A few words on Blinders, Part 1. This is the first half of a very short story I started several months ago. The first half has been re-edited to the point where it is almost unrecognizabe from the first draft. There is one sentence in there that I swear I have rewritten over thirty times. The second half of Part 1, I just sat down and wrote. I only went back through it once. I love how stories evolve in the process of telling them.
Some moments are stronger than others, but this is mainly an exercise in strengthening my own writing in both strength of prose and frequency. With that in mind, please drop me a comment in that entry. Hopefully it will be something constructive like: The dialog between Brok and Mordell was riveting, but Elder Futhark's part was rather stilted and all over the place. Or: There really wasn't much description past the first part. It was like you set the scene, but didn't follow through. I can't wait until the concluding part in two weeks... Ahem!
Ok, ok, I'll be more on-time next session. Things, as always, have been hectic. As an example, I worked two days in a row where I literally left work at three a.m., got three hours of sleep, and came back to work around 6:30 a.m. Two days in a row of that. Either side of this was padded by a ten-hour day and a seventeen-hour day. At least GenCon is coming up. W00t.
Also, I wanted to mention that my 5-year-old daughter made this comment yesterday: "You know what would be cool, Dad? It would be cool if there was a Waffle House that had a jukebox that played all of the songs from Guitar Hero Encore: Rocks the 80s on it. Especially Holy Diver and I Ran (So Far Away)." If you know my daughter, you know this is verbatim.
Proudest. Father. Ever.
Current Media:
Movies:
Chain Reaction
Flash Gordon
Minority Report
Books:
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling
The Difference Engine by William Gibson and Bruce Sterling
Sunday, August 12
Fiction: Blinders Pt. 1
Blinders
It was darker than it had been in months. Most of the others wouldn't be able to tell, even if they did dare to take off their blinders. Normally this would have excited Brok, but after tonight, it wouldn't matter. Nothing would matter any more.
The fireflies in the valley seemed to feel the coming change as well. Instead of slow swoops or lazy spirals they zipped from here to there with great energy. They even seemed to glow brighter, though it was hard to tell for sure.
Without wearing his blinders, his eyes were being exposed to the full array of the electromagnetic spectrum; ultraviolet, "visual" light, and, as with the blinders, infrared. The way all of the other colors mixed in with the infrared light made just looking at things overpowering with equal parts chaos and wonder. Nighttime, at least, was the easiest on his eyes. It was far less confusing, though no less delightful, when the sun had gone down and the only sources of light were the fireflies. Even the pale light of the moon could wash everything in waves of energy that made the valley difficult to look at.
Lately, it seemed, the cloudy nights mimicked his thoughts. After weeks of inner struggle, he had reluctantly come to accept a dark decision. Over those same weeks the sky grew dim as his mind clouded with the weight of what he was about to do. Normally Brok would take walks amongst the flying lights, but the once-intoxicating wonder of the bugs had lost its potency.
His resolution had made him sad and introverted. He found himself snapping at his friends for no apparent reason. He'd lost most of them by now but, oddly, he didn't care anymore. When his parents tried to question him about his behavior he would yell at them and leave the house. He used to get beatings for a thing like that, but now his parents were more likely to look at each other with worried faces.
It's probably all for the best, he thought. When the Midnight Council meets tonight, everything will change. The less people care about me, the less they will end up hurting in the end.
A noise behind him startled Brok, but he gave no outward sign of it. He lazily donned his blinders as a familiar shambling walk and its owner approached him.
"Brok! It's past curfew! Why are you out here so late? Are you trying to get a sick-day tomorrow?" a filthy and chronically upbeat young man asked.
Though no one could see into the mirrored surface of anyone's infra-goggles, Mordell could tell Brok was giving him a cold stare in response to his question. He'd seen this particular stare a lot over the past few weeks. Though it wasn't in his nature to be confrontational, Mordell, too, had made a decision. It was time to carry it out.
"Brok" he said, "I'm tired of this. You're going to get caught."
"You're out here too!" Brok snapped. He was suddenly very angry. He'd grown accustomed to being told what to do by the Elders, but he wasn't going to take it from anyone he didn't have to. What happened to Mordell? He used to be the most passive, easy-going guy he knew. Now he's turning on him, just like Brok's other "friends."
"That's not what I was talking about," Mordell shot back nervously, pointing to Brok's goggles. "Someone besides me is going to find out you've been taking off your infra-goggles. What if it wasn't me coming up the path? What if I was the Chief?"
"If you were the Chief," Brok sneered, "this whole place would have caved in years ago."
Mordell went rigid. Brok knew immediately that he had gone too far. It had been Mordell's dream since he was old enough to walk to become an Elder; maybe even Chief. And mentioning a cave-in...
Without a word, Mordell turned around and started back into the tunnels.
"Mordell!" Brok cried.
Mordell stopped walking.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, it's just that…"
"Brok," Mordell started in a weary tone, "I came out here tonight to tell you that Elder Futhark is looking for you. I also came to let you know that you are my friend."
Brok interrupted, "I know, Mordell, you're my friend too. I never meant…"
"I also wanted to let you know that the next time I see you without your infra-goggles, I am telling your parents. You've changed so much in the past few months that I don't even recognize you anymore. I want you the way you used to be. Before you chased the rest of our friends away. Before you changed." Mordell disappeared down the mouth of the tunnel.
Brok wanted to call after Mordell, tell him to come back. He wanted to threaten him not to tell anyone about taking off his blinders. He wanted to let Mordell know he was sorry. He wanted to let him in on his painful decision. He wanted to hit Mordell. He wanted to cry.
He did none of these things. What he wanted didn't matter anymore. He just stood dumbly beyond the entrance of the tunnel.
"That's enough, Brok," Elder Futhark said finally, "We'll save the rest for tomorrow."
The Elder watched his young acolyte with mixed emotions as Brok put the push broom back in the closet. Brok had always been his favorite pupil. He was smart, helpful, unselfish and very insightful. It was a pleasure to watch him grow into a young man.
Lately, however, Brok had been distant. He used to stop by unannounced to help clean the Outer Chambers of the Great Hall. Now he would only come when he had been requested. This was the first time Elder Futhark had seen Brok in weeks. He had hoped Brok would have recovered from the accident by now, but instead of returning to his old self, he seemed to be slipping into a place of self-pitying isolation. Mordell was much better now and it was Mordell's brother, Misso, who had died in the cave-in. Elder Futhark wondered why Brok wasn't more like Mordell. He thought about that for a second and chuckled out loud.
"Sir?" Brok looked up.
"Oh, something just struck my funny-bone, Brok. Come, have a seat."
Brok sat down on his old seat. It was a simple wooden chair, varnished with the backsides of dozens of youths over many years. The old seat creaked and Elder Futhark's bones seemed to respond in kind when he sat himself down.
"I was just thinking about you and Mordell."
Brok frowned slightly.
"I was just thinking about how I wish you were more like him."
Brok raised his eyebrows.
"Heh, I know. You are the one with good grades. You are the one who is naturally good with a ball. You don't go around tripping over nothing or wetting yourself when you are frightened. But Mordell does have is the ability to move on. He was in the cave-in too, remember. It was his brother who died. He, at least, is trying to go back to the way things were, but without a best friend, it's hard." Elder Futhark paused. He watched Brok's face harden. Brok turned his eyes to the low, tiled ceiling. Elder Futhark said "I know how you must feel."
"You have no idea!" Brok exploded, whipping his eyes back to the Elder's startled face. "You think I hate myself for letting Misso die, don't you? You think I blame myself for his death? You think I can't stop thinking about it, that I see it in my head every time I close my eyes? Or maybe you think my brain just can't cope with the loss of a close friend. Is that it?"
"It is nothing to be ashamed about, Brok, you're not the first person to lose..."
"You have no idea how wrong you are. You have no idea what's going on."
"Then tell me. Let me help you." said the Elder. His weary eyes pleaded with Brok.
Almost it seemed that Brok would tell him. There was a moment where Brok the Pupil almost appeared. Brok the Curious almost pushed through and relieved his burden on his old mentor.
Almost.
"No," Brok whispered.
Elder Futhark sighed. "Very well. If I can't get through to you alone, we will have to meet with your parents."
"When?" asked Brok, apprehensively.
"Tomorrow," replied the Elder, in his most stern voice. "Whether you like it or not, it's for the best. I cannot in good conscience let you continue down the path you have chosen. We will meet tomorrow."
Brok seemed to relax. "Fine. Tomorrow, then."
This threw the Elder off guard. He expected a fight. When he told Brok about the meeting set for the next day, he was prepared for a shouting match that might escalate to physical violence, on Brok's part. There were even guards waiting his call a few chambers down, just in case. Did his advice work? Was Brok reverting back to the young man he once was?
"Can I go now?" Brok asked.
"I can't see any reason to keep you any longer," Elder Futhark said, and it was true. He would have liked keep Brok there to probe, to lecture more, to find out what was going on, but could see no excuse so he let him go. He hadn't needed the guards and Brok had agreed amiably enough. Why did he still feel uneasy?
Sunday, July 29
SteamPunk Discoveries
Three weeks ago I made a discovery. First, though, some background.
Computers are my occupation. I create Flash animations for kiosks, websites, banner ads (yes, even the annoying ones) and desktop applications for a business to business company. I am writing this blog on my home computer, where I keep pictures, home movies, and funny PhotoShopped images. When computer components go out on my machine, I know just what part are compatible to the defunct component. I can even manually rid my computer of tenacious destructo-viruses, cleaning up all traces from the registry. I can do all of these things, but the computer is still just a computer; a cold, calculating, detached machine that does exactly what I tell it to do without emotion and without adventure.
Animatronics, on the other hand, are the computer's foil. These mechanical creations seem to have a life of their own, but owe their jerky, sometimes life-like movement to nothing but gears and sprockets. Sometimes they do what you tell them to do. Other times, their temperaments are such that they seem to be defying you on purpose in anger over some imagined slight. Banging on a purely mechanical creation could favor you with a surprising last-minute "burp" of energy, enough to coax that last cog into place. Try banging on your printer sometime; see if it produces that document you sent an hour ago.
Gears fascinate me. Steam engines and magnets are like real-life magic that I can grasp from top to bottom. Computers, I get, but not in the same big-picture kind of way. I get how electricity wants to run down the path of least resistance in circuitry and I get how the electron flow represents "on" or "one" when it is present, but "off" or "zero" when it is not. I took Circuit Analysis I and II when I was still of the mind to be a Computer Engineer. I suppose I wanted to bridge the gap between flowing electrons and creating animated GIFs. I still can not close the hole between electrical subroutines and logical computer-based ones. I can use either one, (I may be a little rusty on the electrical side) but I cannot mentally connect them. While computers assist me with my daily work and home life, I have no special place in my heart for them. The same does not hold true for mechanical gadgetry.
This love for gears, steam, and magnets, has led me to be enamored with movies such as League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Wild Wild West (I have not seen it, but still want to in spite of unanimous consent of the atrocity this film is to movie-making), Steamboy Suchîmubôi), Howl's Moving Castle (Hauru no ugoku shiro), Sleepy Hollow, Edward Scissorhands, The Time Machine, The Adventures of Baron Munchhausen, and Back to the Future Part III. I also enjoy Bowler Hats, cloaks and non-modern facial hair. I've had several pocket watches. I have a special place for brass, goggles, pin-stripes, rivets, Victorian-styled images (yes, all of this has relevance!), analog tube-radio machines, and old, dusty bookshelves of dark wood. Gnomes are also my favorite characters to play in World of Warcraft.
Why is all of this significant?
Three weeks ago I made a discovery. All of this fascination can be poured into one container: the sub-genre of SteamPunk. Without going into too much detail (just go to the Wikipedia link if you want to know more) SteamPunk is the sub-genre of speculative fiction that involves 19th century technologies in Victorian England. Much of SteamPunk (particularly the things with which I am enthralled) has to do with advanced versions of those technologies that our past never saw. Steam-powered versions of the individual automobile or a country-wide pneumatic tube transportation system, for examples. I found a name for all the little things with which I have felt a kinship for quite a while.
I keep up to date with modern occurrences of SteamPunk by reading Blogs such as Brass Goggles and Cabinet of Wonders. Now that I have been soaking in the steam of punkiness for a bit now, I decided to make a contribution back to the community. I spent this last week creating a SteamPunk-themed skin for iGoogle. Here's a picture:
Not much can be gotten from this image, but It is resplendent with SteamPunky goodness. The background is of Victorian wallpaper, there are brass goggles in the Google logo and the gears even move in the background. This skin has gained a great amount in popularity in the short time that it has existed. I have received emails from strangers praising it and it has even appeared in the forum of one of the afore-mentioned blogs. Yea! The web is a wonderful place!
Computers are my occupation. I create Flash animations for kiosks, websites, banner ads (yes, even the annoying ones) and desktop applications for a business to business company. I am writing this blog on my home computer, where I keep pictures, home movies, and funny PhotoShopped images. When computer components go out on my machine, I know just what part are compatible to the defunct component. I can even manually rid my computer of tenacious destructo-viruses, cleaning up all traces from the registry. I can do all of these things, but the computer is still just a computer; a cold, calculating, detached machine that does exactly what I tell it to do without emotion and without adventure.
Animatronics, on the other hand, are the computer's foil. These mechanical creations seem to have a life of their own, but owe their jerky, sometimes life-like movement to nothing but gears and sprockets. Sometimes they do what you tell them to do. Other times, their temperaments are such that they seem to be defying you on purpose in anger over some imagined slight. Banging on a purely mechanical creation could favor you with a surprising last-minute "burp" of energy, enough to coax that last cog into place. Try banging on your printer sometime; see if it produces that document you sent an hour ago.
Gears fascinate me. Steam engines and magnets are like real-life magic that I can grasp from top to bottom. Computers, I get, but not in the same big-picture kind of way. I get how electricity wants to run down the path of least resistance in circuitry and I get how the electron flow represents "on" or "one" when it is present, but "off" or "zero" when it is not. I took Circuit Analysis I and II when I was still of the mind to be a Computer Engineer. I suppose I wanted to bridge the gap between flowing electrons and creating animated GIFs. I still can not close the hole between electrical subroutines and logical computer-based ones. I can use either one, (I may be a little rusty on the electrical side) but I cannot mentally connect them. While computers assist me with my daily work and home life, I have no special place in my heart for them. The same does not hold true for mechanical gadgetry.
This love for gears, steam, and magnets, has led me to be enamored with movies such as League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Wild Wild West (I have not seen it, but still want to in spite of unanimous consent of the atrocity this film is to movie-making), Steamboy Suchîmubôi), Howl's Moving Castle (Hauru no ugoku shiro), Sleepy Hollow, Edward Scissorhands, The Time Machine, The Adventures of Baron Munchhausen, and Back to the Future Part III. I also enjoy Bowler Hats, cloaks and non-modern facial hair. I've had several pocket watches. I have a special place for brass, goggles, pin-stripes, rivets, Victorian-styled images (yes, all of this has relevance!), analog tube-radio machines, and old, dusty bookshelves of dark wood. Gnomes are also my favorite characters to play in World of Warcraft.
Why is all of this significant?
Three weeks ago I made a discovery. All of this fascination can be poured into one container: the sub-genre of SteamPunk. Without going into too much detail (just go to the Wikipedia link if you want to know more) SteamPunk is the sub-genre of speculative fiction that involves 19th century technologies in Victorian England. Much of SteamPunk (particularly the things with which I am enthralled) has to do with advanced versions of those technologies that our past never saw. Steam-powered versions of the individual automobile or a country-wide pneumatic tube transportation system, for examples. I found a name for all the little things with which I have felt a kinship for quite a while.
I keep up to date with modern occurrences of SteamPunk by reading Blogs such as Brass Goggles and Cabinet of Wonders. Now that I have been soaking in the steam of punkiness for a bit now, I decided to make a contribution back to the community. I spent this last week creating a SteamPunk-themed skin for iGoogle. Here's a picture:
Not much can be gotten from this image, but It is resplendent with SteamPunky goodness. The background is of Victorian wallpaper, there are brass goggles in the Google logo and the gears even move in the background. This skin has gained a great amount in popularity in the short time that it has existed. I have received emails from strangers praising it and it has even appeared in the forum of one of the afore-mentioned blogs. Yea! The web is a wonderful place!
Thursday, July 19
Farewell Fat
We had a "Biggest Loser" contest at work to see who can lose the most weight (by percentage) in twelve weeks. It ended on Monday and I came in fourth out of about twelve men (the women had a separate contest). Although I did not win all the prize money ($350) I did lose 32.4 lbs, reducing me by 14.74% of my original weight. At 187.4, I weigh less than I did in my junior year in high school. Not bad for the $25 entry fee!
For those of you who want to know the secret, I am happy to report that it is neither complicated nor difficult. I use an elliptical machine every other morning (I go a little over 4.5 miles and burn almost 450 calories in 25 minutes) and eat reduced portions while passively watching my fat intake (like not eating ice cream every night).
Oh, and Happy Birthday Tara and Joe!
Current Media:
Books:
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling
A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking
For those of you who want to know the secret, I am happy to report that it is neither complicated nor difficult. I use an elliptical machine every other morning (I go a little over 4.5 miles and burn almost 450 calories in 25 minutes) and eat reduced portions while passively watching my fat intake (like not eating ice cream every night).
Oh, and Happy Birthday Tara and Joe!
-B. Wally
Current Media:
Books:
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling
A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking
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