My name is Jess. (That’s “Jesse Gillespie” to you, buddy.) A “jess” is a leash-ring attached by a strap to the leg of a trained hawk, for hunting and… other things you may like to do with a trained hawk.
Such as rescuing kittens from trees or taking aerial photographs of your neighborhood.
I can only do one of those things, but I’m able to outdo a hawk in a lot of other areas. Turning doorknobs comes to mind. If you’ve ever angered a hawk, simply close a door behind you, and you’re good to go. No such luck if you’ve angered me, though.
Unless you can lock it.
By the way, my email address is firstname.lastname@example.org, in case you need a kitten rescued.
This blog was created around my own need for accountability and support if I ever want to achieve my dream of publishing a graphic novel. It’ll take a long time, and I’m super procrastinative, and have a family whom I love, and am scared of doing anything resembling hard work. Even if it is doing my third favorite activity: drawing. My first favorite is being with my wife and kids. My second favorite is playing video games. Drawing only gets beat out by video games because it requires some effort, which I am allergic to. I like writing, too, which is why I want to do a graphic novel. And this is all under the umbrella passion of figuring out exactly what it means to live out a life based on the almost ununderstandable thing called “Love” exemplified and embodied by Jesus Christ, which is marred and twisted a lot of the time by those who call themselves His “Church”.
The blog is called “Cry of the Tethered Hawk” due to my feeling like any failure to succeed in the art world, or any other world, would be from lack of my own motivation and gusto alone. I can blame it on nothing else. A few months after creating the blog I came across a tiny Aesop’s fable about an eagle which sums up how I’ve been feeling about myself quite succinctly:
An Eagle sat on a lofty rock, watching the movements of a Hare whom he sought to make his prey. An archer, who saw the Eagle from a place of concealment, took an accurate aim and wounded him mortally. The Eagle gave one look at the arrow that had entered his heart and saw in that single glance that its feathers had been furnished by himself. “It is a double grief to me,” he exclaimed, “that I should perish by an arrow feathered from my own wings.”