any one of my NaNo novels made any damn sense?
(Sorry, I got nothing today)
I probably shouldn’t do it this year ‘cause I have a TON of other stuff to do, but what the hell. That’s never stopped me before, right?
But I think I’m going to do things a little differently this year. I have one more “long” story due in Fiction on the 20th. I’m going to use that as an excuse to be a NaNo rebel this year. Instead of a novel, I’m going to get my 50,000 words in a bunch of short stories. Hopefully one of these will develop into something good enough to turn in on the 20th.
And I may or may not post them here as I complete them. I probably won’t ‘cause they’ll probably suck, but who knows?
I also have to remember to actually update my wordcount on the NaNo site. For some reason, I’m really bad at doing that consistently.
So despite the 4 million+ other things I’ve had to do this month, I was actually able to win NaNoWriMo. Whistler’s Father ended up at 50,085 words by midnight. It’s definitely not by best work by any stretch of the imagination, but it doesn’t suck as badly as last year’s and it actually has quite a bit more plot to go. But I probably won’t continue it ’cause I don’t like it.
SUCH IS LIFE!
Anyway. Now I can concentrate on not freaking out about finals (HAHA like that’ll happen).
It’s NaNoWriMo time!
I think this year’s plot is going to involve art and music. I don’t have much planned out yet (since when do I plan for NaNo, anyway?), but so far I think it’s going to be about an art history student who decides to research Whistler’s Arrangement in Grey and Black No.1 (aka, Whistler’s Mother). In his research, he finds that the color composition of the piece (as well as other pieces by Whistler) was very influential on the music of Debussy. So he starts researching Debussy to see if he can see any similarities between the music and Whistler’s works.
This leads him to meet this scientist dude who is also studying Debussy, but for different reasons. Scientist Dude is interested in the mathematical models that apparently underlie a lot of Debussy’s songs. They get talking and they find that the similarities between the compositions of Whistler and Debussy’s pieces lie in a series of specific mathematical ratios.
So Art History Guy and Scientist Dude get this idea: why not try to refine these ratios to see if they can create the perfect sound—a sound that’s so appealing to the human ear that any other noise would forever be “inadequate.”
That’s kind of as far as I’ve got right now, but I’ve kind of got a general plan. And of course, since it’s one of my stories, obviously someone (or a bunch of someones) will get killed by the sound or something and all things will end in disaster.
Party all the time.
Woah, just thought of something.
I wrote about numbers for NaNoWriMo 2009.
I should write about the English alphabet for this year.
OOH OOH OR FONTS!
IDEAS! THEY FLOW!
When it comes to fiction, I haven’t written anything of substance for quite some time. That bothers me. But I also have a bunch of ideas running around in my head, so that’s a good thing and something worth being optimistic about.
I’ve decided to do an exercise in writing pieces of short fiction. I found this list of themes awhile back and saved it, hoping to use it for a writing project sometime. I’ll utilize it now!
1) All themes must be written about.
2) The total words per story has to range between 50 and 1000 words.
3) At least one story per week must be written, starting the first week of June.
To make story length/themes chosen as objective as possible, I numbered the themes 1 – 131 in alphabetical order. Then I used R to create a list of 130 numbers, all between 50 and 1000. These numbers were matched up to the list of the alphabetized themes, and then THAT list was randomized to determine the order in which I’ll write about them.
It’ll be fun!
If anyone wants to do this with me, I’ll post my newly-created list here (I’ll actually post it anyway; it’s just not on the Flash drive I’ve got with me right now).
And I may or may not post the writings on here…depends on if they’re any good or not.
I found The Brave Little Toaster on YouTube. That movie is such a trip.
[Insert frantic Wikipedia research here]
DUDE IT WAS A BOOK TOO:
The blanket looks alarmingly like a serial killer in the cover illustration. One of those calculating, quiet types who smothers children in their sleep.*
Wiki: “The Brave Little Toaster was well-received by critics. Anna Quindlen, writing for the New York Times, called it ‘a wonderful book for a certain sort of eccentric adult. You know who you are. Buy it for your children; read it yourself.'”
Its full title is The Brave Little Toaster: A Bedtime Story for Small Appliances, which leads me to believe that author Thomas M. Disch is pretty freaking great. Must…acquire…copy…
*NaNoWriMo 2012 idea: rewrite The Brave Little Toaster as a horror book. Call it Burnt. The five appliances are bitter to the point of extreme revenge over being left at the cabin by their master. They set out to seek revenge on him. Along the way, Blanky’s initial harmless hallucinations about the master soon give way to his psychopathic tendencies. Because we all know it’s the quiet, innocent-seeming ones who are apt to snap and turn on their friends in the middle of the woods.
Dude. This is so happening.
Edit: Mr. Disch and I share a birthday. It’s a sign.
Ugh, my NaNo this year sucks royal matzo balls.
Here’s a Wordle. This will be the last time we shall ever speak of this atrocity.
I would think “barber” would be a lot more frequent. Same with “drunken” and “bourbon.”
This story really sucked. As much as NaNo is about quantity over quality, I have difficulty with that in the story-writing context. My blogs are a different story, though, haha.
KEEP IT UP.
Seriously. Peanut butter Twix cause little gustatory orgasms.
Am I the only one having trouble accessing the NaNoWriMo site? Every time I go to update my word count I get the “page cannot be displayed fart fart fart” message. So I think I’m still at like 420 words or something, haha. Prepare for my little graph to shoot skywards once I can actually log on.
Unrelated: I freaking love this!
Also, my stuff was “guaranteed” to come yesterday but it STILL ISN’T HERE…kinda freaking out, but whatev. I miss my books. And Giant Compy.
That’s National Novel ReWrite Month for me, haha. I’m a fickle bugger, so I’m scratching my current NaNo idea (surprise, surprise) and going with something new. At least I’m restarting near the beginning of the month this time, unlike last year where Googol was born on like the 15th had to be written rapidly (alongside class-work stuff and that soul bomb of a thesis).
Anyway, the new topic is deeply personal and definitely won’t get an excerpt posted. Maybe not even a synopsis. But it’s happening because all my other ideas are about 45% there in my head and the stuff I’m writing about in the new NaNo needs to get out of my head to make room for more important stuff (a.k.a. statistics stuff, methods to convince my dad to get me a car, how many M&Ms just came crashing out of the bag I just heard tip over in the kitchen…stuff like that). So this year’s just going to be mysteeeeeerious!
At least until I change my topic again.
On a completely unrelated note, I was surfing around YouTube this afternoon and came across this video of Steve Jobs introducing the iBook way back in 1999.
I’d never actually watched one of his keynotes, but holy freaking crap, that man could sell a product. It’s got a tiny little 3.2 GB hard drive and I still want one.
My dad actually had a tangerine one way back when. I played Bugdom incessantly on it, haha.
October’s done! You know what that means:
Mean song length: 5:53
The Five Star: Paradise by Coldplay
Also, I’ve decided (at least for now, haha) to dredge up a VERY old story idea for this year’s NaNo. Will it be my permanent idea this year? Probably not.
But who knows.
Also also, I think I’ve discovered my default genre of comfort: bizarro fiction.
Also also also, Mona Simpson’s eulogy for Steve Jobs (Mona’s his sister, for those who don’t know). Very touching, in my opinion.
Today was freaking horrible. Therefore, I shall focus this blog on three things that have nothing at all to do with my life at the moment.
1. Seriousness: Steve Jobs
I credit Steve Jobs with the initiation of my love of music.* The second generation iPod mini (with colors silver, blue, pink, and green) came out in 2005 and I remember my dad asking me if I wanted one. I pretty much had no interest in it. I had a grand total of five music CDs and a rockin’ portable CD player decorated in stickers. Why would I want to change that?
He got me one anyway, though, for Christmas 2005. Enter iTunes plus a $50 iTunes gift card for my birthday two months later and I was suddenly introduced to the fact that I now had the power to find ALL THE OBSCURE SONGS I’D EVER LOVED. It took like two months for my meager 40-something-song library to grow to 400+. The portability factor—along with the fact that I could now purchase songs individually and therefore didn’t have to weigh the pros and cons of buying a whole $15 CD for just one or two songs—made me want to listen to music.
Haha, and now look where I am.
So I thank you, Mr. Jobs, for your business sense, your inventive mind, and your desire to continually make/improve portable media products for gadget lovers like myself. If I had any extra money at this time, I would upgrade my current iPod (I need a bigger one, haha) in your memory. But that will have to wait until I’m not dirt poor.
Found on Imgur.
2. Creepiness: Googol
So remember when I blogged about Google’s Profiles and how it was freakishly similar to the product Google Face as I described in my NaNo Googol written last year (last part of this blog)?
Well, if Google merges with or takes over Apple within the next year or so, then I FREAKING CALLED IT AGAIN.
What I wrote:
“After the death of Steve Jobs in the early 2000s, Google’s founders felt there to be no other option but to approach Apple with a merger deal, offering them almost any stipulations they desired in exchange for being able to essentially mix the two companies into one giant hyper corporation that would push the limits of the known size of any company that had ever been in existence. […] Of course, prior to his death, Jobs had anticipated Google’s future moves. He knew that the corporation in charge of providing internet goers everything from facial recognition to “street views” of Pluto to basic search would not be so quick to pass up a merger opportunity with any company they thought was and would continue to be a successful internet partner. […] He knew a merger with the giant that was Google would most likely require sacrifices on the part of his own company. These sacrifices, however, he was not too willing to make. The impression Clarke gathered from the literature was that Jobs, in a somewhat secret move several years before his death, had created and documented several heavy handed stipulations and bargains that would have to be met in order for any sort of posthumous merger to take place.”
Including, as I go on to describe, a redesign of the Googleplex to match more the style of Apple.
3. Silliness: I Gotta Feeling
I’m not into hating specific types of music and I actually like this song, but this review is pretty great.
30-Day Meme – Day 6: Your favorite music video.
Oh crap, that’s tough.
I love The Music Scene by Blockhead because OMFG COLORZ:
But I think my favorite music video has to be for White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes. Watch this and tell me it’s not the most beautiful, sad thing ever:
I could watch that over and over and over and over.
That is all.
*Actually, such a statement is a bit of a misnomer. I’ve always loved music in the sense that I’ve loved playing it…I guess I should say that Mr. Jobs initiated my love of listening to music in general.