Sunday, January 29, 2012


I don't know what to put up here today, perhaps I'm just not feeling particularly inspired or I've got that lovely sickness of Writer's Block. Who knows? Either way, it's going to be a quick one today, so let's get to it.

On Writing:
Looking forward to February to unleash some words upon paper to a ridiculous degree like I did in November. I've got ideas, too many ideas, too little time, but we'll see.

On Beer:
One more week to go until my tasty beer is ready. It really hasn't felt like it's been that long, time is just flying by.

On Cooking:
Made Beercan Chicken (also known as Beer Butt Chicken) the other night and it was delicious. Throw some butter, salt, pepper, thyme on a whole chicken, stick half a can full of beer up it's butt and bake it in the oven for an hour and a half and it makes some mighty tender juicy chicken. Bon Appetit!

On News:
Mitt Romney apparently thinks 300,000 dollars a year from 'speaking fees' is "not very much." Could he be a little more out of touch with reality? And Newt Gingrich is quite simply a terrible person. These two are the best republican candidates?

Is there anything else I talk about? Meh. Here's something I wrote a little while ago and never continued, using my brother's idea for inspiration.

     Post-Apocalypse With Aliens! (Temporary Title)

The acrid smell of smoke hung heavy in the air. Four men stood in the burnt remains of a house, still smoldering, looking in silence, at the corpse that lay in the ruins before them. One of them turned away and vomited noisily. He was younger than the others, and looked embarrassed when he turned back, though none of the others thought him less of a man simply because of a little puke. Everyone pukes. It was simply a fact of life. Better to do it after everything’s done, than when shit hits the fan. Shit had certainly hit the fan here, and the youth had proved himself more than capable. A little puke after the fact didn’t matter to nobody. The youth’s name was Jackie Bean, and he’d be dead come dawn the next day, as would two of the other men standing there that day.

“Ah shit in a shithouse, ah man, ah tell you this is somethin’.” The speaker was the eldest there, wisps of white hair fraying upon his head above a small wrinkled face and gnarled hands gripped an equally gnarled walking stick. “Ah didn’t even believe in ‘em myself.” His name was Derry, Derry Banner, and he was the oldest resident in the village.

“And the fireballs in the sky? What did ya think they was, Derry? Fire-fucking-works?” A middle-aged man responded, taking a pull from a silver flask. He was short and thin, with greasy black hair and a sharp face. His name was Gary Tate, a farmer who was fed up with the world and just about everyone left in it. He wasn’t a bad man, though, just an angry one.

The old man simply shrugged in the tired way that old men do. “What with everything else, earthquakes and storms worser than any before, cities swallowed up or destroyed as if they was nothin’ at all, well I just guess I figured why not fireballs rainin’ down upon us. Just one more thing...figured all that talk about you-know-whats was just nonsense. Crazytalk. Foolish chatter. Guess I...Guess I was wrong.”

“It’’s dead, right?” The boy spoke up hesitantly, not wanting to sound scared. Someone should have told him they were all scared. They were all scared shitless, to tell the truth.

The fourth man finally spoke up, voice cold and hard with a face to match. “It’s dead,” he said, scratching a grizzled five-o-clock shadow. His name was Joe, but that didn’t matter. It was the dead who mattered.

The thing in front of them was making a hissing noise, like when a wet log is tossed on a hot fire. Smoke was still pouring off it’s body. It was a creature only one of them had seen before, but they had heard of it. Rumors had spread like wildfire after the fireballs were seen in the sky. The proof was now plain to see. It was humanoid, with a skin of black scales, a wide mouth filled with teeth, a serpentine tail, and handfuls of claws instead of fingers. Solid red eyes glared at it’s four killers, standing over it’s body. A true alien, from space. It was almost too much to handle, after everything else, but what could you do?

The fourth man sighed and took out a cigar. “Let’s hope it was alone,” he said, lighting it. The others nodded. Unfortunately, it had not been alone, as the four men soon found out.

Joe woke in a sudden rush, jerking up and looking around wildly. Blackness was all he could see. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound. He rubbed the sleep and memories from his eyes, finally remembering where he was. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness enough, he lit a gas lantern, illuminating the trailer. It stood behind a gas station by the road, likely used by the station owner himself. Joe pushed himself off the hard mattress and moved around piles of undefinable garbage. Whoever had been here before had trashed the place, which was probably why nobody else had made a home here. At least, not yet.

A sound drew Joe’s attention to the window, but all that lay outside was darkness. Dawn would be coming soon, but for now, the night still held strong. Dark, but the sound came again. A shuffling, scuffling sound, and something moved in that blackness. Joe grabbed his revolver and went to the door. He pushed it open.

Two glowing yellow eyes peered from the shadows in front of the trailer. “Git!” He shouted, waving the revolver in what he felt was a menacing manner, but the eyes didn’t move. In fact, they moved closer and he heard a low growl. Joe lifted the revolver, put both hands on the grip, took his time, and fired once. The eyes dropped to the ground and didn’t move. He saw the shape of the wolf as a grayness came over the land, the sun would soon be on the rise.

The wolf was dead, hole between the eyes. Joe hated to waste the ammunition, but at least it would be good to have meat for a couple meals. He went back inside, grabbed a cigarette and walked back outside to catch the sunrise. It was still a beautiful sight, even with all that happened. It always would be, too. A comforting thought.

Joe watched the sunrise from between the trailer and the gas station. Light glinted off the metal of dozens of cars and trucks standing still on the road. When his cigarette was done he went back inside and grabbed a portable gas grill and a small propane tank. Stuff he’d scavenged from a Wal-mart, heavy to carry but worth it, though the tank felt nearly empty. There’d be enough for one more meal though, enough to cook one dead wolf. He lit the grill, then turned to the corpse.

It was a fat wolf indeed, having no lack of meat to feast upon these days. They were getting increasingly hostile though, as their fear of men slowly faded. Joe threw on some especially raggedy clothes, grabbed his combat knife, and set to bloody business. Soon, he was covered in blood, but he also had a hunk of meat which he threw on the grill. Blood dripped into hissing flames. He tossed the remains and his bloody rags away, and went back inside the trailer. He grabbed some dirty clothes and wiped himself off, before throwing on his own clothes, blue jeans and a plain t-shirt, cowboy boots and a brown cowboy hat. Yeah, he would’ve laughed at himself too, only the hat, taken from the wall of a farmhouse, kept the sun out real well and the boots were damn good for walking. And he was doing alot of walking under the sun lately.

The meat was pretty well cooked by then so he dug in with his fingers, tearing it apart with his teeth as hot grease dripped down his hands. It was medium well but Joe could really give a fuck less. It was meat, not canned soup or vegetables or any of that bullshit. Good old meaty goodness, cooked over a fire and tasting divine.

After breakfast, Joe grabbed his things, consisting of a few backpacks and bags which he threw on a wheelbarrow he’d found days ago. It was extremely helpful, as it allowed him to carry much more than he could’ve without it. He supposed he could’ve taken one of the vehicles left on the road, but these days, cars were more trouble than they were worth. The amount of traffic jams, crashes, and simply abandoned cars made driving very difficult, with alot of backtracking and off-roading. Joe had tried, multiple times, until he finally said ‘Fuck it’ and put on his goddamn walking shoes.

He took the grill just in case, though the tank was empty and he tossed it. Then, after putting on some sunglasses, the only useful thing he’d found in the already-looted station, he picked up the back of the wheelbarrow and started walking.

The sun rose, beating down on Joe’s shoulders as he walked. At first it was easy-going. The wheelbarrow didn’t have much weight and rolled along the pavement quite easily. He maneuvered around the various vehicles with ease, the only sound the heavy clop-clop-clop of his boots on the concrete.

The cars and trucks held few occupants, as most had likely abandoned their vehicles before they died. There were a few corpses though, heavily decomposed, killed by disease or violence, it didn’t matter. They’d been there so long they didn’t even smell, which Joe was thankful for. Joe tried to ignore the bodies, but he did glance in the cars as he went by. Who knew what useful things could be inside? Camping supplies? Bottles of water?

Other than the cars, the road was empty, devoid of movement or life. Joe walked, a lonely traveler, and at times, times when he felt he might nearly go mad, he wondered if he was the only one left. Even after everything went to hell, he’d found a town of sorts. He’d been with other people, part of a community. He hadn’t realized how good it had been, an easy conversation, the presence of another person, a closeness. He hadn’t quite realized how much damage the human race had taken, how completely destroyed it had become. Being around other people helped you ignore the truth. Too much destruction, too much death. The truth was that the human race was over, that they were all dead. It was only a matter of time. The earth was empty.

They returned to the town without the corpse. Joe considered that a mistake, but he’d been persuaded to leave it. Derry had said it would scare the folk, and the other two agreed that they didn’t really need it. Their accounts of what had happened would be enough for sure. Joe was hesitant, but finally went along with it. They could always come back and get it, should anyone need more convincing. The real truth though, was that none of them wanted to touch it. It was an alien, not of this world. What had once been rumor and fantasy had been proved to be real. Seeing it had shaken the men terribly, but they still held together. The sight of a thing can be thought of, in the deep dark recesses of the mind, a trick of the eye, an illusion, and this comforted the men, though they knew this was only wishful thinking. To touch it would have confirmed the truth and completely destroyed even this faint hope that what they saw was not real. After everything, it was too much to ask for, though it was a decision they would all come to regret.

So they came into town with a weary look on their faces. The town would’ve been considered small back in the day, but it was more than enough for the people who were left to live there. There were cracks in the pavement and a few buildings had collapsed but for the most part, the town had been left untouched by the force of natural disaster that had affected the vast majority of the world. Unfortunately it had been hit hard by the disease, leaving nobody alive. It had literally been a ghost town, but a few people had settled here. There was a lake nearby, plenty of food left in houses and stores, and enough shelter to accommodate thousands of people. More and more people drifted in and stayed. They cleared the streets of corpses, cleaned up the town as best they could, and really began to live. It wasn’t just a few people struggling for life, it was the beginnings of a true community.

It was nearly noon when they walked into town. A couple kids were playing soccer in the park, a group of men and women were searching the remains of one of the collapsed houses, and others were simply walking around. The folk in town stopped what they were doing when they spotted the four men coming in. They gave half-hearted waves which were returned with waves equally half-hearted.

Usually the sight of the town, of people doing things together and helping each other, brought a smile to Joe’s face, but not this time. The four mens’ faces were grim, and brought troubled brows to those who saw them. Joe wasn’t sure how much the townsfolk knew, but seeing four men with guns and frowns was a sign of obvious trouble. For a moment, Joe thought of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, bringing death and doom behind them.

He knew most of the folks names, though there were more than a hundred in the town now. Jack, Harold, Jimmy, Todd, Evelyn, Amy, Allison...the list went on, a list of names Joe knew all too well.

“So you’re back.” It was not a question. They were in a house, now, a large townhouse, facing Tom, or Good Ol’ Tom to anyone who knew him, which was everyone in town. He was the mayor in all but name, and everyone turned to him when they needed advice.

“Yeah Tom...” Derry hesitated. “We found it. The thing ‘at got Mary.”

Tom peered through thick spectacles, sitting in a recliner, mug of coffee in one hand and a pencil in the other. A notebook was open on his lap. He waited, not asking the obvious question.

Derry looked at the others but they were deferring to him, it seemed, not that he liked that very much. “And it’s a creature, Tom. Somethin’ we ain’t never seen afore. It’s...” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s what we heard, Tom. It’s...It’s an alien.”

“No bullshit, Tom.” Gary spoke up, as if afraid Tom wouldn’t believe them. “I seen it myself, Tom, we all did. Fuckin’ real.”

Joe and the kid nodded, for what it was worth.

Tom sighed, closing his eyes. “I was afraid of that.”

“Tom...what do we do?” Derry asked.

“We convene the council tonight and see what they think. It is why we have a council, after all.” Tom gave a sad smile. “We thought the bad times were over, but...” Tom simply shook his head. “You did well. Go to Jill’s, rest, recuperate." Tom paused, hesitating, and then gave a shrug.

"Then we'll see what's what.”

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

The Great Word-Race February 2012

The gauntlet's been thrown down, the challenge offered, the duel accepted. The Great Word-Race of February 2012 will begin February 1st, and end February 28th. The prize? As yet undetermined. The players? So far, me and my friend Nate, who also participated in Nanowrimo with me. We are going to write in February, working on our novels and comparing word counts daily. It shall be a wonderful and crazy month. I will attempt to continue my blog posts, maybe I can count those words perhaps, the rules and such haven't really been finalized. Anyways, I'm looking forward to it, as I have been getting many ideas for the continuation of my book.

I realize I'm late this week with my post. It's Tuesday night, not Sunday, that's two whole days! Braaaahhhh! My apologies, but I worked Saturday night until 3 am, then worked 2 pm to 11 pm Sunday, so I didn't really have time to post. Subbing during the week and bouncing the weekends, sometimes I feel overwhelmed, but what are you gonna do? At least I have a job, which is more than many these days. 


I read "Lord of the Flies" again, like I said I wanted to. It really is a fantastic book, and I wouldn't call it young adult in any way. The descriptions of the island are beautiful, the language is really compelling. The kids act and talk like kids do, and the whole thing feels like it could have really happened. The way it pits Jack, brutal and savage and wild, against Ralph, society and civilization, is incredible. How it all breaks down so easily. It really is a great read. I'm really glad I went back and read it too, because I just understand it so much better than I did back in high school. 

I also read the Hunger Games trilogy. I wouldn't say it's amazing, or fantastic, but I would say it's a good read, enjoyable and worth reading. There are times it feels young-adult-ish, not sure how else I can put it. I mean, the main girl, the narrator is 14 years old who has a crush on two boys, so yeah, some of that drama is a little teeny-bopper, but considering that is contrasted with teens murdering each other in cold blood, it's pretty intense. The thing that really makes it tense, fast-paced, and entertaining is the present tense. What I mean is this: "I run for my life. I punch you in the face." That's first person present tense, which really puts you in the action. Past tense removes you from the action somewhat, as everything happened in the past, but in present tense, everything happens in the moment, which can be very difficult to write. The author does a very good job, and the high-action parts really feel thrilling. I enjoyed the three books quite a bit, but I think I liked the first one the best. 

And now I'm reading Cormac McCarthy's "All The Pretty Horses" which is an entirely different style than The Hunger Games. Hunger Games had short punchy sentences, quick-hitting dialogue and action, simple language. McCarthy has incredibly moving descriptions of the south, uses run-on sentences which simply work, his dialogue is often not attributed to a name, and there are no quotations, it's simply 'he said' and sometimes not even that. You have to work your mind sometimes just to figure out whos talking, or what's happening and it's fantastic. The dialogue is so realistic, it fucking hurts. I've also read "The Road", and "Blood Meridian" which is probably my favorite book of all time. I could probably spend a whole blogpost talking about it, and I may, after I read it again, as it currently resides on my kindle. 

Anyways, that's all for now. 

“War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner.” 
― Cormac McCarthyBlood Meridian

Sunday, January 15, 2012

99 bottles of beer on the wall...

Well, maybe not 99 bottles. 47 12-ouncers and two tall boys actually, sitting in the 'study/office/brewery' room. By tomorrow, they will have been bottled for one week, with three weeks to go. It may seem like a long time, but to be honest, time has been flying by for me so it won't feel too long before I'm cracking one open for a taste. Might try one next week, just to see what it tastes like.

I have no idea as to how tasty my beverages will be. There are a variety of possible influences and mistakes that may affect the flavor. I had two sets of directions telling me what to do, one that came with the pre-mix malt and one that came with the homebrew kit, and tried to follow both as much as possible. The result? Who knows. Hopefully drinkable at the very least.

Bottling was interesting. Using gravity and a siphon, I transferred the beer from the carboy fermenter to the big white bottling bucket.

Bottling Bucket

Extreme Siphoning Action

Look! Gravity!

I then attached a hose and bottle filler to the valve stem. The bottle filler is really an awesome tool to use. You simply put it into the bottle until the tip presses against the bottom and beer comes out, filling up the bottle. Simply pick it up from the bottom when the bottle is almost full, leaving an inch to inch and a half of air. It made that part of the process really easy. Capping was easy as well, simply put a cap on, press the capper down and SHAZAM, you have a capped bottle. More pics. 

Filling bottles like a champ

The bottle capper in action

The first bottle capped

My first batch in all its bottled glory

So that was fun. Now we wait. The bottles are supposed to sit at a temp around 50 degrees, which I cannot really do in my apartment, other than open a window in the room and see what happens. The temperature fluctuates some, so that too may affect the end product. Also, I was supposed to add more sugar at the beginning of the siphoning process from carboy to bucket, which I forgot to do until the end. Not all the sugar dissolved and the later bottled beers likely had more sugar than the earlier bottled beers, as the sugar sat in the bottom while I bottled, so technically some beers will have more alcohol content than others. Regardless, let's just say there was some human error involved in this whole beer-making process and leave it at that. We will know when I try it. Well, I will know. Maybe I just won't tell anyone. I'll just lie and say it's delicious no matter what and only those few who get to try it will know the truth. I may have to bribe them to keep them quiet, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. 

Anyways, let's talk about writing, since that was the original purpose of this blog in the first place. I'm onto my second round of editing, using notes from a friend that were very enlightening. This round of editing is even more difficult to get through than the last. The plan is to finish the editing this month and hopefully write another 50k-ish section in February. I'm thinking the whole novel might be 150k or so words, which is pretty average for a fantasy epic. Hopefully, I'll have it all polished and ready by August next year, so I can publish on createspace, which, because I won nanowrimo, I will get five free bound copies. It is actually very cool, and will look more into it when I'm closer to that step. 

That's all for today, another Sunday past. I'm happy I've been keeping up my blogposting in a regular fashion, and hope those few readers of mine enjoy reading it. 

 “I like beer. On occasion, I will even drink beer to celebrate a major event such as the fall of Communism or the fact that the refrigerator is still working.” – Dave Berry

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Non-Fiction, Beer and Cooking

I've been reading alot of non-fiction lately. At first, I wasn't sure why. Usually I dislike non-fiction. It bores me. When I read, I want story and characters and action, and non-fiction just isn't as good at that sort of thing as fiction. Non-fiction is good for some things though, namely teaching you things, opening your experiences, and at times, creating a good story as well. Not to mention, the writing can be very good and just as interesting as fiction. 

It started with Anthony Bourdain, who, only a couple months or so ago, I knew next to nothing about. He was a guy who had a show called No Reservations, on the Travel Channel. I'd seen the show a few times, and enjoyed it. In it, each episode he travels to a different country or area, experiencing these cultures and talking about them. He interacts with all sorts of folks, eating a grilled lamb with some farmers as well as enjoying fine dining at fancy establishments. Food is a pretty big deal for him, something he talks about with passion and extensive experience. So, a little while ago, I realized he was an author, so I decided to check out a few of his books, because I liked the way he monologued on the show, the way he spoke of other cultures and people, and the way he drank and ate anything he could get his hands on. 

I started with Kitchen Confidential, his first work, I believe. Turns out he was a chef for many years, which isn't a big surprise considering his obsession with good food. Kitchen Confidential is part biography, part exposure, of the crazy intense and hectic lives of chefs, and the life-style of those who work in restaurants, those who serve you your medium rare hamburgers and fries, your steak-frites, and your chicken parmesan. It was a really interesting read. His writing is quite good, sounding exactly like the way he talks on his show. He is a kind of no bullshit tell-it-like-it-is guy, an angry ex-chef who knows the biz and knows food, and the story of his life as a chef is compelling. Then I read his fiction, two novels, Bone in the Throat and Bobby Gold's stories, both of which were pretty good. Unsurprisingly, the main characters are involved in restaurants, and they read almost like hard-boiled mystery tales. From there, I read A Cook's Tour: In Search of a Perfect Meal. Basically, Bourdain realized he didn't want to be a chef after writing Kitchen Confidential, gave a proposal to his publisher, where he said he would travel around the world searching for the perfect meal, doing crazy shit and eating crazy food, and he would write about it. Which he did. It also became a television show. It was also really good. His description of food and places and people and culture is just interesting, at least to me. He comes across as a pretty normal guy, ex-heroin addict chef, no bullshit kind of a guy, now turned writer and traveler extroadinaire. I'm jealous. 

I've also read some Hunter S. Thompson, currently reading his book about the Hell's Angels. One of my professor's used the term 'creative non-fiction', and that fits Thompson perfectly. He was a reporter of sorts, but he also told stories, drug and booze-filled hilarious adventures. They are good simply for the story, but they also have a point to them and make you think about certain things. I guess that's one place where non-fiction can trump fiction. It can really make you think about the world around you, maybe in a way you hadn't before. You can learn shit. Fiction can do this as well, but it's more difficult. Fiction is more about escapism, escaping from this world to get lost in another, more fantastic and exciting world, following wild characters into dangerous situations. Non-fiction shows you new things about the real world around you, makes you realize how exciting and strange it can be. I've always thought of the line "Truth is stranger than fiction" was bullshit, and I still do. "Truth can be stranger than fiction" makes more sense to me. 

Regardless, one reason I think I've been reading alot of compelling non-fiction, is because I'd like to write some interesting compelling non-fiction. I don't really mean publishing articles or journalism, more about improving my writing on this blog, making it more interesting and exciting and new. Hopefully, by reading some good non-fiction, my own non-fiction writing will improve as well, and this blog will get better and better. So there's that, I guess.


It's almost been a week. Tomorrow is when I should bottle, I think, from what the directions say. Should be a fun and interesting process. Fermentation has definitely been going on. Bubbling in the airlock, foam and stuff on the top of the wort and a general brown color are all good signs I think. All I need are bottles and caps and I'm good to go. It's been fun, watching it, thinking "I am creating something!" The foam has gone away somewhat, which I'm not sure if that's a good or bad or nothing sign, so I'm just going to keep doing what I'm doing and we'll see what happens. 

Here's more pics!
First few days of fermentation. Look at those goddamn beautiful bubbles!

Last couple days before bottling! Look at that delicious amber liquid!

So that's going well, I think. I'm pretty excited, actually. There really is something about creating something, putting things together to form a wholly complete end-product, that feels good. No bullshit. Making shit yourself feels good. Which is why I think I enjoy cooking. 

Yes, I enjoy cooking and I'm not afraid to say it. I shouldn't be, either, nobody should. Cooking is an incredibly useful skill, one that can cut food costs and increase the deliciousness and nutrition of your diet. I'm not going to lie though, if I didn't have someone to cook with...Well let's just say I'd be eating more C-17 General Tso's Chicken and Buffalo Wings. 

Cooking is like a puzzle. You must take basic ingredients, use them, combine them, and change them in such ways that you end up with a delicious solution. Add to this the fact that there are a nigh-infinite amount of variables to add and subtract, methods of cooking, that can change the deliciousness of the end solution. 

Now, to be honest, I don't stray from recipes very much. At all. But still, it kind of reminds me of building a model airplane or something. You start with the pieces, follow the directions, put it together and at the end you have a cool looking plane, or a delicious meal if you follow the recipe correctly. If you mess up a piece here or there, the airplane may fall apart, or it may not even matter. 

So maybe that's why I like cooking. Or maybe I just like delicious food. In one of Bourdain's books, he talks about how basic cooking could and probably should be a skill learned by all in high school, and I'd have to say I agree. It's cheaper and healthier and works your brain. Like I said, following a recipe, cooking something, is like a puzzle, you have to work your brain to figure it out and get it right, and we can all agree working with our brains is a good thing. It takes more thinking than say, ordering takeout or delivery or getting fast food. And when you make something delicious, when you get it right, it feels good. 

Anyways, that's about it for today. 


Monday, January 2, 2012

A New Year, A New Hobby

For Christmas, I received a homebrew kit from my lovely girlfriend. Today, January 2nd, 2012, I began my first batch. Basically, making beer is pretty simple, or so it seems. You boil some malt in water, add some hops, creating a substance called Wort, mix it with four gallons of water, toss some yeast on there and let it ferment. For the most part, everything went well. There was really only one mishap. When you boil the malt and hops, foam rises very suddenly, you're supposed to turn off the flame, let the foam go down, turn on the flame again. Repeat if necessary. The foam rose slowly a couple times but I followed the instructions and nothing bad happened. I thought I was in the clear. Thinking back, (following a comment made by my girlfriend), I realize perhaps I hadn't needed to keep the heat on the highest setting. Anyways, I stirred the brown mess and it suddenly exploded upwards. The foam surged upwards and splashed everywhere before I could even turn the knob on the stove. The stovetop and surrounding floor area was covered in brown gunk. But other than that, everything went fine. A glass carboy filled with Wort now rests in the study, hopefully fermenting. After a week, I'll bottle it and then let it ferment for about four weeks or so. Then, we drink, and hopefully it tastes okay.

Here's some pictures!

Boiling the malt, making Wort

The Carboy where the fermentation will take place

The Bottling bucket

A Manual that came with the kit

I even took a class in brewing, back when I was a sophomore. It is unfortunate that I remember just about nothing from that class. Ah well, doing something new is always exciting and fun.

I have a smart phone now, so I guess I'm always 'connected', man. Like, the government could totally be watching me, dude...

Anyways, it's nice not having a flip phone anymore. One thing that I am enjoying is having a decent camera on my phone. I like to take pictures of things. Big buildings, abandoned factories, warehouses, etc. Anything interesting. I've always wanted to take pictures of places where I think I could write cool scenes set in. So that is nice. I will also be able to take pictures for this blog, so it won't simply be walls of text all the time. Don't get your hopes up too much though, as I am a writer, not a photographer, so walls of text aren't really going away.

So brewing. Yeah. It is a thing I am doing. I shall keep my loyal readers posted about it. Some of you may even get to taste the end result, for better or worse.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

The First Has Come

It's here. January 1st, 2012, the year of the apocalypse and all that. It is also the day I said I would release my novel to those family and friends who wished to read it. It just so happens I finished editing it today as well, so I'm pretty happy about that.

This is going to be a short post, because of various reasons. Basically I don't have time to write much of a post, I may write something up tomorrow though. So anyways, send me an email, and I will send you my novel.

That's all folks.