Art can speak volumes. Its message is often more profound and penetrating than mere words alone. As I continue to press on in my fascination with fighting and films, I find myself grateful for those movies with a redeeming message I can hold on to.

Someone recently told me I was a fighter. When I hear stuff like that, I’m never sure how to respond. I’d like for you to think of me as a fighter. Well, not necessarily a fighter, but competent, proficient, worthy. Your opinion of me matters more than I care to admit.

Sometimes I wake up with crooked hands. It’s mostly my right hand. My fingers are puffy, sore and tender, and I can’t fully open my hand. Not so good for a right-handed writer.