A quick hello from the fledgling

Greetings to all, and rum!

Allow me to introduce myself: I’m the fledgling spoken of in my spiffy mom’s blog (http://www.wren-o-blue.blogspot.com). Mamma Wren’s a pretty darn good writer, so check out her blog if you’re looking for a good read (forgive me, I had to get that in there.)

I am much my mother’s daughter, in that we are both disgustingly creative, deep thinkers, and get a huge kick out of simple things like cat toes spread in a lazy feline stretch. We also look alike- well, except for the tattoos and piercings, of course. That’s my thing, not Mom’s, despite all my attempts to encourage her in the inked direction. I still think the snail on the wrist idea is a good one, Mom.

Like Mamma Wren, I too love to write, although I don’t do quite as much of it as she does. My own writing is split pretty cleanly down the middle between random journal-entry-type stuff and poetry — though I’ve been known to indulge in random ponderings on anything from the meaning of life to the meaning of automatically being handed the fortune cookie with the naughty fortune in it rather than the usual tame stuff handed to Soccer Moms and elderly ladies at my favorite Chinese Restaurant. I didn’t know I gave off that particular vibe, but well, they are entertaining…

Despite my love of the written word, I am first and foremost an artist. I’ll draw on anything. Really. I’ve conjured up spectacular pieces on bare backs and white T-shirts; it’s sort of like Zen, in that the backs are washed clean, and well… ok, only one white T-shirt was Zen-like; my friend’s grandmother took it and burned it (she didn’t like the skulls and horns and the demonic hedgehog in the background, for some odd reason). And that was the best one, too; scribbled out after several beers while watching a Monty Python’s Flying Circus marathon. Remember Dimsby? Or was it Dimsdale? I can’t remember- but that’s what I drew: Dimsby as a redneck with horns (don’t ask why the horns, I just like them) being chased along a skull-on-spike-studded path by the infamous hedgehog. Beer is wonderful.

Sigh. I miss that shirt.

My preferred medium is simple pencil on paper, though I’ve taken quite a fancy to Photoshop over the years. I’ve drawn all my life (much to many teachers’ dismay) and love the feeling of falling into another world where the white-noise of everyday life is drowned out by the sounds that thread and crash and trill through the world in the pictures I draw. Nothing really compares to it, and often times I’ll find myself mimicking the expression of whatever creature evolves on the page. Sometimes it’s good that no one watches me as I draw — they’d call the loony bin at the look on my face reflecting some ugly gargoyle or demon.

My goal, career-wise, is to someday become a tattoo artist. I’m already a shoe-in; my tattoo artist wants to take me on as an apprentice, but he can’t until the shop owner decides they’re ready for one. I’ve been “number one on the list” for several years now. Wish me luck.

At the moment, as is seen on Mamma Wren’s blog, I am indeed the fledgling testing her wings. I will be moving into my very own apartment next month, for the very first time, and I am quite honestly thrilled. I’ll be moving with my boyfriend, who at the moment lives with me and Mamma and Pappa Wren. With the both of us and our various collections of stuff shoved into one tiny room, he, like me, is getting a little anxious to get out and get more breathing space. He’s been a very good sport, and has become almost as good as me at stacking things…

I’m also testing my skills of responsibility (and patience) at my current job. I am unofficially the next in line to be Manager of the Production department of the local newspaper, and am chomping at the bit. As soon as my boss finds a new job, I’m it, unless I get that tattoo apprenticeship first. I have sort of mixed feelings about being a manager; the experience will be priceless, and I’ll be free to run things the way I wish (and I can think of several things that need changing already) and to make absolutely sure that those I work with are quality workers, BUT… But, I’ll have to sit in at the weekly Managers’ meeting amongst other managers whom I do not respect (one of whom I despise with every fiber of my being) and hold my tongue when I know that something they say or do is wrong. I’m only 25(ish), after all, and unfortunately, age is of more import at my work than intelligence. I’ll also be responsible for clashing horns with other managers over mistakes, and although his shouldn’t be a problem as our department is rarely the one MAKING mistakes, we are the official scapegoats, and everything is our fault. Immediately. Without thought. Despite hard evidence to the contrary. Continuously.

Sigh. I’m not exactly looking forward to those bits, but it comes with the territory. Wish me luck there, too?

As for more mundane (or simply eccentric) details, those can be found on my MySpace profile, if you’d care to peruse it: http://www.myspace.com/royos_apprentice). Yes, I know. MySpace is evil. It’s also addicting, and really quite fun if you find the right people, rather than the moronic “I have five bazillion friends already and I want YOU to be my friend too!” people who have obviously read absolutely nothing on your profile beyond your screen name, as you and they have nothing in common beyond the necessity of breathing oxygen. That said, at least take a look for the background image I made for my profile there — I spent a long time on Photoshop on that, and am rather proud of it.

I’m thinking that many of the blogs I post there will be posted here as well, and vice versa, and in fact will post some of my older ones here while I write new blogs. A blog-friend of Mamma Wren’s told her that to be a god blogger and maintain your readers you should attempt to blog everyday, even if it’s just something small and seemingly unimportant.

I cannot promise to blog daily, but I’ll try for at least one a week. I do hope that in my meanderings I can make someone smile, or laugh, or feel anything at all when they read what I write.

And so, let us begin.