Yet Another Writer's Blog

Exemplary writing

2012-02-06T18:12:00.000-08:00

One of the things that I have strived to become is an exemplary writer. Not just decent, not good, not even great. Legendary. The kind of writer that, when you read his work, you are left in awe. There is something in the way a master crafts language as though it were clay. It is that kind of writing that can truly become art.

For a while I fancied myself a great writer. I was, as far as I know, at the top of my classes. Whenever I worked for someone in a writing capacity, I was generally regarded as a valuable asset. I know there are better - and younger - writers out there, particularly now. Even if my working vocabulary grew exponentially, my similes and metaphors were akin to Shakespeare's, and my depth a rival to Hemingway, I still will not be the legendary writer that I wish to be. At least, not for a while.

There is some truth to the idea that writers have troubled pasts, but mine was not wracked by hardships. Many writers have had the advantages of an education that has no equal; mine was at times sub par. Some have seen the world, changed our mother tongue in unalterable ways, and fired the imaginations of millions. However, there are still top-shelf authors who, like me, have had none of these. It is time and my own personal demons that are preventing me from being the writer I could be.

Time I can change very little. I can make a little more time for writing, set aside time every day, keep myself focused and awake and habitual. Having a 10-month older who is now starting to walk and teethe (and make a grinding noise with her teeth that sends shivers reserved for dentists alone* up my spine) does make things more difficult, but not impossible. I will not be denying my daughter time with me, or the time she needs to be raised properly. But that does not mean I have to deny myself that which defines and drives me (if only I was driven by a single force).

This, of course, leaves my own personal demons. These are, for the most part, distractions. Sure, I could blame it on ADHD. I have been ADHD my entire life and am still, at 30, learning to deal with it. I have yet to find a medicine that has acceptable side effects (but that is for another post). But to be my own devil's advocate, I HAVE lived with it for 30 years and should be able to deal with it fairly well. No, I will not blame my distractions on ADHD. I lack the discipline that I need to do the things I wish to do. I lack the habits, the routine, the self-control. Currently my distractions are games (and not just one in particular, but a variety), Netflix, and attempting to role-play online. I do get some writing done, and the role-playing I have tried to start up is writing intensive. I have learned, however, that I really am a better writer than most. The writing can at times be excellent, but it is usually poor. And I do not think it is helping me, but instead forcing me into the habit of writing poorly. And that is one habit I do not need.

I have other things on my plate. My wife and I are attempting to brew beer. I have purchased (and intend to start) a cross-stitching pattern. I have about 4 writing projects that I want to pursue. I am still in the process of transferring my rather sizable collection of CDs onto my computer. There are a variety of songs I want to learn to play on the guitar, including songs for Children's Chapel (which I will be taking up) and songs taught to me by the PS3 game Rocksmith (although a game, it uses a real guitar, and teaches you how to play songs to the point where you could play them on your own for others). I still have not been on a camp out with the boy scout troop I am helping. And on top of all this, I am attempting to find things to do with my daughter now and when she gets a little older. It has been said that a man only has time for one passion in his life. I feel I can get away with 2 or 3... but I have about 7.

So, in short, I am going to have to work on the discipline. I have come to redefine my goals and my thought of what "exemplary" writing is. I do not know if it is an achievable goal, but it is a path I wish to tread. In time, who knows?

*It is not only a sound that makes my teeth ache with empathy pangs, but also makes my wallet hurt with the thought of the dentist's bill once we see the damage she has done to her teeth.

Changing Tables

2012-01-18T21:15:00.000-08:00

Until you become a parent, you never really notice changing tables when you're in a public restroom. But the moment that status changes, those little fold-out hunks of plastic growing like tumors on the wall become welcome sights. Without them, you may be forced to precariously balance your child on the hard, cold, narrow, and often wet marble sink while navigating a dirty diaper, a clean diaper, wipes, and a diaper bag. Cloth diapers add to the mix as well, and if the child is poopy... well let's just say almost no one actually cleans the diaper properly. If the sink is too small, the bathroom floor is usually a very bad idea, leaving you to change your child in public!

Now, I am not saying that these changing tables are perfect. Far from it! I should invent a changing table that A) has a place to put/hang your diaper bag so it is off the disgusting (and often wet) bathroom floor, B) Has a place to put dirty diapers temporarily and sanitarily (even cloth ones, so a trash will not do) while you continue the unpleasant chore, and C) has a place to put the wipes and clean diapers. The tables are also often placed in unusual locations... one was placed right next to the automatic flushing urinal, causing it to evacuate its contents ever ten seconds. Another was in the way of the door to the wheelchair stall. But despite these shortcomings, just having a table is a blessing. I can manage the clean diaper, dirty diaper, wipes, wipe bag, diaper bag, wet bag, baby, and baby's clothing.

Here is where we often have a problem. Women's rooms, from what I can tell, usually have a changing table, if not always. Men's rooms, however, rarely do. There is something inherently wrong about going to the trouble of installing a changing table in the women's and neglecting to do so in the men's. It's not THAT much more money. Not only is there a growing number of stay-at-home dads out there, but there are also plenty of dads on outings with the baby, single dads, and dads who want to do their fair share of diaper changes.

Today I was at the Greenville Zoo with my infant daughter. It was just the two of us, and the zoo was mostly filled with moms and their kids. There were plenty of them and only one other dad with his daughter, but we were still there. In order for me to change my baby, I had to have an employee wait until the women's room was empty, then go in and check it, then stand guard while I used it to do the dirty deed. It was a bit undignified, and something that could and should have been easily avoided.

Who knows how long it will be before us fathers are seen as equals on the nurturing front.

Staying at Home

2012-01-17T17:40:00.000-08:00

No one ever said that being a stay-at-home dad was glamorous. First of all, there is intense social pressure to "provide" for the family. This usually is taken to mean, "make the majority of the money for the family", even though in some situations, "providing" may mean eliminating the cost of a babysitter while providing quality time for and with your child(ren). It was actually surprising to me just how strong this desire is. I still struggle with knowing I may never get this second degree and may never join the "working world" the same as most men. I have a degree, I have a strong work ethic, and I want to earn my way.

Some of the ways in which this simple bias manifests can be surprising. Let's say that in 2 years I am in a position to look for work again. There I am, sitting down at an interview looking confident and sharp, with a great portfolio and great people skills. The first thing the interviewer asks me is what I have been doing for the past 3 years. After I tell them that I have been a stay-at-home dad, they suddenly lose interest in me. It is as if staying at home has not only emasculated me, but also made me forget how to do my job.

The second thing that makes being a stay-at-home dad difficult is support. This is a two-fold problem. The first is that I am literally taking up the role that women have traditionally taken up; thus I am at home doing chores and taking care of the baby while my wife goes to work and class. She comes home tired and hungry, and I want to make certain I have done enough for the day to pull my weight. I usually end up doing more chores and putting the baby to sleep, since my wife has to get up early the next day to go to school/gym. Sometimes this means that I am so tired after the baby goes to bed that I can hardly get any of my own stuff done (or, as is often the case, do the chores that are hard to do while she's awake). I unfairly feel like I am not getting enough time for myself, while Amy feels that she is not getting enough time with the baby.

The flip side to this is other people. There aren't very many stay-at-home dads (SAHDs), at least not in my area. Usually I end up in groups of stay-at-home moms. This makes me feel just a bit nervous, as if I am intruding on a distinctly female thing. I know in my mind that it is alright, but it still feels wrong. It is also hard because there aren't other SAHDs to talk with and share experiences with. Thankfully, I discovered some online communities that I am joining, athomedad.org and dadstayshome.com. We will see how these two resources help.

I am still trying to figure out how to get my baby to take naps in her crib, which will free up a lot of time for me. For the longest time, she would only nap on me (in such a manner that it was difficult or impossible to do anything else, including using the computer), twice a day, for about an hour to an hour and a half per nap. Without these, she would get cranky and cry all the time. With these, however, I am limited to using the Playstation for big portions of the day. If she can get an hour or even half an hour of sleep in her crib, I'll be able to write every day! There are other difficulties, problems, and situations that arise from being a SAHD, but those will have to be for a later post.

My how time flies...

2012-01-07T19:31:00.000-08:00

No new posts since May, huh?

So I'm a terrible blogger. But we already knew that, didn't we? Still, I've decided to try to revive this little thing. It will at the very least force me to write something substantial once in a while.

Here is an update in my current situation:

- My daughter is now 9 months old. Her first word was "light," she has 2 bottom teeth (and more coming in, I suspect), and she just took her first step yesterday (but isn't exactly walking yet). Very exciting!

- I have found a group of friends with similar interests to me! Huzzah! We have a weekly get-together and hopefully can start a writing group.

- I am still teaching myself to play the guitar. No real change there.

- I am now an Assistant Scoutmaster at one of the local Boy Scout troops! It doesn't take too much time, so far, but I am looking forward to going on campouts and helping kids with merit badges. The new Chess merit badge looks interesting...

- My novel has been slow coming. Most of this is due to Adelaide, but there are many other factors that have been getting in the way (like not being able to sleep, traveling home for the holidays, that sort of thing). But I have started it back up and hope to get my writing back on track soon.

- My wife may be defending her PhD thesis much sooner (a year and a half) than we had anticipated. Because of this, I have decided to become the full-time stay-at-home dad. I am looking into UMD as a future alma mater, but may have to take some classes in order to get in. Who knows, we may be moving back to the DC area before I turn 32.

So, there we have it. You, world, have been updated. I will be bringing this blog back to life, but it will be combined with my daddy blog. Also, I may just start up How To Be a Thief again. Who knows?

Logic Laguna

2011-05-18T21:05:00.000-07:00

First, I would like to say that I am very much enjoying my story and that I am now past 27k words. I just hope it ends up at least 50k!

Now onto the main part of this post. I have always had a logical mind. I think things through from as many possible angles as I can. And I tend to do a good job getting all the angles. I blame my father, who is a systems engineer, and raised me to see ever problem with a series of inputs and outputs. All you need to do is identify ALL of those.

It irks me to no end when I hear a claim that has nothing to back it up, yet is accepted universally. This happens much more often than you might realize.

Let me give you an example. I recently saw a hand dryer that claimed it was more environmentally friendly and more sanitary than using paper towels. I would like to see evidence. Allow me to give you the inputs and outputs of each.

First, sanitation. Many models are now hands-free, using infrared or some other sensor to determine if someone's hand is beneath it. This is actually a good thing, if programmed correctly. They should stay on for as long as your hands are beneath, and you don't have to touch anything. In this case, there are no inputs (other than the flow of air), and the item is, indeed, as sanitary as you can get. There are other problems with this, but I'll get to that later. However, the model I looked at was NOT a hands-free version. It was one of the ones we all know and hate. Push a great big shiny (and usually damp) button to turn it on. Put yours hands beneath. Rub them until it turns off. Then, either rub your hands on your pants (which is very unsanitary) or turn it on AGAIN until it actually gets your hands dry. Then turn off the water and open the door. In the process of washing your hands, you have touched surfaces that dirty hands have touched 4 times since you rinsed the soap off.
Let's try a paper towel dispenser. some paper towel dispensers are, admittedly, terrible. Pull on one and you pull out a hundred or rip several to shreds. Others involve having to wind something that is wet to get the towel out. However, many allow the user to simply pull on a sanitary paper towel, not having to touch anything which has ever been touched by man before. Either way, you can then turn the water off WITH that paper towel AND open the door with it. Do this correctly, and you have touched 0 surfaces (or 1 surface, depending on the kind of dispenser) since you rinsed the soap off your hands.
So, unless your hand dryer is infrared, it is actually LESS sanitary.

Next, we'll tackle the environment. Now, this one deals with a lot more variables, so there really is no winner. However, as you will see, it is not clear cut and easy to define. In fact, the environmental impact may very well depend on where you are washing your hands.

Both products are made with many metal parts that all have to be manufactured in a factory. However, the hand dryer has decidedly more and more intricate parts, thus requiring more energy and resources (and designing) to produce. The hand dryer is then hooked up to the grid. If you have an infrared sensor in it, it will supposedly only turn on when actually in use, thus saving energy. The one caveat is that sometimes things other than a person with wet hands can activate it. However, most hand dryers still use the classic button. These usually have to be activated twice to actually get your hands dry. They will also often be activated and used for only a quarter or half the time it is on, then abandoned and left to just run (there is no way to turn it off). To heat a coil requires a good deal of energy, so every time someone uses your product, it is taking energy from the grid. This is in turn being provided to the grid by a variety of local resources. It could be that the only power plants near you are coal plants or oil plants. This means you just spewed quite a bit of waste into the environment. If you're lucky, you live near a solar plant, hydro plant, wind turbines, or a nuclear plant, thus not spewing anything into the environment (with nuclear, however, the waste must still be dealt with).

Let's look at this further. A nuclear plant? Really? Yes, really. Nuclear, despite common misconceptions, is remarkably safe. You aren't getting exposed, and you aren't going to see mutant fish like in the Simpsons. The waste is stored at the plant to taken elsewhere to be buried, where it is monitored by the NRC. It is contained and will not be affecting the environment, barring an act of God like a 9.0 earthquake.
But Spencer, why only power plants nearby? Surely the electricity on the grid is shared by all plants providing power to it! Not true. The fact of the matter is, the wires that we use to send electricity are not perfect and have resistance (ohms). This resistance means that for every mile or so of wire that the electricity has to pass through, so much of it is lost. Thus, a power plant can only provide power in a specific region. Anything beyond this region has more resistance in the wires than the plant can dish out, so none of it reaches that far.
So what are the most environmentally friendly power plants? Those which use renewable resources without waste products. These would be water, solar, wind, and geothermal, with wind and geothermal being the most environmentally friendly (due to the materials and power output). Water is higher if it is not given by a dam, because damming up rivers has a major environmental impact.

Back to the discussion. If you use a hand dryer, you are heating a coil AND powering a fan of varying intensities for a specific amount of time, all of which is drawing power. At the very least, it costs the establishment the bathroom is located in money in power bill. At the worst, you're also polluting the environment. And chances are, a good deal of that energy is wasted on an abandoned dryer.
Now let's look at paper towels. A paper towel is most likely created using paper from a tree that was grown in a tree farm. Paper... we should look into paper a little more.

An estimated 95% of the paper we use comes from tree farms. Tree farms are places where trees are grown row on row for the purpose of making paper. They are not home to many animals and do not provide much shelter, since most tree farms are fenced off. A tree is cut down, another is planted in its place. The owner will NOT allow his trees to all be cut down or he'll go out of business! We will ALWAYS have trees. In fact, by cutting down the trees in a tree farm, trees in forests are saved from the logger. Now, unfortunately, making paper is a dirty business, and so is cutting it down and transporting it. But on the plus side, planting a crap-ton of trees has several positive benefits to the environment. So it is hard to say just how much of an environmental impact it has. One thing, however, is certain. Recycled paper is bad. It is transported, bleached (it requires more bleach to get rid of the markings on recycled paper than it does to turn wood into paper in the first place), processed, and then repackaged and transported again. This puts TONS of chemicals into the environment, and the paper is only good for about one round of recycling before it would fall apart. Just buy new paper to keep the tree farms alive. Throw your paper out, especially if you live near a landfill that has methane collectors. Most of the negative impact from landfills is from methane, not used land, and paper is the biggest contributor of that methane. However, when paper breaks down, it helps to break down other things near it, which helps the landfill turn its junk into usable land. And with methane collectors, that greenhouse gas is suddenly being used to put electricity into the grid instead of polluting the air. Win-win.

So, back, again, to the argument. I usually only use one or two paper towels per visit; it is enough to get my hands dry. So, the REAL argument here is this. Does it cost more to your wallet and to the environment to power a hand dryer for two blasts or to produce two individual sheets of paper towel?

You know, my money is that hand dryers cost more.

And this, unfortunately, is not the only instance of a lack of thinking. It spreads to everything! Let's say you are emailed an important document. You want to keep it, so you archive the email. Let's say your entire office is "paper free" and depends on paperless products - i.e. electricity - to run. Does it cost more to send and store those emails or to just print it out and file it away? Emails are information that can only be accessed with a computer (which requires electricity). They are stored on a server somewhere, which must remain up and running and must dedicate some portion of itself to maintaining and retrieving that email's information. Often that email will be sent to several computers and servers, possibly all over the world (and some of those recipients you will probably never even know about). Now there are a dozen servers all dedicating a small amount of energy and storage to maintaining and retrieving that one email. If it is not deleted, enough of those emails add up until a new server has to be added - a server which could potentially hold nothing but emails that are never accessed. And to send the information back and forth, who knows how much energy is being sent through thousands of miles of wires and fibre optic cables. Your server may not even be in the same country as you (although if you are running a decent-sized business, this is likely not the case). Now suddenly that small email is taking a pretty decent amount of energy and creating a real, measurable environmental impact. You could, however, print the email, then fax it around. Now, I'm not saying this is "better" or that it is even more environmentally friendly. The simple fact is, I don't know WHICH is the better option. But it's not simple to see, is it? It would actually take some real work to figure out the TOTAL environmental impact of any given email.

And what about texting? That is sent to a satellite or a cell phone tower, and from there it runs just like an email. Your phone is essentially a computer that only takes electricity from the grid when you plug it in, but it is STILL getting its energy from the grid. Now think of the energy your phone uses when all you are doing is texting? Think of how many billions of texts are sent per day... per HOUR... around the world. Think of how much energy that takes.

These examples can go on and on and on. But what pisses me off the most is when someone who claims to (or actually does) hold some sort of authority makes a decision or publishes something without actually taking into consideration all of the facts. The Worldwatch Institute claims that 43% of all paper used comes from recycled sources. Ecology.com claims this is a good thing. If you actually take into consideration how much more pollution it takes to recycle paper than to cut down a new tree, this is actually a very BAD thing. You're not "saving a tree." That's bullshit. You are actually just taking money away from a tree farmer. When the tree farmer makes less money, he can't have as much land. And what does that land become? Not a forest, dear dreamer. It becomes a parking lot, a Wal-Mart, a factory, a strip mall... it becomes whatever the highest bidder for that land wants it to become. And I GUARANTEE that the highest bidder is not going to turn his investment into a forest. So no, you are NOT SAVING A TREE by recycling. You are just turning land that once had a tree into land that is covered in asphalt.

Now, I challenge you to counter these arguments. I believe they are sound, but if they are not, show me. Discussing these matters can only be good, for it is in friendly, informed discussing that we find the truth and disseminate it.

Slowing Down

2011-05-14T15:48:00.000-07:00

So first I would like to say that I am very glad this semester is over. I did not get the straight As I had been hoping for, but I think I did pretty well for a new father.

Now, somewhere in my psyche I figured that I would have tons of time with school being out. The day after my last final, I went to my brother-in-law's Commissioning and Graduation ceremonies. I did not even have the chance to get a Mother's Day gift for my wife!!
When we got back, my wife's maternity leave was up. I had to become the primary caretaker of Adelaide so she could work. And I will remain this way when she goes back to school to pursue her PhD. So far, taking care of her has taken most of my time. The time I haven't spent taking care of her has usually been spent doing various chores. Two days ago, we started a garden next to our house, and now we will have to put a fence to keep it safe from the rabbits that frequent our yard. This has taken a lot of time away from my writing.

Another thing that has taken time away is looking for work. I applied to about 13 jobs recently and had an interview for one of them last week, but no one has yet to call me back again. Hopefully, I will find something soon.

Admittedly, I have been distracted. I've been watching a specific anime whenever I feed Adelaide or find that, for some reason, I do not have access to both of my hands. And since it is a rather addictive storyline, I have sometimes found that I am watching it instead of writing. Likewise, I am still very interested in getting back to my gaming, which I haven't done in some time. These distractions all take away from my writing. So, I am going to have to learn to discipline myself.

Finally, I have hit what has been called the "Muddy Middle." This is the part of the story that is difficult to get through. If you don't have everything perfectly planned it, this is where you get stuck. Essentially, before things start heading towards the climax, and after all the characters and plot have been introduced, there is a dead man's land. You can't just jump straight to the downturn, or else you'll leave the audience too confused. A great way to deal with this literary swamp is to change gears and go into another storyline, a subplot. In my case, I have jumped into the love story. However, in writing this subplot, I have found holes I did not see before. And I have had to fill them in. This has also slowed me down.

So in essence, I have been trudging through the mud, slowly getting through these hardships. In a week I went from about 22k words to about 24k. That is my update. Next week I am going to try to finish the middle and get into the downturn. I'm close. I'm just one scene away to the downturn, but I have to be careful with how I put it together. Wish me luck.

How time flies?

2011-04-20T12:10:00.000-07:00

Ok, to be honest, time is not flying. In fact, it is crawling by at the pace of a lame snail. For my wife, however, time does seem to be flying by. This is mostly due to the fact that we have a child to care for now! For me, I am swamped with assignments and trying to make up a lost week. I have a LOT to do, since next week is the last week of classes. So, for me, I count the seconds before I am DONE with this and can spend some time at home and writing.

On that note, writing is actually taking off. Yes, I am busy, so how do I find time to write?

The bus.

I take a bus to school every day. It takes half an hour each way, so I get to spend at least a full hour doing nothing but sitting. So, I have begun taking my computer out and trying up my story. Since I already have the hardest part completed (the Action/Reaction part, which is the outline I am using for the story), I can really let myself just write! It's so therapeutic! Also, if I find I have time to myself and don't have access to the internet (which is needed for just about all of my assignments), I break out the computer and start to type. So, how much have I written since my last post?

16,725 words. That's about 38 pages single-space, or 76 double-spaced. All in my spare time and all since the birth of my daughter. I'm more than 1/4 into the story!

And after I finish, I am looking forward to having people critique it so I can rewrite and improve. I don't want a proofreader who just says what they think I want to hear ("Oh, it's good! I liked it!"). I want a proofreader who will metaphorically hold down my story, slice open its belly, and strangle it with its own innards. I do not pretend to think that my story is actually GOOD. However, I can make it good once I know what is wrong with it.

And, for you proof-readers/critics out there, there is a difference between proof-reading and criticizing. Proof-reading is a positive thing by which you help the writer. Show the writer where the weak points are, what the strong points are, how the pacing works, anything that doesn't quite work for you. That way, the writer can fix it. Criticizing is simply the art of insult. Come up with unique and inventing ways to put something down so that you sound so much smarter than the writer. Your goal is to cater to your own audience and possibly hinder the writer's. Some critics will also think up inventive ways of praising something they particularly enjoy (or are paid to enjoy). These are "professional critics." However, if you can be constructive in your criticisms, then the writer may be able to improve further works by learning what his audience wants. So, critics, please keep in mind that the writer wants to improve. For you. And if you just call the writer "the greatest generator of fluff since the cotton mill," you're not doing anything for your future self.

I digress. Rewriting is something I am looking forward to. I am already not happy with the beginning of chapter 8, so I expect it will take many proofreaders before I am satisfied with the work as a whole. This will likely take some time, but it is not to be rushed. however, I will finish writing it before I go back to edit anything. If I don't, I will NEVER finish.

When school ends, I will be looking for work and taking care of the baby full-time until my wife passes her comprehensive exams. Then I may return to school, provided I do not have a kick-ass job. During this time, I expect to be able to write a lot more. Regardless, it will still take a while.

Briefcase and Boogers

2011-03-22T13:47:00.000-07:00

I have a new blog, everyone. The new bog will be the one I use to chronicle my life as a dad. This blog will remain my writing blog. Check it out: Briefcase and Boogers

So, not too long ago, I learned that you can make a LOT of money by selling ebooks on a Kindle. This is a really good thing. It will revolutionize the publishing industry and how authors make money! Finally, we'll make enough money to earn a decent living! It will take some time, but this is my new goal. I plan on writing some things to release on the Kindle and possibly the Nook! :) What do you think?

Last night I finally finished the preparations for writing my very first novel. It is entitled Sinister Love. Today, I shall begin the process of writing it. However, Amy is still pregnant (no baby yet!) and it's her birthday! So I don't expect to get much writing done today.

Webcomics 101

2011-03-21T08:49:00.000-07:00

Some time ago, I fell in love with graphic novels. Now, I am not as avid a reader as I should be, and I tend to take a lot of influences from the books I read. There are many graphic novels that I have not read or that are on my "to read" list, including some big players like Maus and Sandman (although I have not read all of Sandman, I have read some of it, and most of the story has been revealed to me by my sister, who has read it). Regardless, I found that even huge, game-changing American graphic novels lack a certain dynamic. This is, of course, not universally true. Elfquest and Mage, for instance, have been masterfully done in all aspects. I think that, because of my love for movies and my love for graphic novels, I think in pictures. Some graphic novels are too influenced by the written word or by movies. They primarily consist of an 8x11 page divided into 12 or so equal squares, each depicting a scene. Although I am a huge fan of Watchmen and V for Vendetta (even before they were turned into movies - in fact, I am sad that they turned Watchmen into a movie as it was too good in graphic novel form and a movie could only bring it down), most action-packed or thematically dramatic scenes stick to this format. Again, not all, but a good deal of them. Further, they often have an excess of language within each frame. Unlike Japanese comics (which are starting to influence American comics, I think, for the better), plot points and characters' feelings are conveyed via word or though bubbles.

I digress. I have always thought in terms of pictures. Cinematography. What is the scene that I want people to actually see? What do things look like? What does the camera show and not show? And, how do I want it laid out? Just as food has a "mouth feel," so do comics have a "page feel." Wendy and Richard Pini, of Elfquest, wrote a book on how exactly they write the comics. In it, they describe using the frames themselves to tell part of the story. Although at the time it was still laid out on an 8x11 sheet of paper, the frames were not uniform squares. They were more dynamic, with larger ones imparting importance or small, quick ones showing fast action. She put them in shapes to draw attention to the knife blade, or to draw the eye up to the important part of the page. Many comics, nowadays, take some of these ideas to heart. They use them to make the page more interesting, to improve its "page feel." Who, after all, wants to read a page of dense images with dense, small print and muted colors?

Many webcomics, particularly the ones that are in the shape of a page and not a single strip, try to use this now. The images may be like pictures atop a black background. Or, perhaps, for a dramatic scene, there are no words and the entire page is cut into ragged, long frames. However, there is so much more comics can do ones they hit the internet.

Scott McCloud is a master of the art. In this comics trilogy, he shows you first how to understand and appreciate what is going on in comics. I'll come back to the second one in a moment. The third book, shown above, gives you a direction of where comics are going and what has happened now that comics have hit the internet. There is so much that I think it is a miracle he was able to fit it into a single book. The second book is a beautiful study on the processes and tools comics authors and artists have available to them, and how to utilize the media. Movies do not always do the book justice, just as books based on a movie are usually not as powerful. This is because the story was thought of in a different medium (print, screen). Comics is halfway between, and has special exceptions and rules all to itself. This is what makes it so powerful, but also makes it difficult to excel in.

I think that any story can be told in any medium. However, HOW you tell that story differs drastically. You may be the world's greatest author, but that doesn't mean you can visualize something an audience would be willing to sit in front of for an hour and a half. You may be the greatest director, but the only reason your book is successful is because it is living off your name; it would be unable to stand on its own merit. It is a rare talent who is able to traverse the media. Such talents, though, do exist. Michael Crichton wrote screenplays for his movies, just as Yoshitaka Amano's art has been used for animes, games, and comics (each of which is a unique medium).

Again, I digress. Webcomics has a unique advantage to comics in that there is no longer a page restriction. This not only means that your comic can be infinitely large (previously, no publisher would print it if it was that long), but each individual page can be any shape, size, or style that you want it to be. Furthermore, webcomics allow you to hyperlink. This new medium is called "Hypertext" and has been, until now, used only for websites and banking. The term literally means going beyond the text, or the makeup of the page. A hyperlink, as I'm sure you are aware, takes you to a new page. Http means "hypertext transfer protocol." But as a comic, hypertext changes in unforeseen ways. It is often referred to as "New Media."

For a while I have been trying to figure out how to utilize webcomics to their fullest potential. The biggest stumbling block is that I am not an artist. I cannot draw anything other than a schematic or something technical. Not that I am unable to learn, but a lack of time prevents me. Here are some of the ideas I have come up with. If you wish to work with me as an artist on these, please do not hesitate to get in touch. If you wish to steal these ideas, understand that I am only giving you the broad scope of things, and I will leave enough of the details blank that you will have to work your butt off to make it good.

-A comic that tells several stories over a single page... This page, however, is so large that it cannot possible fit on any single screen. Because of this, the user looks about the scene, for instance an overview of Central Park, and picks up bits and pieces of the story as they search.
-Using hypertext to create a do-it-yourself adventure through webcomics. The disadvantage is, you have to have completed every possible arc and page before you make it available to the public.
-Using hypertext and bitmapping to allow a reader to click on images, objects, words, or characters within a comic. Each one will take the user to some interesting side-information, and perhaps even side-plots that would normally remain unseen and untold.
-Disguising the story within the actual comic website itself. This would be akin to The Real Inspector Hound where the actual story is not what takes place in the play, but what takes place behind the scenes. Of course, this would involve links to other sites, such as facebook.
-A webcomic where the pages animate (this has been done by others, but I feel it can go much further).
-Tell a story involving time travel where, as the reader goes through the story, the "archives" change.

These are all interesting and not necessarily easy-to-pull-off ideas that I may never see come to fruition. Time has become a major, major constraint in my life at the moment. Even now, I am only posting on here because of Spring Break. I have returned to school to pursue a degree in engineering, and soon I shall become a father. I am trying to write my first novel and am working on a basic webcomic (nothing too special) with my brother. I should also be looking for work. At some point in the equation, sleep would be good, too. Perhaps, however, God will give me the opportunities to turn my ideas into something real. For now, they are only pipe dreams.

Putting together a story

2011-01-30T19:56:00.000-08:00

Although not everyone will agree with me here, the truth of the world is that there is not just one way to write a story, or in particular, a novel. In fact, there are no right or wrong ways to write one. There are, however, good and bad ways. And if you want to get published or are a beginning writer, there are some standards and practices that are generally adhered to.

One of these is described in a book, Scene and Structure: How to construct fiction with scene-by-scene flow, logic and readability by Jack Bickham. In my research, I have found this to be one of the most commonly used strategies for writing a novel, a tried and true method. If you follow this method, and are a decent writer, and can dedicate time to your craft, and are willing to rewrite many, many times, then you just might get published. Only after you have mastered your story telling should you deviate or alter this formula. And a formula it is.

The idea is that an entire book is broken down into 2 parts: scenes and sequels. Jack's naming convention is fairly poor. I am currently an engineering student (that's right, I'm going back for a second degree) who loves Physics. So allow me to.. improve upon these names. And this is my blog and my writing, so I'm allowed to mess with it as I please. No offense, Mr. Bickham.

Here is the forumla for writing a novel separated into more easily understood parts. A book has two things in it that follow each other: Action and Reaction. Why he named them so poorly, I will never know.

An Action is a scene in the book in which something happens to drive the plot. This usually involves physical action and/or dialogue. There are many good rules on how to make Action work. It is essentially a mini-story in and of itself, with a goal (plot), a protagonist (the character who has the goal), and an antagonist (the character who wants to stop the protagonist; this can even be another protagonist). I say "character" here because in stories, characters can show up in a variety of unusual skins, such as a phobia, or a runaway truck. You don't want to end this mini story happily, so you have to know what the consequences are for failing. Sometimes, however, you can indeed let the hero get his goal, only to find out it wasn't what he was expecting (What do you mean this isn't the Mona Lisa? And why is there a map drawn on the back?).

But the structure of Action aside, we then follow up with Reaction. This is, quite literally, the reaction to what just happened. This starts with emotional response(s), physical response(e), then leads into logical thought. Again, I will not get into the details. But this is generally how we humans act when we are put up against something unexpected. And, just like in the laws of physics, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. If your character just lost his jacket, make him react with an appropriate amount of emotion. If he lost his house or his wife, make sure the reaction fits. But this doesn't fit the size of the loss, it should fit the size of the loss for the character. If the Hulk loses his jacket, he might level New York. However, if a a serial killer just lost his job, house, and wife, he might not show hardly any emotion. To him, that isn't what is important. If you took away his bracelets of souvenirs, or let his kidnapped girl escape, then he might go on a killing spree. Keep the character in mind at all times.

Here, Bickham includes decision. I like to keep it a little separate so that it is easier to keep track of. Decision follows the logical thinking that just happened after the emotions subsided. "I lost my jacket, now what? I need that jacket or my wife will kill me. I suppose I could go buy a new one, or I could try to get my old one back..." Decision will lead inevitably to the next action, thus keeping the plot moving. Because what is integral to every action? It must move the plot towards the ultimate goal. And usually the next action is bigger than the last. Remember, however, that the decision may be a very easy one. "I have to go save Penny from the evil overlord or else.... she'll die!" Yeah, rest assured, Penny, for most characters there really isn't a choice here.

So this Action/Reaction or Scene/Sequel type of writing is pretty powerful stuff. I ran across it while reading the blog of a well-known author, and started to look into it a little deeper. I have not written a novel as of yet, but I am beginning one. And I think I will be trying this out from here on in. There's a lot more to it, so I recommend picking up the book or doing a google search for it, if you want to know. As for me, I will be keeping you all posted as to how this is helping my story progress.

And if you are enjoying my "How to be a thief" story, do not worry. I have not abandoned our friends. I have simply taken a break. You will see what happens next, trust me.

D(is)C(onnected)

2011-01-21T08:41:00.001-08:00

Ok, so they have announced that Bane and Catwoman are going to be in the next Batman movie. Now, I thought I was familiar with Bane, but I have to admit, I got most of my information from the animated series... which lies! Bane is actually extremely intelligent and is an anti-hero of sorts, only a villain in the beginning due to the effects of the drug called Venom that course through his veins. And after a while, he breaks the habit and helps clean up the streets of Gotham from a Venom-like drug.

All this research got me into some of the more recent goings-on in the DC Universe. As some of you may know, they have been revamping the DC Universe. They somewhat recently decided that there just weren't enough color rings, so they added a crap ton more. In general I think they did an alright job on them, though there are a few points about them I would dispute (each color ring corresponds to an emotion, and they have different effects on each other. The notable exceptions are Black and White - death and life). During this revamp, they used these "black rings" to bring back many old and obscure characters. And after reading through their descriptions, I realized 3 things about the writers of the DC Universe.

1) They have way too many characters and can't seem to let them GO.
2) The lesser-known (and some well-known) villains can get incredibly one-dimensional.
3) They are either extremely good at planning things ahead of time, or they are extremely good at making shit up on the spot.

In other words, the writers are doing an OK job. Not an excellent job, just OK. Then again, I'm not trying to keep an old, HUGE franchise alive while making tons of money. I understand that they need to connect with new audiences. But they seem to be doing it around a few basic concepts.
First, make the villains stronger and bigger and more powerful. The recent addition of Nekron as the most powerful being, trumping all the other "most powerful beings" is a bit... unimaginative. I like to call it the DragonBall Z effect. You can always SAY they're getting more powerful, but it means little and isn't really interesting.
Second, make the heroes stronger and bigger and more powerful, even if it means redefining old ones from the ground up. Nothing irks me MORE in a comic than when they find an old, forgotten character and make him suddenly IMPORTANT, as if, all along, he wasn't just a hero, but also the ESSENCE OF JUSTICE ITSELF. Now, I know they're also trying to keep interest in the older characters, but really? Just let them fade away!
Third, "killing" off major characters. Let's see, which characters have been "killed?" Superman - the anchor of DC comics... Batman - the other anchor of DC comics... Hal Jordan - one of the most popular characters... I could go on, but need I? Of course they will never truly kill off Batman (Bruce Wayne), Superman, or any of the other important characters. They are the bread and butter of DC. Perhaps they should stop with the one-trick pony.

It seems to me that the best use of old characters is in non-recurring, stand alone adventures/stories. What do I mean? Look at Sandman. He brought back tons of obscure and popular characters as they fit into his story, but did not make them overpowered or send them on rampages or even redefine them. And at the end of issue 75, Sandman ended, and the story was complete.

In fact, these stand alone comics which have little bearing on the on-going story of DC are much better. They allow for more imagination, better writing, and less of the preteen mentality. You cannot tell me that Sandman was written for a 10-year-old audience, but that doesn't mean 10-year-olders didn't read it.

Now, perhaps they feel that they must always make things more powerful. A sort of escalation in the comic world. I do not agree that this is the best choice for them, but do not think for a moment that I could not follow in their power-mongering footsteps. They can be power-hungry and STILL have good writing. I have had an idea for a... character (not necessarily a villain...) that could put their power mongering to shame, and he wouldn't even be God. When you get to these nigh-omnipotent ranges, you need to bring forth other limitations and motives in order to keep things... interesting, not just even more powerful forces and characters to deal with them. For instance, I could create a character that is literally immune to every power and effect in the DC Universe. Suddenly, he is uninteresting. No one would be able to "defeat" him if they wanted to. So... what would his origin be? If he is immune to the powers in the universe, in my mind that means he is either not from the universe or is the "embodiment" of it. They've done too much of this crap, so let's delve a little deeper. The character would actually be the essence of reality, and, as all things in this universe seem to have some form of an avatar, so would reality itself. That makes some sense, at least as much sense as any other origin story (and at least he wasn't Joe Everybody gone insane... why does insanity bring forth superhuman abilities?). As he is the essence of another multiverse's reality, everywhere he goes leaves a tear in their reality. Things would spill forth from this tear, and these things would be what the characters of DC would have to deal with. As we are talking a different reality, we're also talking things that are completely unique, with unique challenges and not just massive power. Eventually, someone (*cough*batman*cough*) would figure out what is going on. What would have brought this being to the DC multiverse? What would his goal be? Since you can't use powers or force to stop it, perhaps there is another way, a more subtle way. Would you want to stop it? Who would want to help it? What ARE its weaknesses? In my mind, this has immense potential for a host of new heroes, villains, conflicts, etc. And since it is one of the incredibly few absolutes in DC, to deal with it would require superior and less power hungry writing. You know, DC, you don't have to cater to the 12-year-old all the time. Why not give a treat for your fans who have grown up already?

Another thought was a character who simply is the writer. But he isn't the best writer. So he is trying to cover up his own plot holes. Granted, this would bring a little bit of comedy to the scene, but if done correctly, could be incredibly fun.

Now perhaps I am wrong. I am not intimately familiar with DC. Maybe they have already dealt with a being like this. Or perhaps the writing is improving. Or perhaps they really have killed off a main character who they have not and will not EVER bring back. Perhaps it is not really a soap opera with superpowers. If so, I apologize. I will be the first to admit I was wrong and this entire argument is fallacious. But if I am wrong, it would be a pleasant surprise.

So, world, what is your take? Do you think DC is getting too power-hungry? Catering to the wrong audience? IS the writing repetitive and poor? Have they dug themselves into a ditch and are frantically trying to get out of it? Do you also agree that they should just go ahead and make "Plot-Hole Man" who magically fixes all the errors, ambiguities, paradoxes, and redefinitions?

A rose by any other nomenclature...

2011-01-03T15:05:00.000-08:00

How to name a character

What is in a name? How often do people truly think about the names of their most beloved characters? Is there anymore thought put into a character's name than just randomly selecting one in a baby name book? How do you name your characters?

The truth is, names can be very important. In writing, the names of the main and supporting characters are going to be repeated time and time again, and the characters are the primary vessel we use to guide our readers through the world and story we have crafted. So, you better believe that there is something in a name.

This post is going to dissect some of the usage of names in modern writing. However, there is more in naming than is dreamt of in my philosophy, so this is by no means a comprehensive study.

Let me begin by stating that I do not believe in "nameology" or "numerology" or any of their ilk, and neither do most writers. Nameology is the belief that your name actually MEANS something, can predict your future and lead to your happiness. It is also the belief that if you convince enough people that the garbage you are spewing is real, they will buy your book about it and you won't have to get a real job. If you believe in nameology, I do not intend to insult you... only your crack-pot belief. That being said, in writing, nameology is not as useless as it is in reality.

Many stories do indeed have characters whose names mean little or have only personal significance to the writer. While J. K. Rowling was coming up with the name for her main character, she chose Harry because it had always been her favorite boy's name. She even said that if she had a son, he would have been named Harry. Potter was the last name of a family that lived nearby while she was a child, and she always liked their name as well. But you can rest assured that there is more to the name than this, whether or not Ms. Rowling was completely aware of it. Imagine settling down to immerse yourself in a complicated world of fantasy with a boy from a background similar to yours. However, instead of naming this boy something simple and down-to-earth like Harry, the main character was named Reginald, Yehochannan, Yancy, or Aonghus. Unless this is your actual name, you would likely be turned off. Reginald has the connotation of being rich and snooty - not something people empathize with. Yehochannan, though a real name and not too hard to pronounce, is obscure, jarring, and takes up a great deal of room on the page. Yancy is a rare name that most young boys would see as "Nancy" and make fun of. Aonghus, along with many great Celtic/Irish names, is difficult to read and looks impossible to pronounce. Some names evoke strong emotions, so strong that they almost fall out of actual usage. If Rowling had named the main character Adolf, she would likely not be the richest author alive.

Some authors put a little more thought into their names. In Lord of the Flies, all the boys have simple, British names, and all of them are easy to remember and distinguish from one another. Piggy, one of the main characters, is obviously named after his looks, though one can rest assured that Golding knew pigs are very intelligent creatures. Ralph is Norse for Wolf Counsel. Like a wolf, he struggles with his nature. He shows alpha wolf traits by being elected leader and keeping the pack (of boys) together, for a time. Roger lives up to his name ("famous spearthrower") by becoming the executioner and torturer of the tribe. Finally, Jack's name has the connotation of being clever; a traditional character in many Germanic and English stories is the wily Jack, who appears in stories like Jack and the Beanstalk and has taken on the roles of Jack Frost and Jack in the Green (among hundreds of others). The name itself is based on John, which means God's Grace, or Jacob, which means "he who supplants." Considering what Jack Merridew does in the story, which meaning do you think Golding had in mind?

Next, there are the authors who pour over the names of their characters, and, I have to admit, I am one of them. Generally they fall into 3 categories: 1) names with connotations, 2) names with root meanings, and 3) new names. I will go through them individually.

Names with strong connotations, like Adolf, come with images built-in to the minds of the readers. Despite the personality of the character, the meaning of the name, or the time period of the story, using these names will draw parallels to their namesakes. A woman named Eve will evoke sensual, primal feelings, can involve innocence or innocence lost, and usually has something to do with beginnings. In Roman times, Lucifer was the name of the planet Venus, known as the Morning Star. The name itself means "light bearer." In Judeo-Christian tradition, Lucifer was the highest of all angels and closest to God, yet rebelled against God. Only in relatively recent years has this character and name been associated with the Prince of Hell, Beelzebub (who is actually a Philistine god related to Baal and seen as a separate demon by Christianity Proper), Satan (who, again, was originally an angel to accuses), or the Devil. Nowadays, you cannot get away with naming your child Lucifer, despite its benign origin. In fact, in 2009, a man lost custody of his 3 children after naming them Adolf Hitler Campbell, JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell, and Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell.

Many names, however, have less powerful connotations that can still bring great meaning and life to our characters. Jack is one of these names. They can have societal connotations or be used as inside jokes and references. If the name of one of your favorite people (real or not) isn't too outlandish, it can be a great way to pay homage to someone. One of the main characters (an alien) in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is Ford Prefect. Why would Douglas Adams name someone after a well-known British automobile? He explained that Ford had taken the name to blend in, having mistaken what the dominant life-form on Earth was. He had created a tongue-in-cheek satire on the prevalence of cars in human society simply by giving his character a funny name. Similarly, Rowling names one of her characters Luna Lovegood. Luna is the proper name of the Moon, and this brings a host of meanings and images that can help describe her, from lunacy to paleness.

Another way to name your characters is by looking at the meanings of the names. I personally enjoy using names with Latin and Greek roots. About 90% of the words we use can eventually be traced back to their Latin or Greek origins, though they may have to make a few stops on the way. By doing this, we can discover new meanings and origins of the words we use. I like to think of it as discovering the philosophy of our language. For instance, the root word of "ludicrous", ludus, originally meant play, sport, or training, and was used to describe elementary schools. The same is true for names. This can be as simple as looking at a baby name books or naming sourcebooks, most of which include the various meanings and origins of the names. For instance, Sophia means "wisdom," and Matthew means "gift of God." And there are many other languages to chose from! If you want to be able to look up names from all over the world, by meaning or name, I recommend using Behind The Name.

If you want to be able to create your own names, there are several ways to do it and still make it sound good. In some situations, simply stringing words that describe some aspect of your character (or poke fun at the character) can work well. Some examples of this are Neville Longbottom, Ford Prefect, or any of the 7 dwarfs. Speaking of dwarfs, in fantasy worlds, they usually have descriptive, simplistic, and often slightly funny names.
However, you may want to delve deeper into the world of naming than simply using words. Here is where learning other languages, or at least faking it, can come in handy.

The reason I enjoy using Greek and Latin so much is that I learned them in high school, so I tend to refer to latin and greek roots for words. When building the name of a character, I sometimes look for the greek word I wish to use to describe some aspect of the character and mutate it into a workable name. For instance, in one story of mine, a character has been gifted (cursed?) with seeing the truth. I chose to use the greek word "martureo" for his name, which means "to bear witness." After some fiddling, I came up with Marturin, an unusual, simple surname that might stick in the mind of the reader and still has some meaning (you may recognize the English word that stemmed from it, "martyr"). Many of the names (and word and phrases) used by Shakespeare (such as Desdemona) did not exist before he used them, and most of them have some vague root in Latin or Greek.

The last and most complicated way to come up with names for your characters is to develop the language or alphabet from which they are derived. J.R.R. Tolkien is famous for the depth and number of the languages he created, from which he derived most, if not all, of the names in Middle Earth. However, Tolkien was not only a celebrated writer, but an accomplished linguist (philologist) and skilled teacher. Creating your own language is not impossible, but it does take years of study and a passion for developing it. After all, most people have not mastered their native tongue. There are ways to cheat, but do not expect people to start teaching it to their kids.

If this is all too much, or you feel too limited by these guidelines, remember that there is no wrong way to come up with the names of your characters. It could be simply an artistic expression, an anagram, or a sound you fell in love with years ago. But do keep in mind a few basic rules.
1) Know your audience.
2) Make sure the names of your characters are not too similar to each other - or too foreign to the readers.
3) Be consistent
4) Keep the names relatively simple and pronounceable
5) Don't brag about your naming skills, particularly in your story

A New Year - A New Resolution

2011-01-01T16:51:00.000-08:00

Every year I make the same resolution, just like most Americans. And like most of us, I always fail to see it through to its completion. My usual resolution is to get published - a simple enough idea, though, as any writer will tell you, a daunting one. However, this failure can be very depressing year after year. So this year, I will do something different.

For starters, I am developing specific steps and deadlines with which to achieve my goals. The only way to actually reach them is to plan and carry out the plan.

Secondly, this year, 2011, is going to be different than any other in my life for a variety of reasons. And it will also be the busiest year of my life, I am sure. In March, I will become a father, and having a newborn is going to take most of my time and attention. Likewise, I have recently been accepted to Clemson University to pursue a degree in Mechanical Engineering, which will take up even more of my time and attention. If I have any left, it will be absorbed by the part-time job that I must find in order to survive on our meager earnings.

Because of this, I cannot make any grandiose resolution such as "getting published." It is not a feasible or even realistic goal in a year such as this one. Instead, I will make it my goal to write every day, if possible. It may only be five minutes, and it may only be in this very blog, but it must become a daily thing for me. If the Lord allows, I may find an agent this year as well, but I am not holding my breath.

As I started thinking about the new responsibilities that are soon to grace my plate, I began to realize how complex a person I really am. I was once told that a man only has time for one great passion in his life. Only now am I realize that this statement, although depressing, has plenty of truth to it. Along with raising a child, keeping the flame of love alive, chasing a degree, and working to keep bread on the table, I MUST find time for my own passions, or else I fear I may go insane. My greatest passions are writing and playing the guitar. I can do either for endless hours, and I am decent at both (although, after reading The Great Gatsby, I realize that I am excellent at neither). But everything has its parameters, its defining limitations, and time is almost always one of them. This year, if I am to write every day, my guitar may be collecting a fine layer of dust from time to time. But it has become a part of me, and I cannot simply give it up. Time management is going to be a skill that I will have to learn this year, along with self-discipline.

Writer's Digest et al

2010-12-07T11:55:00.000-08:00

Back in May, I was collaborating with a good friend of mine. We decided to work together as writers in an attempt to spur each other on. This way, we would be responsible to someone else, held accountable for failing to submit or finish a manuscript. And it worked... for a while. Life has a way of getting in the way.

My previous job was very demanding, time-wise. It wanted us peons to spend most of our free time catching up. Even the fast writers were unable to adhere to the ridiculously strict schedule. Because of this, and the fact that I spent 10 hours a day writing, the last thing I wanted to do when I got home was write MORE. I realize now that writing is a BAD job for a writer, unless you are writing something you love and that you want to write. My friend, likewise, was spending most of his time working, and so we both fell out of the groove and lost touch a few months back. It is high-time we started collaborating again.

But I digress. One of the things I DID finish was a short story of mine. I submitted a version of this story to my school's literary magazine, and it was accepted. I was thrilled! A historical fiction-suspense-mystery-thriller short story was accepted with all the poems and life lesson shorts that seem to inundate the more "academic" mindset. My professors all loved the story, as did my peers. It wasn't until I joined a writing workshop that people were able to tear holes in it - which I was immensely grateful for! After all, the only way to make something better is to know where it's broken.

I fixed the story after doing an extensive amount of research into writing styles, current events, and locations of the time period. I daresay it was nigh-perfect, yet I would still improve upon it if I could. A writer never finishes, he just surrenders. I submitted the piece to a contest being held by Writer's Digest. I was told that my friend was able to get 9th place in the competition previously, and our quality if writing is comparable. I felt assured that I would at least make it into the top 100.

Yesterday, I finally discovered the results of this competition. After hundreds of hours on this 7-page story, I felt a little disappointed that it wasn't in the top 10... or 50... or 100. The story that won the grand prize was later disqualified for being previously published... twice. I read the thing, and though it was still well written, it had that same damnable "life lesson" feel that all of them seem to share now. It was not remarkable. But what does that say about my piece? Did it drown in a sea of submissions, or am I simply not as talented as I was led to believe?

I realize, however, that dwelling on this, brooding over it until it festers, is not going to help. It will just make me more cynical and less constructive. I have to keep writing. I will not be sending things out to contests for a while, as they usually cost money. I am unemployed, and finding work is proving to be an insurmountable obstacle in these tough times, especially in this area. I may be returning to school to pursue a degree in engineering. I am also soon to become a father. My wife and I are expecting our first child in March. In about 100 days, life as we know it will end, and a new one will take its place. A life of sleepless nights, diapers, crying, throw up, tantrums, penny-pinching, curiosity, discovery, and love. Through all this, I must still find the time to write. Perhaps it will provide further impetus or inspiration. And if I cannot return to school for whatever reason, I may well become a stay-at-home dad. Who knows, maybe I'll have a fatherhood blog coming.

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 9

2010-10-19T20:52:00.000-07:00

Twin cubes careened down the soft, green velveted-covered pit and bounced chaotically off the spiked wall. As they eventually gave their energy away and came to a rest, they were greeted by a loud cheer.

"Seven!" shouted a young man dressed to the nines. He was surrounded by a crowd of spectators, all a clamor. Each person there was tall, beautiful, and well-dressed. Fine jewels gleamed from the necks of their owners. Several hands were embellished with rocks so large wars would be fought over them. The combined riches of the crowd would be enough to let an entire kingdom retire peacefully.

In the middle of this crowd, however, was a Man dressed to the elevens, as if being dressed to the nines was just not enough. Light seemed to come from his pure white and incredibly suave smile. The tuxedo he wore sparkled so much that it could probably be seen in a pitch-black room. Atop The Man's head was a short, stiff hat that was tilted ever-so-slightly; it would look odd on anyone else, but he made anything look good. His every movement was born out of some seemingly limitless supply of confidence, even as he leaned into the pit to simply pick up the dice. In fact, one might even believe that he, himself, was somehow the source of all confidence in the world, and that all other boldness was just a shadow on the wall of a cave.

Dice in hand, he grinned at the audience in general and winked, eliciting a sigh from every female and even several of the males. He brought the dice up to the woman who was standing beside him. Like him, she seemed to effuse a warm glow. She was tall, almost as tall as he was, with hair the color of the midnight sky spilling down her back and shoulders and constantly covering part of her face. The dress she wore revealed just enough of her perfect, lightly freckled skin to kindle the imagination of any who spent more than a passing glance on her form. No jewels graced her figure, as they would only detract from the splendor. Full, kissable lips were twisted in a seductive smile as she blew on the dice in The Man's hand. "For luck," the Lady said. At the sound of that voice, teenage boys would gladly go through puberty in a matter of seconds.

The Man threw the dice again. "Seven!" the young man called again, much to the delight of the onlookers. This time, the Lady leaned over, making sure to show off just a little more of her flesh to the handsome young announcer, and grabbed the dice.

"MURPHY!" came a shrill shriek over the crowd. The Man turned around with a confused, yet still strangely confident smile on his face.

"Ah, Skeps. I didn't expect to see you at such a… business," Murphy said as the crowd fell silent and drew back a little.

"Believe me, I would have spent the next eternity blissfully unaware of this establishment and all others like it." Skeps was a severe-looking woman with blond hair tied up in a tight bun. She wore a business suit with a long skirt that hid most of her legs. As she looked up and down the pair before her, she pushed up on the bridge of the small, square-framed glasses that adorned her face. "I see you brought your little… Lady."

Murphy frowned at her, an entirely unnatural expression for him. "Felicity," he said. "It means-"

"I KNOW what it means. Send her away; my business is not for the ears of Minors." Skeps drew closer and lowered her voice. As she did, the color faded out of the crowd and scene around them. Soon, it was as though they were walking in the middle of a 3-dimensional painting.

"What is this about, Skeps?"

Before anyone could answer, there was a small burst of light nearby. Out of it walked a young man, his arms full of books. The stack he carried was enough to hide his face from view, but a few glances gave away some of his features. He, too, wore glasses, but unlike Skeps, it seemed he needed them. "M-Mistress," he called out as he blindly walked towards them. There was almost no confidence in his voice.

Skeps rolled her eyes and sighed. "Can you not see I'm busy, Caret? This had better be important."

Caret lowered his arms just enough to peak over the books at Murphy. "O-oh! S-s-Sir Murphy! I-I'm sorry, I didn't… this wasn't on your schedule…"

"Meetings with him rarely are…" Skeps said under her breath.

"Ma'am, you wanted me to tell you when…" Caret started, but as he stared at Murphy it slowly dawned on him that there was a woman standing there with him. "L-Lady!" A fierce blush erupted on his cheeks, made even deeper when he stumbled and dropped all the books he was carrying to the ground in a series of muted THUMPs. "Ack!"

Murphy's smile returned as he saw this. Skeps could swear she saw a gleam of something mischievous in his eyes as he turned to whisper something to Felicity. The Lady grinned and nodded to him, politely curtseying to Skeps before walking over to Caret.

"Tell me what?" Skeps demanded in a terse tone. Caret was distracted as Felicity knelt down and started to help him pick up the books. It didn't help that she looked up at him and winked. "CARET!"

"Oh! M-Mistress! The Council of 6 is set to meet soon and you have been chosen as the Arbiter." Caret turned his attention back to the books, trying hard not to steal a glance up at the beauty helping him. It was not very often that the gods, minor or major, interacted with each other, and even less so with Caret. He spent most of his time with books. Fiction, nonfiction, educational, interactive, written, drawn - it mattered not. He had read almost everything that ever had been or ever will be written, so it was no surprise that he rarely got to see the other gods and goddesses.

Skeps set her jaw as she leaned in close to Murphy, her cold, steal-grey eyes staring straight into his. Her voice was low, but it was dangerous. "I will make this short and shorn. I know you were behind it, Fate. There are no coincidences, especially when it comes to you and your favored. One of my best judges has passed on, and now the Eye is missing. If I ever catch you involved in the death of one of my judges again, I will make sure the Council removes you. Permanently."

Murphy simply stood there, a small smile on his face. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Order." He presented the dice in his hand to her. "For luck?"

Skeps narrowed her eyes, almost like she was trying to bore a hole through his skull with it. "Come, Caret!" she demanded. Before turning, she hit Murphy's hand, sending the dice flying towards the pit. A few feet up from his hand, they paused in mid-air. "There's a lot to prepare for." Felicity stood up as Skeps walked over to the them, grabbing the young god by the ear. In an instant, they, and all his books, were gone.

Without warning, color flooded back into the scenery and faces of the people as time began to flow properly once more. The dice bounced off the floor of the pit and bounced off the wall before coming to a halt. "Eight!" the young man announced as the crowd let out a painful groan.

Procrastination Station

2010-10-18T08:43:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the lacuna in my blog. I will be posting more regularly now.

Yes, I'll admit it, I'm procrastinating again. But I won't be for much longer.

I took a job on VWorker.com. It seems like I'll be writing a school paper for someone, but I have no evidence and I want to be paid. Plus, it's relatively interesting. As far as I know, I'm writing content for a website. Content that needs a bibliography. It's due Thursday - I plan to finish by Wednesday.

This week is marking the beginning of a new chapter for me. I am going to start taking my goals much more seriously now. I tried to get all the gaming out of my system last week, and I'm not sure how successful I was. I have been playing Final Fantasy 12 for several months now and I am, I hope, close to the end. I was trying to finish it, but failed. Instead, I had to go through this 99-floor dungeon-crawl that took FAR too much time and patience, even after I gave up trying to solve the puzzles for extra hidden goodies. For the first time in that game, I was NOT blissfully entertained. Instead, I felt like hurdling the controller into my TV set in the hopes that it would somehow break the barrier of reality and hit one of the main characters in the head. Or preferably the writer who came up with that atrocious dungeon.

I also tried Final Fantasy 13. I am, as of yet, unimpressed. I heard that it was linear for the first 30 or 60 hours or so, but I didn't know they meant that the only path you can even WALK is a straight line. On top of that, you can, so far, only improve your characters along a straight path as well. But, I can forgive that. What I cannot forgive is the below-par story-telling. Not only have they failed to make me empathize in any way with the characters (some of whom are far too stereotyped), but they have done a piss-poor job of relaying the backstory. The only reason I know what is going on is because the game randomly adds "datalogue" entries with pages of text to read about the plot. And it constantly updates items in the menu, so there's always something "new" even when there isn't. I may give it a second chance... later. I've played over a dozen games in the Final Fantasy series and this one has quickly dropped to the bottom of the list.

I also spent time on Saturday at a local Oktoberfest, but I was a bit disappointed. I was hoping for scads of German fare, German beer, German music, German goods, and German dancing. I got the music and the dancing, and only a little of the food. The rest might as well have been a local craft fair. I'm sorry, but buffalo wings, pan pipes, centrifuges, gyros, and Bud Light have no business at a proper Oktoberfest.
What I did find, however, was the dirtiest port-a-potty I have ever laid eyes on. It was... a thing of putrid winsomeness. The squeamish should skip to the next paragraph. The outside of this yellow stall was normal, unassuming. It was, unfortunately, the only one available. The moment I stepped inside, I was treated to work akin to Van Gogh. I did not know feces could be such an effective medium. It was smeared on the walls, the toilet paper dispenser, the toilet paper, the seat, the ceiling, the floor... and it was signed with the artist's own hand print. I made certain not to touch any surface in that oubliette of ordure. I wish I could not make out some of the items the producer of that stall stool had eaten to produce the slurry of sludge.

There, that wasn't so bad, was it? What, you lost your lunch? Well, I did warn you... So, everything said and done, I do not think I will be returning to that Oktoberfest. If Greenville has one, perhaps I'll check it out, but I haven't heard anything.

Alright, perhaps I have procrastinated long enough. I am now off to write a rough draft about satellites. I will, tonight, be writing more of my web comic and attempting to get the long-awaited Chapter 9 of How to Be a Thief up. Oh, and I have an idea for another story I would like to start. I am thinking this time I will begin a blog dedicated entirely to this story. And perhaps I will try to develop a community. An artist or two would be fantastic, as would forums, fans, and ads. I will let you know when things get started.

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 8

2010-07-17T23:25:00.000-07:00

The sun was high and fierce by the time Manfred and the others arrived at the predetermined meeting space. After they had captured The Duke, Mel sent Aryx off to relay a message to their client, the judge, saying when and where to meet. It was always a good idea to find a neutral place for these things, and the group had been using this one for several weeks with great results. Very little was spoken as they led their bound mark out of the busier sections of the city and into the ruins of the old sector.

Tall buildings filled with busy people turned into tall ruins filled with lazy pigeons. The crowds thinned until soon the only people they saw were each other. This part of Kell had fallen into disrepair long ago because it was too far from the merchants, temples, homes, and other sites of interest that had risen in the newer sections. In some parts, carts, buckets, ancient fruit stands, and children's toys remained behind - a testament to some long forgotten exodus.

"Where are you taking me?" The Duke asked eventually as Mel prodded him forward. His hands were tied behind his back and Mel kept her kukri pressed against his back.

"We are going to see Judge Aska," Mel replied with a grin. "You have something that does not belong to you."

Before The Duke could protest, the cry of a bird sounded from a clearing in the buildings. Aryx was perched atop a column, one of many that encircled a small stage, perhaps where an altar of a neglected temple was once placed. Mel grinned and raised her left arm. Almost immediately, Aryx launched from his vantage point and flew straight toward her, talons outstretched. The Duke squealed and ducked as the bird flew at him and grasped onto Mel's arm just a few inches behind his head.

"I was beginning to think that you would not show," came the resounding echo of a firm voice. Its owner stood on the stage in the middle of the columns, and what surprised Manfred the most was that this judge was a woman. She was tall, wraith-like in feature, and had a strong, angular face. It was a face that had condemned thousands of men and women to unfair punishments without flinching. Then again, in her court, there was no such thing as unfair. She was wearing the red robes of a judge, her graying, thin hair tied up in a bun. The moment Manfred stepped into view, her cold gaze shot to him. "Who is that?"

"He is… our apprentice. Pay him no heed. We are here to settle our bounty." Mel took charge of the situation, pushing The Duke in front of her as she stepped before Aska. Jesz sank back behind Manfred, all too eager to let Mel take the lead. If there was anything a thief did not like, it was a judge.

"This is true, let us stick to business." Judge Aska said as she took a step off the altar towards them. She was just as tall as Mel and gave off a fearful aura that commanded respect and attention. "Let us see if the item is still intact." She grinned and leaned close to The Duke, reaching up with a bony hand and tearing the patch away from his left eye.

"No! You cheated me!" he said, closing his eyes hard and turning his face away. "You said that in exchange for giving that false testimony, you would she me the truth about the witch who did this to me!"

"Oh dear Cameron, or should I call you 'Duke?'" Aska purred, a sound that was so grating it could cut cheese. She grabbed his cheeks with one hand, pulling his face up to meet hers. "I never renege on a promise. Surely you did see the truth."

"Yeah, I saw it, and I couldn't stop seeing it! No one should know what this damned eye told me! My girl was cheating, my boss thought I was a fool - even my own ma was keeping secrets I wished had stayed that way! This patch is the only way to stop it from telling me things!" He shuddered in Mel's grasp as Judge Aska pulled out a strange, pointed device with a small cup in the center. "Wh-what are you gonna do with that?"

The judge pointed this device, which looked like it could easily have been given a spot in Auntie Payne's Torture Digest, directly at The Duke's left eye. "I only lent it for a week. I'm just going to take back what is mine."

Manfred, Jesz, and Eaups were grateful that they could not see what happened next. The Duke screamed, and a moment later there was a strange sucking noise. The next thing they knew, there was an eye in the device. The eye did not look normal, however, but appeared to be put together from many overlapping layers of gold leaf. The iris and pupil seemed to be mechanical, but it was far too complicated and small for any jeweler, clock-maker or gold smith to assemble. In the back of the eye was a small, dark hole. Judge Aska grinned as she held it up in the mid-day sun to look at it. "Ahhh… Occam's Gazer. You're finally home."

The Duke clenched his eyes shut. Mel let go of the rope and let him fall to his knees. The object was back with its rightful owner and he was no longer needed. "Fine, take it! I never could find a buyer anyway." The Duke stumbled to his feet and pushed past Manfred, hands still bound, heading for the busier sections of town. Manfred was about to stop him when Jesz put her hand up in a gesture that said, "Let him go."

"It is with its rightful owner, now," Mel said, shifting her weight as she started to put the kukri away. "Now for our pay." Under normal circumstances, a proper exchange would have taken place, with money and item changing hands at the same time. But it was a tedious, stressful affair that often ended up in needless fighting or hostages. Besides, everyone knew you could trust a judge.

"Yes," Aska said as she continued to look over the eye. "You know, had you been in possession of this little gem, you would have seen the truth simply by looking through it." She held the device up to her face so that she could look at the group through the eye. "The longer you look, the more truth it tells you. Oh my, aren't' you a naughty boy," she said as she looked at Manfred and smirked. "Had you used it on me, you would have known that I can't be trusted. Why should I pay for something that belongs to me? But, since you know my word is bad, I can't very well have you leaving here alive, now can I?"

With a snap, half a dozen men armed with crossbows stepped out from behind several of the columns, all of them trained city guards. Mel pulled back, launching Aryx and taking her bow off of her shoulder. Jesz lowered her center balance and pulled out her pair of knives. Eaups held his staff out in front of him, and began preparing a spell. Manfred pulled out several long needle-like weapons which no one had seen before. But all of their actions were in vain, because each one already had an arrow aimed at them.

"I should have known," Mel growled behind clenched teeth.

"Oh, don't kill yourself over it," the judge said as she stepped back onto the altar area. "That's our job." With that, she raised her hand. In unison, the guards all raised their crossbows, improving their already deadly aim. "I wish I could promise that it won't hurt, but… what is that noise?"

For some time, the distant sound of thunder could be heard from somewhere in the city. But as Judge Aska and her guards prepared to attack, the noise had grown, and changed. Here it was a CLINK clink… there it was a rummmmble… soon it was replaced by the almost melodic, distressed sound of a bell that had fallen out of its steeple and was rolling along the ground. Behind Manfred and the others, Aska could see that it was indeed a bell, now bent out of shape and wobbling down the road. It collided with an abandoned fruit cart, which sent the cart careening into a pole. The pole teetered for a moment before slapping a sleeping cat on the back, which jumped a good ten feet in the air and landed on huge piece of masonry that was precariously balanced along a wall. Slowly the chunk of rock started to roll, making the cat jump off, and collided with the first column in the abandoned temple. The guards were all looking up at the column as it leaned forward, its balance fighting with gravity until finally it collapsed on the second column, which fell on the third and down the line. Too late the guards realized that they were directly in the line of fire.

"Sod this!" one of the guards said as he started to scramble away, but too late. The columns fell all around them, burying the guards in a cloud of dust and a ton of marble. Judge Aska looked up, the second to last column now leaning against the final column, which would fall directly on her. She started to back up, the last one holding steady until
MEOW! Jesz saw it all in slow motion. Aska stepped on the poor cat's tail as she backed away from the column. The cat then jumped at the judge, attaching itself to her head and face. Aska screamed and started to run wildly, dropping Occam's Gazer and pulling at the cat with both hands. Just as the cat was pulled free, Judge Aska ran head first into the only standing column. This small force, unfortunately, was enough to send the ancient piece of marble crumbling to pieces on top of her.

Within 13 seconds, everyone left alive, even the Duke, had made it a good 300 yards away from the rubble.

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 7.5

2010-07-05T22:04:00.001-07:00

"What can go wrong, will go wrong." Over the years, this simple adage has come to be recognized as a law, and even more than just a law, but as Murphy's Law. It has proven itself time and time again, as countless magicians, engineers, cat burglars, performers and explorers can attest to. People have even come to add variations, corollaries and addenda to the law. A common magician's corollary says that any spell which seems to be a dud will inevitably go off at your mother-in-law's at the most inopportune time. Likewise, a famous cat burglar was quoted as saying, "The one trap you didn't plan for will always be the one you run into 20 feet from your mark."

Few people realize that Murphy himself had nothing to do with all of this. However, even though he did not make the law, there is a simplicity to it that he always found charming. If Murphy had a law at all, it would be, "That which Fate wants to do, Fate will do." Either that, or "Never bet against the blind man at 6-card flop."

One of the best examples of Murphy's Law was unfolding along the busy streets of Kell, right before the eyes of Miss Ruby. Ruby was known far and wide as the friendliest tavern wench above the age of 30 in the kingdom (though no one would ever admit this to her face). She had been sitting outside The Saucy Saucer for half an hour, waiting for the tavern owner to come around so they could discuss her pay. Ruby always made it a point to be fashionably late, but her boss always made it a point to promptly forget any important meetings until an hour after he should have been there. Strangely enough, it always worked out for them. They often had meetings to discuss her pay, but this time, as her boss approached, a rotund man with a permanent blush, something was different. Ruby was watching some scaffolding folding in on itself a block up with intense interest.

"Well Rube, what is it this time? Another pay raise? You know that coffee isn't going to pour itself." the round man said.

"What? Oh.. yeah… say, Mr. Goldberg, what do you suppose that is?" Ruby pointed up the street as a ladder teetered on two legs and fell over, hitting a fruit cart and causing the large melons to go flying every which way. One of the melons, a rather large, green thing with a rough rind, rolled down the middle of the street in front of the two onlookers.

"That's a watermelon," Mr. Goldberg replied.

"Yeah, yeah, but I mean.. this whole thing…" As the watermelon rolled down the street, it collided with a small boy on a bicycle, causing him to veer off course and run into a wall. The resulting collision knocked a potted plant off a window sill several feet up. As the pot shattered on the ground, a single shard of pottery launched itself with incredible precision, hitting a young man squarely in the back of the head, which made him stumble and run into a nearby barrel. Water poured out of the barrel and down the street, washing several rat-like clumps of dirt towards a group of young women. The screams which followed made a carpenter lose his footing and knock over an entirely new set of scaffolding a block down the street from the two onlookers.

"That? I'd say it's one o' them things we just don't get involved with, Rube," Goldberg said. Off in the distance, the sound of clattering wood, screams, and even an explosion or two could be heard as the city-wide domino effect snaked its way throughout the town. Murphy was rather proud of his work.

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 7

2010-06-14T22:13:00.000-07:00

"Hustling and bustling" is often used to describe busy streets filled with merchants and travelers and random passers-by. Whoever thought up of this term, however, had not seen the mercantile streets of Kell. Both the words denote some actual movement, but for the most part there was no real movement in the streets from the hours of 9 to 11 and 5 to 7. This was the busiest time of the day for merchants, catching people going to or coming from their various places of business.
Since Kell was also a major port and the capital city of Mayford, everything imaginable could be found within its formidable walls. It is the very gridlock that keeps some purveyors of the less "popular" goods in business. It is, after all, hard to say "no" to someone who has been pushing for you to buy a jar of Uncle Bunk's Acne Creme, Expectorant, and Degreaser for the past hour, knowing that you get to spend another hour in his presence.

Manfred had never seen city streets so full of life and exotic fragrances. At least, he was pretty sure he hadn't. The quartet did their best to blend in with the crowd while keeping to the hustling and bustling alleyways and side streets which allowed passage at a time like this. Manfred was wearing the tight-fitting black pants he had on the night before, but a blue shirt had been purchased for him to help him fit in a little better himself. Nothing stood out like a man dressed entirely in black.

"How long was I out?" he asked conversationally.

Jesz chimed in with a matter-of-fact voice, not bothering to look back fully at him but just turning her hide to the side slightly. "3 years."

"What?!" The color drained out of Manfred's face for a moment.

"Oh yeah, we thought you weren't gonna make it. I was gettin' ready to harvest your organs for magical experiments. It's good pay." There wasn't even a hint of joking in Jesz's voice.

"Oh, do not listen to her," Mel said. "That is nonsense. Everyone knows an intact cadaver is worth far more."

"Ha ha, very funny," Manfred replied. "I don't believe you. If it had been 3 years, I would have grown a beard, wouldn't I? Huh?"

"Oh, I've been shaving you clean and selling the trimmings to witches," Jesz said loudly to be heard over the din. "But don't worry, Manfred, it'll grow back."

"Stop calling me that. That's not my name!"

"Oh, then what is?" Jesz looked back and winked at him. He was silent for a moment.

"Where are we going?" he asked the group in general as they meandered and slithered through the labyrinthine crowd. He would rather change the subject then have to try to out-think her.

"I told you, we are following Aryx," Mel said from the front of the group. Her eyes were trained on the sky most of the time.

"Yeah, you told me, but where is she lea-"

"He," Mel interrupted. "Aryx is a boy."

"Fine. Where is HE leading us?" Manfred rolled his eyes. "I mean, what is this bounty you're all talking about?"

Jesz looked back at him for a moment. "His name is Cameron Merlot, but he likes people to call him 'The Duke,'" she explained. "We were hired by some judge to find him. Apparently he stole something of hers and she wants it back… you know, under the table-like."

"Jesz!" Mel said sternly. "We cannot trust him! And stop flirting! I do have eyes in the back of my head, don't make me separate you two."

Jesz blushed slightly, her tanned face darkening as she turned her head to look forward again. "Sorry…" she said. She was third in line, behind Eaups, who had been silent most of the time they were following Aryx.

The crowd was beginning to thin out as the group worked their way to the outside rim of the city. In the distance, Manfred could see several large buildings standing as sentinels over the city. One was built like a majestic fortress with its own high wall surrounding it - which Manfred believed must be the palace. Another just off to the side of the first was a single massive tower that was crooked and gnarled, seeming to defy all laws of physics and common sense by refusing to fall over. The last, placed in the center of Kell and closer than the other two, stood like a series of sword-spires that dared to strike against the heavens. Each pointed spire was identical to the others and they were arranged in a 12-point circle. The sun reflected off the spires in a sharp rainbow across their surfaces.

"That's the Pantheological Cloister," Eaups chimed in. "Each spire is dedicated to one of the gods." He smiled, looking back at it. "I'm in that one farthest to the right from here." Manfred wished he could pause and get a better look, but Jesz pulled him along. Soon, his view was obstructed by wooden scaffolding and catwalks. It seemed this part of the city was under repair, and by the look of things, under constant repair. Some of the scaffolding was burnt with more replacing it. Buildings had several different styles of architecture all crowded on top of each other. There were even some parts that had permanent "danger" signs posted. "This is the Alchemists' District," Eaups said.

"Yeah, better known as Boom Town." Jesz chuckled to herself. "Some poor sap is always blowing hisself up around here."

"Sshh!" Mel pulled the group to a small alcove. Above them, Aryx was circling before landing on a nearby piece of scaffolding. With a motion to the others to keep out of sight, Mel peered around the corner, scanning the crowd. "That is him," she said as she spied that familiar eye patch. The Duke was sitting at a table talking with another man whose back was to them. "And it looks like that idiot guard of his is not even around."

Manfred backed into Mel. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he said in a quavering tone. Mel looked back to find the other three with their hands up, a crossbow pointed at them. The brutish bodyguard from the night before approached them.

"Move it. 'Gainst the wall." Mel put her hands up as well, doing as she was told and backing up against the wall. She glanced up for a moment, hoping to call Aryx, but the bodyguard practically shoved the crossbow in her face. "Don't e'en think it, love. I ain't stupid, I know yer a hawker. I've been followin' ya."

"Not… you're not stupid… and I'm an… austringer," Mel said quietly, then bit her lip. Grammar was a pet peeve of hers. It had taken her years to get over Jesz's abuses of the language, and she liked Jesz. Yet now, despite having a cocked crossbow at point-blank range from her nose, she still couldn't help herself when a stranger polluted her mother tongue.

"What?!" the bodyguard demanded.

"I am an austringer, not a hawker. Austringers train hawks, hawkers sell goods." Her voice was steady and without inflection as if she was simply reading out of a text book. Although she knew that technically the bodyguard was correct, the connotation of being a hawker irked her even more than his atrocious grammar.

"Oh, I'm gonna turn you into hawk feed," the guard said with a wicked, mostly toothless grin. He raised the crossbow another inch and pulled the trigger.

Mel winced, but soon realized that she was still… wincing. And breathing. As she opened her eyes, she saw Manfred, holding the arrow and smiling at the well-muscled bodyguard.

"Did know I could do that, huh?" he taunted. "Wanna see what else I can do?" The bodyguard put his hands up slowly, seeing that Jesz was already pulling out a small blade. Yet before she had a chance to use it, he struck with incredible celerity at Manfred. It was simply not fair that such a huge man could move so fast, but, as Manfred was learning, life is hardly fair. He took the blow fully and was knocked back to the wall before grabbing onto the man's arm.

Jesz did not hesitate. She swing at him with a small but sharp dagger, the blade held backwards, away from the thumb. The man cried out as she sliced at his arm, but cross his other arm over his body to grab at her. Just as he was fast, he was also incredibly strong. His grip had her in tears almost instantly.

By this time, Mel was joining the fight, calling to Aryx for aid and pulling out her kukri. Eaups had already set up a spell to keep passers-by away from the fight, a long snake of smoke that surrounded the brawl. In all this commotion, however, no one noticed that The Duke was already running away.

"Oh no you don't," Manfred squeaked as he tried to breath again. He held firmly onto the man's arm and suddenly moved like a man possessed. His motions reminded Jesz a roaring river or winding stream. Manfred deftly ducked under the man's arm, twisting it forward and forcing his assilant to hunch over. This made the man let go of Jesz and try to grab Manfred, but it was already too late. With a pull, the bodyguard felt all the bones in his arm strain against each other and, in an effort to prevent his bones from snapping, he fell forward and landed on his back. His legs hit a large support of scaffolding and dislodged it, causing a catwalk to teeter to and fro precariously for several seconds before it clattered to the ground nearby. Following this, the entire scaffold leaned over, knocking of workers, parts of buildings, buckets of plaster, piles of stone and brick, and loads of lumber. Everything rained to the ground with a thunderous and ongoing clatter, moving quickly down the line of buildings. Just as it seemed to stop, a lone cat would jump off one unstable support and land on the back of an unsuspecting worker who was across the street on another catwalk. The worker thrashed about, knocking over more random construction tools and detritus before he, too, knocked one of the supports loose and sent scaffolding on the other side of the street crashing to the ground. The roar disappeared off into the distance as more and more dominos of industry fell.

By the time the dust settled before for people to see what had happened, The bodyguard had fled and The Duke was half-buried under a pile of wood and rocks.

"How fortuitous," said Mel. She and Manfred approached the entombed man. "Quickly, before the Alchemists' Guild gets here," she said, pulling out a rope from the mess.

"What about the city guard?" Manfred asked as he started pulling up masonry and crossbeams to dig the dazed man out.

"Oh, trust me. They are not the ones to be worried about for this mess."

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 6

2010-06-07T21:52:00.001-07:00

The man in black was dreaming.

From the way his limbs twitched, it was either a very pleasant dream or a very unpleasant one. Jesz was squatting and watching him closely. To her he seemed very much like a cat - either chasing a dream-mouse or being chased by a dream-dog (or, in some cases, a giant dream-mouse). She picked up a stick and poked him a few times in the side, eliciting a grunt and some nonsensical mumbling.

"Hey… wake up!" she said and poked him in the face with the stick. The man didn't stir. She then noticed the bump on his forehead from where she hit him and a wicked grin spread over her face. "Wakey wakey!" she said as she poked the bump.

"Ouch! Stop that!" The man sat up, pushing the stick away from him. He was sitting outside on the dirt while three strange people looked at him expectantly. "Uh… hi?"

Jesz smirked and stood up, taking a few steps away from the man as he stumbled to his feet. She was wearing a red silk shirt with long sleeves and an intricate black leather vest. A pair of knives with hilts as red as her hair could be seen at her sides, strapped into her belt.
Beside her stood Mel, tall and statuesque. She was sporting the same brown and green blouse with tight black pants as before, her brunette hair in a neatly braided ponytail which reached the small of her back. Around her torso was a strap that carried a quiver at her side; a long recurved bow was held in one hand. Her other hand was held up and wore a leather glove to support a beautiful, young hawk. Its underside was off-white with dark banding towards the legs, while the rest of the hawk was a mixture of a ruddy brown and black with white tips. Tied to one of its legs was a thin strip of green cloth that flowed in the wind. It tilted its head severely to the side as it examined the man.
On the other side of Jesz, Eaups was sitting on the tree stump, looking a little dazed and confused. On his belt was a small mace, the traditional weapon of priests. He seemed content for the moment to gather his thoughts together.

"Who are you?" Mel asked pointedly. She took a stride forward, holding the hawk closer to the man. He stepped back.

"What? Oh… I told you, I don't remember!" he replied. "Who a-"

The hawk spread its wings and tightened its grip on Mel's hand, the leather creaking under its powerful talons. "Aryx does not like it when people lie," Mel said, holding the bird closer. "And he knows when you are lying." Aryx let out a piercing cry and flapped his wings at the man, the tips brushing against his face. The man couldn't help but look at the size of those dark talons.

"Really.. I don't remember," he said again, swallowing hard. His back was against the hut. After a few moments, Aryx folding his wings against himself and settled back on his perch, looking around with quick, darting movements.

Mel nodded, stepping back from him. "He is telling the truth," she said as she shifted her weight to one side, pondering what to do with him.

Jesz grinned as wide as a cheshire cat. "Oh? Then that means, we can name him!" She was practically jumping for joy at the prospect. "I say we call him Fred!"

"I say we call him Man," Mel the ever-practical said in sync with Jesz. Both girls raised their eyebrows and looked at each other.

"Let's not argue. We'll just call him… Manfred for now, ok?" Eaups said, getting off the stump slowly. He still felt a bit like a puppet.

"Manfred?! Look here, I don't know who you people are or what you want with me, but I need to get going…" Manfred said, holding up his arms in protest.

"Oh really? Going where?" Mel asked. "Yeah, I thought as much. Look, you need to rest. You just had an arrow sticking out of your side." She motioned to the patch on his bare torso.

Eaups smiled, looking a little more confident with his motions. "And besides, we've been told to help you."

"Help me what?" Manfred asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Um… I think he said to achieve your fate…" Eaups said quietly.

"Well, I feel fine right now," Manfred said, flexing one of his arms, "and I don't need a bunch of strangers telling me what I'm supposed to be doing. …You are strangers, right?" Manfred was not entirely certain of anything at this point.

Jesz frowned an angry frown and walked right up to Manfred, a very slight limp apparent from the night before. He was a few inches taller than she was, but that didn't stop her from pushing her nose right into his face. "We just saved your life, buddy. The least you can do is be grateful! And you were watching me changing in there," she pointed to her hut, "so that's gonna cost you. All in all, I'd say you owe me... us... a thousand gold pieces."

"A THOUSAND?" Manfred replied. "Where'd you get that number? I can't pay that!"

Jesz just grinned at him as she leaned back. "You'll just have to help us catch this bounty, then. The witch paying us said he's worth at least five thousand. We can take your share out of it. Of course you'll only earn half the share, as you're new, so you'll still need to earn 500 more."

Manfred screwed his face up, pointing at each of the strangers in turn and counting silently, though his lips still moved. "That… doesn't add up. There's only 4 of us."

Jesz matter-of-factly said, "No, there's 5. There's you… Mel… Eaups… me… and Aryx. The hawk." Before Manfred could complain, she walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder, leading him into the hut. "Don't worry. I know you're a thief. You might need some retraining, but it'll all come back to, especially with Jesz, Pilferer Extraordinaire, showing you the ropes! Pretty soon you'll be able to make 500 gold pieces in a night!" She grinned at him.

"I.. I am? I will?"

Jesz nodded and led him to his shirt and tools. "Of course! You just get dressed and we'll find this bounty together, as a team. We could use a strong, handsome guy like you," she said with a wink, having apparently completely forgiven him of his peeping. "Now hurry up!"

New Spelling

2010-06-04T05:57:00.000-07:00

It turns out that at the National Spelling Bee, protesters are complaining about how we spell words. They think our words are too complicated for most people. Their slogan is "Enuf is enuf. Enough is too much." This group includes ex-principals and teachers. Now, I have my own issues with the National Spelling Bee. I think it is a waste, and I can probably correctly spell 90% of the words they are asked to spell while having none of their "rigorous training." But, the bee is still popular and is promoting the English language, particularly the lesser-known quadrants. To have people protesting against what these young kids are doing right in front of their faces is atrocious. It is even worse that they are promoting ignorance.

I wonder if any of them have read the book 1984. Respelling all the words in the English language has a far-reaching effect that people do not seem to grasp. English is not just our language, but shapes our thoughts and ideologies. It is a direct link to our past as well. Furthermore, there is a beauty in the English language that poets, playwrights, scholars and authors can tap into, creating works of true artistic beauty that go beyond the meaning of the words. No one will want to read "2 b r not 2 b? that iz thuh kwestyun."
In 1984, George Orwell uses the concept of "Newspeak." The government takes words out of the language and replaces them with simple ideas, making sure nothing inflammatory is left. This makes it very difficult for people to plot an uprising if they cannot even put such concepts into words. In fact, they wouldn't be able to think of the uprising itself because the words do not exist. There is scientific evidence which supports this theory. By dumbing down our words, we will dumb down our society and people. We will also open the door to concepts such as Newspeak to be introduced. We've already got enough of 1984 going on in real life, we don't need to add to it.

There is also evidence which supports the theory that the Japanese and Chinese, because of the complexities of their languages, think more quickly than people who speak more straight-forward languages. They have to think more carefully when they speak and write and read.

So by all means, let's rewrite history, throw out the subtle philosophies of our language (ever wonder why "awful" is a bad thing, why the plural of "radius" is "radii," where "-ology" really comes from, or what the word "philosophy" truly means?), rewrite every work of art and literature of the past 500 years or so, stagnate the thought processes of our people, and limit the potential of our children, all because some people are to uneducated, lazy, or "special" to learn how to spell correctly.
Some may say this is a class distinction. I disagree. It takes no money whatsoever to go to your library and pick up a book. There are cheap classes that can teach you how to read and write. The internet is filled with good (as well as poor) resources for someone who is truly interested in using grammar properly. And all the kids who can't write because they text all day long? I think this is a call to parents to force them to put those cell phones down. Your kids do not tell you what to do, you have to be role-models for your kids. Just stop paying the bills. Make them earn money to pay for their texting AND their phone. Soon they will see that it's not all it is cracked up to be. I do not text, and I get along just fine. So have billions of other people.

Now, this rant should end now. I'm sure people disagree with me on some of these statements. They might not see the connections I am making with spelling and newspeak. But let us all agree on one thing: The English language is not broken. It is living, breathing, working. It is the official language of 53 countries. And I love it.

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 5

2010-06-01T18:02:00.000-07:00

It took Mel several seconds to get to her feet and discover that the man was awake and sitting upright. She stood in the doorway, pulling out a short sword from some hidden sheath. The blade was bent forward in the middle with the single-edge along the inside; a weapon Mel called a Kukri, though everyone else just called it broken.

"Keep back!" she yelled as she entered an offensive stance, her weight leaning forward.

The man in black was standing at the foot of the bed, his hand holding his head. His face was contorted in pain, giving the distinct impression of a man with a hangover. "What?" he asked, ambling forward.

Mel took a few steps back as the man approached. "Who are you?" she asked, keeping her blade in front of her as she backed away from the door. Soon the man was standing in the doorway instead, squinting in the sunlight. Jesz had fallen to the ground, still clutching her shirt to her chest and staring at him in dread. Next to her, sitting on the tree stump, Eaups had fallen asleep, his head hung in front of him.

"Who am I?" he asked, lowering his hand and looking over the three of them through half-closed eyes. "Who are you?"

Mel glanced over at her comrades briefly in confusion before looking back at him. "I- I asked you first!" she said. Jesz scrambled to her feet once more, her face still flushed in embarrassment.

"You did? Oh... well I'm... uh...." He looked up at them, a hint of worry in his expression. "I don't know."

Mel's voice had a sharp tone of suspicion to it. "I do not believe you. How do we know you are not just trying to dupe us into trusting you or letting you go? If the royal guards come looking for you, it would be best if we just…"

What had distracted Mel was the sight of Jesz walking right past her and up to the man in a huff, still holding her shirt up with one arm. Without a word, she pulled her free arm back and clocked him squarely in the face. The man didn't even try to evade it, but instead fell over as if she was a lumberjack and he was a mighty Scott's Pine. After the punch, she stood over him, red with anger. "How dare you oggle me when I'm vulnerable like that! I was saving myself!" Mel had to pull her away to stop the verbal and physical assault.

"QUIT IT" rang a voice from behind them, familiar yet foreign. With one accord, both Jesz and Mel turned around. Standing before them was Eaups, his eyes radiating a divine purple light and his hair suddenly long and wild. He looked over himself, inspecting his clothing and body. "UGH, what a terrible outfit. At least there's some purple in it. And this body, goodness. Ouch, or whatever his name is, should really start working out."

"Eaups?" Mel asked, wondering what was wrong with her friend. He'd never done THIS before.

"Yeah, that's the name." He sauntered closer to them in a suave, confident manner; it was very unlike Eaups. Although he had no pupils, they got the distinct impression that he was looking over the two of them carefully. "So you must be his companions. Interesting choice, but I think it'll work." He grinned and brushed a lock of his hair out of his face in a move that could launch a thousand swoons.

"Y-you are not Eaups," Mel stated. She was blushing but did not even realize it.

"Of course I'm not," not-Eaups said. "Didn't he tell you? He's my Avatar. I'm Murphy." He got blank stares from the two girls and a leg-twitch from the unconscious man. "THE Murhpy. God of fate, destiny, and all that jazz?" Blank stares. Murphy sighed. "Fine, I'll get right to the point." He straightened himself up and spoke in a distinctly divine voice.

"DO NOT HURT THIS MAN. HE HAS A GREAT DESTINY, AS DO YOU ALL. YOU MUST HELP HIM ACHIEVE HIS FATE OR ELSE THE WORLD WILL BE FORFEIT."

Murphy then winked at Jesz. "Nice outfit, by the way," he said, then summarily collapsed on the ground, a rag doll being dropped. Jesz looked down at her outfit only to find that she had dropped her shirt. In a panic, she screamed, collected her shirt, and ran back inside, pushing the man outside with the others as she slammed the door.

Minor edit

2010-05-21T05:32:00.000-07:00

I made a small edit to Chapter 4 of How To Be a Thief. IT's a little at the end, but I just felt that I should let everyone who missed it know.

I hope that at some point next week I will be able to make a post on a bunch of new projects I am working on with my brother and an old friend of mine. Work, however, tends to take up my free time...

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 4

2010-05-19T21:32:00.000-07:00

Morning did eventually arrive, its cheery, cool light cascading through the trees and the open window of Jesz's hut. The bakers and farmers welcomed their friend the sun, the harbinger of the end of the bitter, dark pre-dawn, but to Jesz it was like an uninvited guest. It just let itself in whenever it wanted, traipsed about the place, and then did all it could to try to wake you up. And this morning, it seemed Jesz had only slept for about 37 seconds before it broke into her hut and made off with her last hope of getting any rest.

All night (or at least for 37 seconds), Jesz had been dreaming that when she awoke, the young man would be up, wearing nothing but an apron and making her breakfast: Sausages, eggs over medium (with all the crispy leftover bits sprinkled on top), and thick slices of ham all on toast and covered in cheese that smelled like decaying feet. Just the way she loved it. She also dreamed that she was in her own bed, that he was incredible handsome and intelligent, and that as he leaned in to say "Good morning," his voice was husky and sonorous at the same time.

The truth was not so kind. Jesz woke clutching a small bag of money, wearing a thin off-white shirt, with her legs splayed out haphazardly. Her hair had matted itself and now sported a variety of knots that would make any sailor jealous. The foot that hurt last night was only mildly sore now, though the rest of her body was sore as well. Red-rimmed eyes scanned the room as she sat up. There was no breakfast. There was no stinky cheese. She was still on the floor. The man was still unconscious, though in the daylight, he didn't look half-bad. She heaved a heavy sigh and got up, yawning profusely as she got dressed and started to go about her day.

"Good morning, Jesz," said a melodious voice the instant she stepped outside. The voice belonged to Mel, who was leaning against a tree stump. She looked well-rest and, as always, serious. She was clad in a brownish-green blouse with tight black pants, her brunette hair tied in a neat ponytail behind her. It was her typical "working" outfit, though Jesz always wondered why she often wore it when they were not on the job. Mel had the figure that most women torture themselves mentally and physically to achieve. She was fit, well-endowed (but not too much), has gorgeous long hair, and was tall. Jesz, on the other hand, has a slight build, had choppy, messy hair, was short, and was significantly less gifted in the bust department. Usually this made her jealous of Mel, but at the moment, she was far too tired to care.

Beside Mel, Eaups was yawning and hunched over a little. He waved at Mel while rubbing at the bags under his eyes. "Mo-yawn-orning, Jesz…" he said. White robes with light blue trim and just a splash of violet (for flare, as Murphy always put it) let the world know that Eaups was of the religious order, and his small conical hat told everyone that he was a last-year student. This, too, was his traveling gear, which made Jesz wonder if she had forgotten some important event.

"Um… Morning?" he said, then stifled another yawn. Jesz did not so much mean this as a greeting, but more an inquiry. Morning was to Jesz what Bigfoot and helpful lawyers are to most people - something you hear about, but never actually meet.

"How is the patient?" Mel asked. Jesz raised her eyebrow up at her.

"How are you so… awake?" she whined. "He's still sleeping, like I should be."

"Good, he made it through the night." Mel smiled softly, looking relieved. The truth was, she'd never had to remove an arrow from someone before, and was proud that he didn't die right away. "I will have to look in on him soon. But first, are you ready to go?"

Jesz, still wearing the thin white shirt and cat-print underwear, looked down at herself. "Go whe-" she started to ask before her cheeks flushed a bright red and she scrambled behind the door of her hut. "No, I'm not ready… You! Boy! Turn around!"

Eaups had honestly been too tired to see what she had been wearing, or not wearing as the case was. Instead, he obediently turned around, still yawning. "I didn see…" yawn, "nothing." Once he was turned around, Jesz scrambled back indoors and shut the door hard.

"We are going to find our one-eyed friend, Mr Giancolli," Mel said through the door. Aryx was able to pick up his trail this morning, so it shouldn't be too hard to get him by surprise, but we need to be ready just in case." Jesz hated these rushed missions with little planning; they led to more injuries or failures. But Mel loved the excitement. "Besides, I bet he is half asleep right now."

"He isn't the only one…" Jesz muttered to herself as she started to get undressed and pull our her own adventuring clothes from the chest at the foot of her bed. They consisted of tight, brown, leather pants, a long-sleeve, crimson, silk shirt and a pocketed leather vest, along with a few other accessories that weren't meant to be seen. "What about this guy? What if he wakes up while we're gone? I don't want him in my house."

Mel leaned her back against the door, arms crossed. "I seriously doubt he will be up anytime soon. But…" Her voice trailed off as she looked up at the sky in thought. "Maybe we should be careful. I do not think we can trust him. He was armed, and I think he might be from Drysen, not Mayford."

"So?" Jesz asked as she folded her white shirt and pajama bottoms.

"So… maybe he is not a thief."

"Nonesense," Jesz replied with a sputter. "I know a fellow thief when I see one. Those tools are for picking locks and hiding loot."

"Well if he's a thief, maybe we shouldn't leave him in here…" Eaups said in a brief moment of clarity.

Mel smirked, lowering her gaze again. "As if she has anything here that is worth stealing."

"What do you mean!? I've got that…"

"That what?" Mel asked, turning her head toward the door. "Jesz?"

The scream that followed was high enough to make dogs nervous and loud enough to make Eaups finish waking up. Before either of them could rush into the room, Jesz opened the door and rushed outside, knocking Mel over. She had on her pants, but was holding her crimson shirt up to her to hide her shame while pointing with her free hand at the man. He was sitting upright in the bed, eyes open, with a smile on his face.

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 3

2010-04-27T21:33:00.000-07:00

The operation went well into the night. By the time Mel had finished, the particularly enthusiastic bakers and farmers were already starting to wake up. Eaups had helped take care of the man's accoutrements before heading back to the Cloister's dorms, folding the deep black shirt and putting it on the small bedside table. It was so dull and black that it seemed to swallow all light that touched it, making it difficult to actually see the folds in the fabric. On top of it sat a leather harness with a variety of unusual pouches, pockets, and sheaths, all holding a variety of weapons and tools that Eaups had never seen before.

Mel left to a series of complaints from Jesz.
"Does he have to stay in MY bed?" she whined. Jesz had dreamed of having a strong, handsome man in her bed. This was NOT the situation she had imagined.
"Yes, you need to leave him there," Mel explained. "Do not move him!"
"But... but... but... it's MY bed! And he's getting blood all over it! A-and germs! Man germs!"
Mel, who had been wiping her hands off, turned to Jesz and said, "Do not even THINK about moving him. He has lost a lot of blood and any movement might reopen his wound. If he wakes up, make him stay in bed."
"But Me-e-e-el!" Jesz said, bouncing in place and holding onto Mel's arm. Mel just stared at her intently, the stern look telling Jesz more than words ever could. With a loud sigh, Jesz let go of her and nodded. "Alright..."
Mel sighed as well, leaning over and giving Jesz a hug. "It will be alright. It is just for a few nights. But when he does wake up, you be careful. I do not trust him." She gave the sleeping man a glance from over Jesz's shoulder, then stood back up and picked up her bow and quiver. "Get some sleep," she said over her shoulder as she walked out of the door, leaving Jesz alone with a strange man in her hut.

The rest of that night was not kind to Jesz. She had set up a few blankets on the floor as a make-shift bed for herself. Sleeping on the floor was no problem for Jesz; she had slept on floors most of her life. In fact, she had only purchased that bed a few months before with hard-earned money, most of it earned by other people. This night, however, her back was hurting and her mind was racing, still upset over the botched mission.
First she started to hum, but soon the song was stuck in her head.
Then she tried counting sheep, but the sheep became small coins and kept her up with their imaginary jingle.
She had heard that doing math problems would help her fall asleep, but the only math she knew involved the small coins that were still jingling.
Eventually the jingling passed and she started to doze, until a shaft of light from the window hit her perfectly on the eye. The moon had been reflecting off a blade on the bedside table. Now her mind was racing again, this time with thoughts of who the man was and what would happen when he woke.

Tools of the Trade Part 1

2010-04-14T20:39:00.000-07:00

Everywhere I go, I carry around a small moleskine notebook, not unlike the one you see above. I go very few places without it - my wife will attest to this. In the past I have used very LARGE notebooks, but carrying them around was hard and I got tired of writing down ideas on napkins. For years, about the only gifts I ever got from (well-meaning but misguided) friends were notebooks. Next to my bed is a pad of lined paper and a pen just in case I get an idea while in bed. It happens. Moleskines, or some similar notebook, are essential to being a writer in my opinion. Or to any creative professional. You never know when inspiration will strike. I only wish it wasn't while I was driving so very often (yes, I have pulled over to write down an idea before). About the only negative thing about it is the elastic band stretches out and becomes useless (I might just cut it off). So it won't surprise you to know that my moleksine is chock-full of random, random, random chaos. Did I mention it was random?

In today's age, however, technology rules. eBooks are the next big thing (supposedly). Kindles can not only download novels, but they can access Wikipedia at any time. A small audio recorder is simple to find, and I should probably get one for the car (but knowing me, I'd never actually write down what I recorded). But what are the REAL tools of the trade now for keeping your ideas in check?

In my opinion, Google, the company that makes Big Brother look like a reality TV show, has a true gem. While they are currently working on Google Wave, their up-and-running Google Docs is truly a sight to behold. If you do not use it, you should look it over. If you do not have a google account, go make one. Gmail doesn't hurt that badly, and Google already knows who you are, where you are, and what you search for, so it's really not going to do much to let them help you with email.

In all seriousness, Google Docs allows you to write, draw, or make a spreadsheet online, so you can get to it from any computer with internet access. Nice for a writer. I keep one file for all my ideas. Actually, I keep one for plot ideas, one for character ideas, and one for other ideas. If you are trying to collaborate with someone, say an artist, classmate, or editor, you can share the file with them. You can let them edit it so the two of you can work on it together... in real-time... or you can just let them see it and not actually write over anything. Either way, this makes it easy to make collaborative works online, as well as get things edited in the blink of an eye. Personally, I think everyone should use this. Now, I do hear of some negative things... like Google owns anything you write in it. If that's true, I'd like to see the very interesting court case that would follow in case they decided to steal someone's idea. If you are really worried about it, I'm sure there are other sites that do similar things. Google Wave will become open source, so anyone can make their own Wave that will compete with Google and Google will have 0 ownership. I'm keeping my eye out for Wave...

Cross-genre Writing

2010-04-14T20:26:00.000-07:00

I am currently an unfocused writer.

As you can see at the moment, I am writing a piece of fantasy for you all. I would like to post a CAVEAT about this story, "How to be a thief." That caveat is that I do not know where it is going. I am not editing it like I normally would. I am going 1 chapter at a time with a vague sense in the direction it is headed. I don't know what will happen 2 or 3 chapters from now.

This is not the norm for me. I am usually a very structured writer. Structured, but still unfocused. I write outlines, I research, I pour over every detail. If I am writing a poem you can rest assured that A) it is not some lame "free style" excuse for a poem - it will have meter, it will have rhyme, and B) Every last syllable, rhyme, and punctuation mark was debated at some point, possibly for a while. To me, writing is never finished. There is "finished" and then there is "good enough." My goal is to get it to the "finished stage," this will let me get it to the "good enough" stage, at which point I am tired of writing it and will simply turn it in (or from now on, try to get it published).

Still, my ADHD gets the better of me. I am unfocused partially because of that, but I am learning to get a handle on it. I am also unfocused because I love writing everything I can wrap my mind around (which is, believe me, a lot). This is really my first fantasy piece. I have written sci-fi, mystery, historical fiction, nonfiction (articles, interviews, reports, SEO), creative nonfiction, poetry, and even dabbled in romance a few times. Unfortunately, cross-genre writing seems to be reserved for academia and very closely related genres (sorry Piers, but going both sci-fi and fantasy is hardly sleeping with the enemy). So few writers have successfully crossed into CLOSELY related genres; fewer yet have made it into unrelated genres, and most of those were one-time gimmicks.

The publishing industry seems to be under the impression that if you write in one genre, you will be unable to transfer a fan-base... and if you can't do that, then why bother? Personally, I wouldn't mind creating a readership anew. And in today's world that seems to cater to the ADHD mindset, surely readers can actually understand more than one genre. they might even enjoy it. Do you honestly believe that Joe Readerman is only EVER going to read fantasy novels? If he picks up a creative nonfiction book by Tolkien, I think there's a good chance he'll peruse it, which might get him to try another, then another, then another. Soon you have Joe Readerman who *gasp* enjoys TWO genres!

I think at the moment I wish to write in creative fiction - something that requires real research. However, if I get noticed in any genre, I will be superbly exuberant. Perhaps I will become the world's first popular pan-genre author? Only time will tell.

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 2

2010-04-10T11:43:00.000-07:00

Jesz was fuming. Not only did they lose the bounty AND break an expensive urn, but now her foot was in pain and she couldn't even be angry at the guy who did it. As she paced around her small, cluttered bedroom, Eaups could hear her muttering to herself. He sat in a creaky wooden chair that threatened to turn itself into a pile of kindling at any moment. On the bed across the room from him was a young man dressed entirely in black, unconscious. The arrow still protruded from his side and the shirt around it was damp with blood, though it showed no red.

"32 silver pieces for that ouch! darn Urn.... where is Mel? She mmmf! better have got him.... planned for 2 ow weeks.... another 7 pieces for that cart... what a OW waste... 100 gold pieces...." Eaups just watched her pace back and forth between him and the unconscious man. Every time she stepped on her hurt foot, she'd wince or cry out in pain, but that wouldn't stop her.

"Ummm... actually, I rented the ca-" he started to say, but stopped short when Jesz turned to him and give him a stare that would make the pigment in paint run away. Eaups put his hands between his legs and lowered his head. He was relatively young, no more than 18, and naivete exuded from his pores. His normally immaculate white priest robes and well-combed blond hair were covered in dirt, smeared with blood, and smelled like the inside of that old urn, yet he was still able to look so innocent and pitiful that Jesz's glare softened and she felt this sudden urge to cuddle him. Unfortunately, he was unable to leave well-enough alone and perked his head up again. "Maybe he's rich..." he offered in an attempt to bring up her spirits. If there was anything that would make Jesz happy, it was the promise of money.

"He is NOT rich," Jesz replied firmly, pointing at the man. She was no longer wearing the burlap sack that she thought looked like clothing. Instead, she was sporting a leather and cloth outfit that hugged her slight form. A red-hilted knife stuck out from a sheath at her side, matching the hue of her short hair. In her rage, however, she'd forgotten to remove the false nose, making it very difficult for Eaups to keep a straight face when he looked at her. He kept looking down at his lap in an effort to prevent himself from cracking up.
"Just look at how he's dressed!" she explained, hobbling over to the man and picking roughly at his clothes. Every time she did, the man would cringe as if in pain. "He's all in black, he was carrying a lock-picking kit and a knife, and he fell OFF A ROOF! He's obviously a cat burglar. A pilferer. A burglar. A THIEF!"

Eaups stifled a laugh as her nose bobbed in the air, then turned the chuckle into a cough and sighed loudly, lowering his gaze again and wringing his hands in his lap. "M-maybe he's a good thief..." he suggested. Before Jesz could reply, there was a knock at the door. Then two knocks. Then three.

"It's Mel. Finally," Jesz said, limping over to the door of her small hut and opening it. Mel stood there, her expensive robes torn and dirtied and an ornate archery bow hanging around her body. Although she looked pissed at first, as soon as she saw Jesz's nose sticking out of the doorway, her face contorted in a muffled giggle.

After a moment, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, stepping inside. Her long, brown hair flowed behind her and brushed over Jesz. Mel was much taller and more shapely than Jesz; even her hair couldn't resist the chance to make her jealous. "The bounty got away," Mel said. "I lost him in the merchant district and it's too dark for Aryx."

Jesz glowered as she shut the door. "I knew it. This is just not my OW day..." she grumbled as she followed Mel back to the bedroom - one of two rooms in the hut. She looked over at Eaups and shot a pointed finger at him. "You! This is all your fault! You said we had your god's blessing!"

Guilt creeped over Eaups' features. "We did..we do... that's the problem with Murphy. We might have his blessing, but we don't know what it's for."

Jesz scoffed, waving her hand dismissively, "I doubt he's even real." This was a slap in the face to Eaups.

"He IS real! I've seen him!" he shouted, standing up and putting his nose against Jesz' in a rare display of emotion.

"Guys, quit it," Mel said as she looked at the man on the bed.

"Maybe you're just seeing things, huh? It's all that incense in the air over there in that temple." Jesz retorted, pushing her nose harder against his.

"Guys!"

"Well at least I have faith in something! You can only believe in what you see!"

"GUYS!" Mel, shouted, looking back at the bicker pair.

"WHAT?" they both shouted back in unison.

Beyond Mel, the man lay in the bed, eyes open, looking at them as they fought. He raised a hand, pointing to Jesz, and said in a very quiet, weak voice, "Nose." With a smile, he lowered his hand and closed his eyes, falling asleep again.

Jesz sighed, pulling off the bulbous nose and walking over to the man. "He can't stay here..." she said.

"It was your idea to bring him with us," Mel said. "Besides, Eaups is in a dorm, and there's no way my parents would let me keep a strange man in the house. Face it, you're stuck with him until he recovers." Some of the color faded from Jesz's cheeks as she realized this was true.

"What do you suppose happened to him?" Eaups asked.

Mel walked over to the bed and gingerly took hold of the arrow still stuck in him. She ripped his shirt open a little to look at the wound, then let her fingers drift along the shaft of the arrow to the colorful feathers. "This looks... familiar..." she said to herself.

Jesz, meanwhile, was watching the stranger's face as it periodically contorted in pain. "I guess he tried to rob the wrong house," she said softly without looking away.

"Not just any house," Mel replied, blanching. "The palace. This fletching is from the royal guards. I knew it looked familiar. See this banding in blue and white? If he was at the palace, we may all be in trouble for keeping him here at all."

Eaups frowned and moved closer. "I think maybe he was fated to run into us. I think we are supposed to take care of him," he said. "No one will know he's here. We can keep our eyes open for any alert on him, and if we don't hear anything, then I think we'll be ok." He smiled at Mel, then over to Jesz, hoping to sway one of them.

After a moment, Jesz took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Fine... if someone comes knocking on the door, I'll take the blame. But if he or anyone else kills me in the night, I'm coming back to haunt you, Eaups."

Mel nodded in agreement. "Alright, he will stay here for now. I will heal and bind him tonight, and check on him tomorrow. If he does anything funny, I can put this thing right back in him, you know." She gave Eaups a wicked little wink before looking back at the man's wound. "Alright, let's do this. Jesz, get me some clean water if you can. Warm preferably. Eaups, I need some clean rags."

This code, WQZ32N3PF8XH, doesn't seem to be working

2010-04-08T19:32:00.001-07:00

You may all be wondering what this code is. WQZ32N3PF8XH Well, I'm trying to use it to prove to Technorati that I am actually the owner and writer of this blog. For some reason, however, it doesn't seem to be working. It keeps rejecting my claim. I'm also not sure I am putting the feed in correctly. This is all an attempt to make this blog a little more professional, give it a little more exposure, and possibly give myself a few readers. So once again, oh Technorati people, that code you told me about is WQZ32N3PF8XH and don't you forget it!

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 1

2010-04-05T19:02:00.000-07:00

It should have gone according to plan. When things don't go according to plan, it makes you look like an amateur. And to someone who has been training their entire life for this moment, nothing could be worse than looking like an amateur.

However, Fate is a fickle god. Most humans have very incorrect suppositions about Fate. To some, Fate is actually represented by 3 old crones sitting around a cauldron or sewing a tapestry while sharing a single eye between them. If this were so, Fate would be blind to most things that went on, but experience tells us otherwise. To others, Fate is seen as a nerdish, obfuscated figure in a robe toting around a tremendous tome which no one else can read. This sounds like a wonderful idea, because it puts Fate so far away from the rest of us.

For Eaups, the god of Fate was a slightly balding god with a penchant for the flamboyant, anything violet (and NOT purple) and a very annoying laugh. He also went by the name of Murphy. Eaups was very certain of this because he'd not only seen and met Murphy, but he owed the guy $20.

Eaups, pronounced "oops", was a priest in the Pantheological Cloister in Kell, the capital city of the Kingdom of Mayford. He was a star student, rising in ranks quicker than almost anyone in the cloister and permitted to be the youngest Avatar of a god. None of this, however, did anything to ease his mind as he hid in a large, rank urn that must have recently held something involved in a cow's digestive system.

"Stop squirming," came a voice from outside, that of a girl.
"Sorry, it's.. it's cramped in here and it smells like sh-"
"I don't care! You said this would work, and it better, or we are out $300." There was a sharp strike against the side of the urn, causing a dull CLANG to ring in Eaups' ears for some time.
"It'll work, Jesz. Trust me," Eaups said, though there was definite doubt in his voice.

Jesz wore a large burlap sack, trying to make it appear as if it might be a robe. In the dark alley, the illusion worked fairly well. Though her voice was young and sharp, her wrinkled hands shook as though she had palsy. In front of her was a large cart which carried the urn Eaups was hiding in, as well as a host of other nondescript items of pottery, basketry, and glass-works.
"Witch's brews, potions, charms, fetishes," she cried out in the voice of an old hag as she pushed the cart clumsily onto the cobbled road out of the alley.

There were a few other people on the road this night, which was typical of the neighborhood. In the day, it was a busy market place, lined with shops that sold everything from the obscure to the dangerous. By night, however, only the brave dared to venture down its winding lanes. By night, the road-side shops closed up and only carts remained. Carts were mobile, and with the proper lookout, even the slowest cart selling the most prohibited goods could make a decent getaway.

A tall, brunette woman moved up to the cart, a dark, expensive robe and cowl wrapped around her to conceal most of her features. It was an exquisite robe that screamed aristocracy, the kind that was only ever seen either being sold or being stolen on this street.
"What are you selling, madam?" she asked in a loud, gruff voice, an amusing attempt to conceal her identity.
Jesz leaned in and whispered behind clenched jaw, "Not so loud. Geez, where did you get that robe, Mel? I thought I said a rag!"
"It was the only thing I could find on such short notice," the woman answered back in a hurried whisper, then leaned back as she "inspected" a jar filled with what she hoped were pickles.
"Well you stick - Only the finest charms, fetishes, 'n potions, deary - out like a sore thumb!" The change in her voice from chastising to little-old-lady made Eaups shiver a little. She did that too easily.

After a moment or two of bickering and loud appraisal, Jesz shot a knowing glance to Mel and nodded beneath her hood. Two men had just come into view, one with arms ticker than Jesz's ego, the other with a large patch over one eye. As they wandered closer, Jesz moved around the cart, hobbling as well as she could, and Mel stepped back, holding the jar of pickles up the light of the moon as if inspecting it carefully.

"Charms, brews, and potions. Sir, you look like you could use a first-class item of genu-ine witchery," old-lady Jesz said as she picked up some items from the cart and moved closer to the man with the eyepatch. She held up a bracelet that looked like it was made of a lizard - or perhaps several parts of several lizards - and motioned it towards the man.

"No... thank you," the man added, holding his hand up in a gesture of dismissal. He knew better than to anger a witch. In fact, the eyepatch was a constant reminder.

"Yer lookin' to get even, ain't ya?" Jesz said. Although the only part of her face the man could see was a large nose that could only be attached to a crone, he could tell she was smiling. This wasn't any smile, but the smile of knowing a secret. The man stopped in his tracks, causing his companion to run into him before blushing and stepping back as if overseeing the transaction.

"How did you know that?" the man asked, raising his eyebrow.

Jesz cackled and tapped the side of her crooked nose. "Granny Beetle has her ways," she said. Mel ventured a glance over at the bodyguard, but rolled her eyes at the name Jesz chose to call herself. "If'n yer lookin' to get an eye fer an eye..." Jesz said, leaning closer. The man found himself leaning in as well. "Then you'll want a boggart's brew," she said, pointing at the urn Eaups sat in. Eaups had been holding his breath every since the man began to talk. That, however, was his cue. He closed his eyes and started to mutter a spell, his hands having just enough room to weave the necessary gestures.

"What's a boggart's brew?" the man said, his eye following along Jesz' crooked finger to the urn. He already seemed drawn by the air of mystery it possessed.

"Trade secret," Jesz replied with another ghastly cackle. "Boggarts're nasty little buggers that peck out yer teeth and leave ya gold," she said, eliciting a groan from Mel. The bodyguard turned to look at Mel, who looked back to him with a huff and moved to the cart to put down the jar of pickles.

Everything was ready. The man was starting to lean over the urn with the promise of money and revenge, Mel had put herself into position to block their escape, while Eaups was almost done with his spell.

Jesz reached down and started to lift the top of the urn. everything was in slow-motion. Jesz was pulling out her big guns. "Gar-an-teed," Eaups heard her say as he came to the last line of the spell. His mind raced with the thought of the bounty they were going to get as he looked up into the face of his unsuspecting vic-CRASH!

The urn fell over, shattering pots and jars on the cart and rolled off onto the street, slipping open. Eaups didn't have time to process what was going on - all he knew was the world started to spin and then the urn broke around him.

"STOP!" yelled Mel as she chased after the two men who had escaped in all the ruckus. She darted off after them, hiking up the robe to help her move faster.

"What happened?" asked Eaups to no one in particular. He blinked, took a breath of fresh air, and finally noticed Jesz on the ground with a stranger on top of her, a man, dressed in black, with an arrow sitcking out of his side.

Prelude to a post.

2010-04-05T18:09:00.000-07:00

I am going to attempt something I've never tried before.

I am going to start writing something without having a definite storyline (well, I have some of it), without having everything completely figured out. I will be writing it for all of you Inter-nauts.

I will also be writing pure fantasy. I almost never do this. I like to research. But I'm discovering that right now I want an outlet for creativity.

So, here it is! A partially impromptu, episodical fantasy of my own devising. Fan art and movie deals are welcome.

Dystopian Society

2010-04-05T17:27:00.000-07:00

I never thought I would have the urge to write a dystopian novel.

I should have known better. I may not be a sociologist, anthropologist, psychologist, historian or politician, but I am a thinker. At least, I like to think that I am. My favorite book is George Orwell's 1984. One of my favorite movies is Terry Gilliam's Brazil, which if you haven't seen it, you must. I've perused Hobbs, Aquinas, Plato (and his ilk), and other philosophers for the mere pleasure of it. I've read Gulliver's Travels several times, I took a course in Utopias, I own at least a dozen books on the subject...

I guess it was obvious that I would want to try my hand at the craft as well. And it seems daunting, believe me.

Recently, I found the subject of the story, and things just went on from there. If I am serious about this, which I think I very well may be, then I will not be posting it here. Nor will I give you, dear Internet, the details, or even premise. Suffice it to say it is a dystopia for our generation.

However, I would love some help in researching and perhaps some proof readers. And motivators. It will NOT be written otherwise, trust me. Anyone up for it? There is a pre-requisite, however. I must already know you (except for the motivators, of course).

Anyone wish to help?

Nothing?

2010-04-03T18:52:00.000-07:00

Well, from the lack of responses on the last post, I can assume one of two things: 1) no one cares enough to have an opinion on something for me to write or 2) no one reads my blog.

I suspect number 2.

And I don't blame people for not reading it. I just need to be more active, post more often, and actually talk about something interesting. And maybe, if I do something worthwhile, advertise it.

So, I will attempt to actually write something in here... chapter by chapter. What? Not sure yet, but we will see now won't we?

Absence makes the heart...

2010-03-25T17:22:00.001-07:00

Yes, it has been a long time since my last post. One would think I'd actually given it up for Lent. My writing has not been as much a priority as it should be, I will admit. But almost daily I am reminded of the fact that A) I am getting older B) stories don't write and publish themselves and C) If I don't pursue my dream, I will regret it for the rest of my life.

One of the major stumbling blocks to my writing is.. well... my writing. At work. My job is to write content for hotel websites. I add keywords so they get more internet traffic while maintaining readability and accuracy. My wife believes that I hate my job, but this is not true. I do enjoy the work, but there are times when it gets... tiring. Recently I have actually been able to open up my writing technique at work, adding variety and ingenuity to what would otherwise be a drab, repetitive process. I've even used words that my editors have had to look up, which is both good and bad (often they change them, since most people don't want to look words up, but darnit, everyone should know the word "replete!"). However, this is not really enough... I'm too creative. Now, under normal circumstances, I would have no problems working 8 hours a day and coming home to write. My problem is that I have almost always been 1 hotel behind, and catching up is DIFFICULT. It means sacrificing time to try to catch up. Add on top of that the fact that my ADHD makes it hard to focus at work and suddenly I'm working extra hours and never quite catching up. Two weekends ago I got sick. I went to the ER because of it and lost two days of work, which really became 4 (having to redo the research). So now I'm SIX hotels behind. To catch up, I've been given only 2 hotels to do next week instead of 4 (so, since I'll do 4 hotels in reality, I'll have caught up by two). What about the other 4? Magic, apparently. I am always behind, and this means I work at home and on the weekends.

So when do I find time to write my own stuff? So far, I haven't. Since I got sick, I haven't played any games, read any books, or watched much TV (more than I should have, though). Even practicing guitar has taken a hit. I have actually managed to write a little (at least, do research) late at night. If my bosses and I can't figure out something to catch me up and get rid of all this unnecessary stress and work, then I will have to consider drastic changes.

In my writing, I have completed the research (so far) and am now ready to actually start writing it. I have to do it soon, though, or I will forget the research. Frankly, writing down everything I discover, forgetting it, and having to read what I've written later to rediscover my research will NOT save me any large amount of time. Normally my goal would be to write it this weekend, but work and other obligations will likely get in the way. Perhaps I'll be able to finish it by Thursday but I'm willing to bet that it won't really get done for two weeks (work + Easter = no time).

In the meantime, I've considered what else to use this blog for. My brother has been doing movie reviews, and I could do those as well. I've also considered writing an episodical story one chapter at a time. Many of my ideas would work very well in other media, such as movie/animation or comic formats, but it is apparent to me that these will never happen (at least no time soon). Perhaps I can post the ideas here and see what happens.

Anyone have any suggestions? Anyone interested in reading a story in chapters? If so, any desired genre?

Lenten Service

2010-02-10T18:59:00.000-08:00

It seems things have not been cooperating. But I will not let this defeat me.

My writing group did indeed meet last Thursday... but not to read. It seems the bookstore we have been frequenting for the past 17 years is closing due to financial difficulties. This is a real shame as I had just discovered the place and was looking forward to spending much time there. It was also so close to work. So last week was just that... our last week. At least, at that location. No one read or critiqued, instead they collaborated over a new spot. They have chosen as a temporary location a coffee shop nearby.

So no one read, and it wasn't much time for me to finish my paper (excuse, I know...). I wish to finish it by the next meeting.

Unfortunately, the next meeting is during Shrove Tuesday, what some of you know as "Mardi Gras." Mardi Gras is simply a celebration in which we use up all the goods, fun, and food (fattening foods, thus the name Fat Tuesday and its connection to pancake suppers) that we will be missing for the next 40 days of Lent. In the Episcopal Church, little celebration is had other than a pancake supper and some fellowship. Apparently some people celebrate it for 2 weeks or even since January 6th (Epiphany), ending it on Shrove Tuesday. In America it seems to have lost its meaning completely. Most Americans, even die-hard Christians (and Catholics, who really should know better) have never even HEARD of Lent, or may dimly be aware of it as Ash Wednesday (the day following Shrove Tuesday) is usually heralded by a few people with dark ashen crosses on their foreheads.

Allow me to elucidate. Easter is celebrated every year on the Sunday following the first full moon after the Spring Equinox. A few years ago, this was very, very early (I believe March 23 or 24), and it is pretty early this year as well, but it also means that Easter doesn't fall on a specific day. The week leading up to Easter is Holy Week, starting with Palm Sunday (the day Jesus was brought into Jerusalem on a donkey, named for the leaves laid on his path). Next is Fig Monday (named for the withering of a fig tree that bore no fruit), Holy Tuesday, Spy Wednesday (when Judas conspired with and was paid by the Pharisees to kill Jesus), Maundy Thursday (celebrated by a washing of the feet service; I have no clue where the name came from), Good Friday (when Jesus died on the cross), and finally Holy Saturday. The 40 days prior to Easter comprise a season of the Church called "Lent" which is a time of reflection, fasting, and sacrifice. Traditionally, Christians do not eat meat on Fridays (which is, in my opinion, not even CLOSE to a sacrifice). Often they give something up, like chocolate or spending money on shoes. It is also permitted to do a service in lieu of giving something up. Last year I followed the guidelines of Ramadan by not eating from sun-up to sun-down. This year I think a service to others is in order. Giving up chocolate or TV never seemed like it sparked a true devotion to God, no self-reflection. Sundays are an exception in Lent, as the church recognizes all Sundays as a celebration of Christ (something most people don't realize or forget).

Lent begins on Ash Wednesday, which is when good Anglican, Episcopal, and Catholic boys and girls go to service to receive a cross on the forehead made form the ashes of last year's palm branches. These ashes symbolize that we are dust and to dust we shall return. This mentality may also have inspired some of the more macabre celebrations on Carnival (Mardi Gras) such as skeletons. The time between Ash Wednesday and January 6th is called Epiphany, named after the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6 which is 13 days after Christmas (YES there are indeed 12 days in the Christmas season). Epiphany marks, supposedly, the day the Wise Men arrived in Bethlehem. Either that or it marks Jesus revealing himself as both God and man. I was always confused on that point. Gospel readings for that day tend to switch between the account of the Magi, the Baptism, and the Wedding at Canae.

I hope you all enjoyed your little lesson. What does all this have to do with me writing?

Nothing. Not really. In some small sense it was an attempt for me to actually write something longer than a paragraph. It may not be a well-written, well-composed, or well-organized creation, but it is there nonetheless. It ALSO means that I may be at a pancake supper during our meeting time. So I will write the rest of this short story as if I was going to read it to people, then I will move on to bigger and better things, maybe use it as a backup or just try to get it published. We will see.

Goals Part 2

2010-01-31T15:56:00.000-08:00

Alright. Here's the scoop.

A while ago I went to a writer's workshop. Here, I found a publisher who was interested in a short story of mine. She said they were thinking of doing a monthly online short story publication, an eBook at half price because it's just a short story.

I was bad and never got back in touch with her. I need to do that and see if they're still interested or if they even went ahead with it. I never got back to her because my short story was not 100% up-to-par and complete.

I also took part in the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month - nanowrimo.com) back in November, but did not finish. I did not like what I had done with it, and I got a job which got in the way. But, those are really just excuses. Simply, i did not finish and did not succeed.

Finally, I am part of a writing group that meets twice a month. I haven't had anything new to show them in a while.

So I have new goals.

1) I want to finish the short story ASAP
2) I want to rewrite the book.
3) I want to have something to show my group EVERY meeting.

As there is a meeting this coming Thursday (it is the 1st thursday and 3rd tuesday of each month), I feel it is a reachable goal to finish my short story by then. I already gave it at the group, and it is too long to give at one sitting (limit is 5 pages, it is so far 8), but I should be able to give it again with just the updates.
I should also be able to start writing the book and using THAT as the thing I bring in each meeting. So I want to have that started for the second meeting in february.

Goals

2010-01-29T10:49:00.000-08:00

It occurs to me that in order to fulfill my larger goals, I need to set a series of smaller goals. A professor of mine once told me that "a writer is born out of deadlines." This is something I need to take to heart. Without deadlines, nothing will get completed. So, I need to make REAL deadlines for each part of the writing process. And I need to have some kind of incentive, be it positive or negative, to complete it by that deadline (and it will have to be something more than the satisfaction of it).

I will set some deadlines soon. Right now I cannot due to time constraints, but soon I'll be able to.

Also, I need to look into the eBook store involved with the new Apple iPad.

Ideas

2010-01-26T09:13:00.000-08:00

I like to think of myself as an "idea man." I am constantly having minor inspirations for stories, commercials, characters, etc. So for me, coming up with ideas is not an issue in my writing. It's focussing them. I can't turn off the ideas. This is probably in part due to my being ADHD. It also makes organizing things a little difficult, because once I get a thought in my head, I need to write it down before it gets away. This happened to me yesterday - I had what I know was a fantastic inspiration for a notable quote... and I took too long to write it down. It is gone now, likely forever. I usually write them in a small notebook I keep with me at all times (a Moleskine, gotta love it) or on Google Docs. Google Docs is a wonderful tool - check it out. And when Google Wave comes out, check it out too.

But I digress. I may, once in a while, share a thought with this blog just for the heck of it. Maybe someone else will like my ideas. Someday I'll actually get back to telling you all about where I stand in terms of being published. Someday.

This morning I was contemplating being asked on the bat to come up with a commercial for a random product. The first thing that popped into my mind was diapers - Pampers. I have to admit, at first I didn't think I'd be able to actually make a commercial for it in less than 5 minutes. But it happened about 2 minutes in.

Simple commercial, just one scene, one shot, with words changing on the screen. The shot is of a baby sitting on a toilet holding a newspaper or something of the like in front of it, covering all but his hands and feet. The words show up "Until your baby can do this" then "Pampers".

I don't know, I think as far as a commercial goes it would be successful. It would be memorable, slightly funny, and the brand name might just stick out enough to be recalled later. What do you all think?

In other news, my brother and I are working together on his blog, Weakly Animated. At first his idea was to make an animation every week, like Jonathan Coulton was writing a song a week. Now it's one per month, with an update weekly. It's spelled "Weakly" because in a rushed state like that, they will be a bit weak, but they'll get stronger. Anyway, I am writing the animations and he is actually drawing and animating them. The first animatic (a simple "test" of sorts, like a rough draft) is up! I've had this idea for a while, originally as a Snickers commercial. It has had several different endings over the years, but I am proud of this one!

Keeping up with things

2010-01-23T19:50:00.001-08:00

Alright, I have not been good at keeping up with these goals. In the end, however, I blame myself.

Several days I have not written because it was late, I was tired, and I had a lot of stuff to do that day. In fact, there have been days where I did not check my email because I was so busy with work, taking it home to complete it. This is not copacetic. I can definitely say that this is simply an excuse, which is the antithesis of dreaming. I also have definitely not done the work I needed to do towards getting published. These excuses vary. I have considered going back to school, but I may be late in this endeavor as I have not yet taken the accursed GRE. I have also been bogged down with keeping up at work. I've done several things for church. And I haven't had time to relax until recently, so I spent that time playing Ghost Busters the Video Game. It's a fun game, but it takes time. I should spend my time elsewhere, right?

Excuses aside, life has a way of sticking its nose where it doesn't belong and bogging things down. This is true for everyone, so I just need to work that much harder to get myself published. However, I'm not sure working towards it every day is feasible. So I should change my rules.

Every day I need to write something that I will want to get published. Contribute at least a little to it. This would be like the NaNoWriMo. I am not sure if I should put a minimum yet, but I need to try really hard towards it. If I don't write something, then I am actively trying to get published or managing publications.

Let's see if this works...

Perhaps I need an incentive. I've never been too good with giving myself incentives unfortunately. Right now we have budgeted a certain amount of "fun" money for my wife and me to use every month, $x each. I am having an incredibly hard time finding what I want to spend my money on. I thought about using it to get back into City of Heroes, a game I loved and played for... 5 years?... essentially since it started. Then I had to quit for money and time reasons. But I don't want to use my time in a game... so that also rules out Eve Online and any of a variety of PS3 and Mac games that I considered using my money on. I found a great board gaming group in the area, but the dues are expensive and I'm not sure I'm willing to use almost all of my spending money to, once again, play games (although they're social games). Then I wanted to get a Blue Tooth mouse, but so I really need it? My USB mouse works... I suppose there are a few books I should get, like the 2010 Guide to Literary Agents (I will have to ask my brother how to insert amazon ads so people can check it out). that might be the best use of my "fun" money, but it's more like a business expense. I even considered using it to contribute towards the webcomic my brother and I are trying to start. *sighs* Right now I'm unsure. I just shouldn't spend it on something that will waste my time. People may say I'm young, but I'm not, not for all the things I want to do. If I don't get started now, I'll never make it.

PS - anyone out there have the solo music to "Amie" by the Pure Prairie League for guitar in either tabulation or sheet?

First challenge

2010-01-18T20:03:00.000-08:00

It's only Day 3 and I've already been met with my first real challenge.

Today was rather busy. We drove 250+ miles and then I had to finish some work before tomorrow. I did not finish until it was already after 10, right around when I should be heading to bed. Then we assembled the item we'd purchased some 125+ miles away and here I am after 11 still up without having a single thing written or having done anything to further my goal.

....There. I did something. I found out that I will have to do a lot MORE searching to find an agent in my state. Perhaps I don't need one in my state. NY is where all the big boys play, right?

And now, for my next trick...

2010-01-17T10:20:00.000-08:00

Good morning Cybernauts!

After much thought and internal debate I have decided that as my second post, I should inform you, the world, about me, the writer. But first, there are a few things I feel that are worth mentioning.

Rule 6:

I must do something everyday, no matter how small, that brings me closer to getting published. It may be that this is in fact my daily writing, or it may be that this is making a call, looking up a name, researching an agent, or reading about other writers' experiences with getting published.

Exception to Rule 6:

Sundays can be difficult, particularly here in the South, when it comes to contacting anyone. It is also to be a day of rest. As such, I reserve the right to pursue another passion on this day instead of getting published.

And now, for your edification, I feel you all should know who am I, where I am coming from with this challenge, and what my circumstances are. In short, my dossier.

My name is Spencer Hixon. I lived in the northern Virginia area for 20 years, then got married and moved to the South in the pursuit of furthering my wife's education. She is behind me 100% on this. I have not listed her as a passion of my life because I see her as my support to help me on my journey to pursue my passions.

I went to George Mason University in Virginia where I earned a B.A. in English - Nonfiction Writing and Editing, but only after doing 2 full years as a Systems Engineering major. Why I changed is a long topic that I will avoid on this blog. As you might be able to discern, having a fair amount of engineering in my background (top of the class in engineering and physics classes) has affected the way I write and how I perceive and approach challenges in general. I am currently employed writing SEO content for hotels (if you do not know what this is, a quick search on your favorite search engine- I recommend goodsearch.com- will reveal the facts more succinctly than I can).

I am also a twin. Yes, identical; no, we don't share thoughts or pain. We just think and look alike. This is important to mention because my brother is an artist and we have begun collaborating on publishing webcomics, that is a comic book posted on the internet, and I am the writing force behind his current project and blog, Weakly Animated. For the purposes of my challenge, I will consider getting my webcomic published as fulfilling my goals, but it will not take precedence over getting published by other means. Our webcomic is currently set to be published on TangentArtists.com, a group my friends and I made for just such a purpose.

As far as my writing is concerned, I am very eclectic and have trouble narrowing myself down to one genre. I am currently working on a piece of historical fiction/suspense/horror and a creative nonfiction piece about a girl in the 80s dying of cancer. I have also written articles, a how-to guide, memoirs, fantasy, and even poetry, all of which has been published in some form (but I have yet to be paid for anything). I foresee this presenting some difficulty, but I know other successful writers have been able to overcome the genre issue.

I tend to prefer short stories, though I am also working on a novel. In my next post, I will update everyone as to where I am in my attempts to be published. Until then, happy surfing.

Prima Blogta

2010-01-16T14:56:00.000-08:00

Welcome, Cybernauts, to yet another writer's blog.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "I don't have time to read a blog. Most blogs fail. You're not even a published writer, why would I care what you have to say? Why don't people make pretzel-flavored beer?" Ok, perhaps you're not thinking that last part, and I'm not sure I can answer it. But I can address your other concerns.

First, of all, yes, you do have time to read a blog. And write a blog. And write a book. I'm not writing this to convince only you, but to convince myself as well. I was told long ago that a working man has only time for one passion in his life. And it is true that time constraints limit what you can do - unless your job is your passion, you need to be picky about what you do. But I don't completely believe this. I have 3 real passions in my life: playing guitar, writing, and helping others. I do not believe that I must give them up in order to simply live. Of course, you have to LOVE what it is you pursue, and you show this love by giving up your precious time to it. If you really want to read this blog or write a book or write a symphony or change the world, you need to just stop doing other things and dedicate your time to THAT. And don't make excuses, make solutions. Think of hardships as challenges to overcome which will, in the end, made victory all the sweeter. If you make excuses, you've already failed because you have the wrong mindset.

Secondly, yes, most blogs fail. Just take a look at the blogosphere and look at the sheer number of blogs that have ONE post in them, or the humber that have been abandoned. I am guilty of this! But there are also very successful blogs which have huge readerships and there's NO REASON why this blog cannot become one too.

Finally, I am and am not a published writer. To be a published writer, all you have to do is post on the internet. If you're reading this, that proved that I have been published. But the internet withstanding, I have also been published in several college-level publications, including a newspaper, 2 literary journals, and several articles in a magazine (which was my internship). But in the real sense of the word "published," that is being in print for a consumer to purchase and read, then no, I have not. But that is WHY you should try to read this blog.

If you love to write and want to become a writer as well, think of this blog as a series of lessons - Authorship 101. I will use this blog to update the internet (and, no, I have no illusions that I have a great audience at the moment) on my attempts to get published. First I should set aside some rules:

Rule number 1:

Writers write. I must try to write SOMETHING every day - something that is NOT related to my work. It may be a blog post, it may be short, or it may just be notes on research I am doing for my project, but I must write.

Rule number 2:

Publish or die. This axiom has been adopted by professors around the world. I will adopt it as well. Once I have a finished manuscript, I must send it off to publishers until I either get accepted or it has been rejected no less than 20 times.

Rule number 3:

Adopt, Adapt, and Improve. If something isn't working, change it. If my manuscript is rejected 20 times, perhaps it is time to gut it and recycle the parts into something that does work. If I get distracted too easily, I need to find out how to prevent this. If I find I don't have time, I must make time. If I laugh while drinking bubble tea, what comes out my nose?

Rule number 4:

Have fun. This is, after all, a passion. If I don't enjoy it, why am I doing it? Unless, of course, I am changing the world or helping others (which I do enjoy). If there is some part of the process of becoming a professional writer that I don't enjoy, I need to find out why not and address the issue, or just figure out how to do it faster and more efficiently so that I get back to the parts I do enjoy.

Rule number 5:

No excuses. "I was too tired to write," "my cat threw up on my computer," "I just died." All excuses, no matter how valid, are detrimental to pursuing your dreams. I cannot let any excuse stop me from going after my dreams.

Finally, Rule number 6:

If I find that I need another rule, I will make it.

For now, I will leave you, dear Blogosphere, to return to your regularly scheduled distractions and will return on the morrow.