I figured I wrote enough stories from dreams lately, so it would make sense to mix things up and write a story about dreams this time.
Tele-Reality Conference Call
Melinda was not having the best day. It was the end of the quarter, profits were down, and the future of her business rode on the success of a single business venture. And Todd, the hypothetical brains behind the entire venture, was on the other side of the world, which rather inconveniently still lingered around 2 am while she and the rest of her department was ready for their afternoon business meeting.
Melinda looked around her office and sighed. Todd promised he would attend the meeting via remote access, but it's been almost twenty minutes since the meeting started and still no sign of him. She already called him twice and got no response. The fool must have fallen asleep, she figured. She looked over the table full of eager yet terrified underlines and said, “Sorry, people. I know we're days before deadline, but there's not much point in even having this discussion without Todd present. I'll just have to postpone the meeting and hope that...”
“No, wait! I'm here, I'm here!” Todd, or rather the monitor that Todd should be connected to, burst into life. Todd was visibly on the other end, but something looked … off about him. “Sorry I'm late, Melinda. I'm using a new networking tool and it took a while for me to figure it out.”
“Better late than never,” Melinda warned, “but not by much. I worried you fell asleep.”
“Oh, I did!” Todd said. “Still am, actually. But it's fine. I got the Dreamchat all set up last night, just in case that happened.”
The rest of the table turned into a cacophony of whispers and questions. Melinda did her best to ignore them. “I'm sorry, are you seriously trying to speak to us through your dreams?”
“Not through, exactly,” Todd insisted. “More like I happened to be in a dream, while talking to you. I assure you, my mind is as active and focused as always. The Dreamchat auto-initiates lucid dreaming. Just treat this as any other business chat, except I'm talking to you on the back of a flying purple walrus.”
Now that she thought about it, she did hear about this Dreamchat system. But she thought it was still in the prototype phase, waiting for enough idiots dumb enough to expose their inner minds to the world at large. And speaking of expose, she just realized what looked off about Todd.
“Todd, are you NAKED?”
He looked down and blushed. “Oh, crap,” he said. “I'm sorry. You know those dreams where you're back at school and suddenly have to take a test you didn't prepare for, and also you're naked? My subconsciousness must have thought this was one of those dreams.”
“Well, dream yourself some clothes,” Melinda demanded. “I don't care if you're in the office or on the back of a fantasy mammal, you will honor our dress code.” As she ordered her subordinate, however, Melinda noticed a dark figure looming over him. “Todd, look out!”
Todd whirled around, gasped, and fled away from the … camera. Melinda suddenly wondered how the camera could possibly work in this scenario, but they had bigger problems. The evil presence chased Todd to the edge of the walrus and drew ever closer, giggling in a sinister but scratchy voice.
“Todd, what the hell is that?”
“It's my childhood fear,” Todd explained. “Dirk Tinglestar, the evil cowboy clown.”
“That's right, little Toddy,” Dirk laughed. “Now reach for the sky! It's time for you to face me, or it's for you to die!”
Melinda tried to take this seriously, but she couldn't suppress the giggle. “Dirk Tinglestar? Really?”
“Yeah, you know, black hat, white face,” Todd nervously explained. “I've had nightmares about him ever since I was six, when I thought I saw him looming outside my bedroom one night. It turned out to just be a jacket hanging in the hallway, but try telling my subconscious that!”
Dirk, meanwhile, finally noticed Melinda and the rest of the increasingly confused businesspeople on the other side of reality, and left Todd alone to creep towards them. “Oh, we have guests for tonight's show! Just for them, I'll make sure you die extra slow.” As Dirk got closer to the camera though, he frowned. “What's all this?” he snarled.
“Sir, if you would please stop tormenting my director of new business!,” Melinda said, using her best executive tone of voice. “He is a grown man, not a child for you to bully, and we do not have the time for this. If we can't get this deal finished, then we'll be in the red, which will greatly displease me. And then you AND Todd will have a much bigger nightmare to deal with, capiche?”
Dirk drew even closer, until a single hideous eye dominated the screen. “Oh, no, this won't do at all,” Dirk said. “Little Toddy didn't account for growth in the public sector. If you ignore that, your profits will soon fall.”
“He didn't what?” Melinda turned back tot he table, where all the materials Todd should have needed for the presentation were scattered across the table. She gave them a cursory glance and realized the evil dream cowboy clown was right. “Oh, that's an excellent point,” she said. “What's your opinion on market change in the next fiscal year?”
Before Dirk could respond, though, he vanished, replaced again by Todd. “Sorry about that,” Todd shouted. “It's okay, I got away. Dirk shouldn't bother us again tonight.”
Melinda did her best to hide her disappointment. Besides, it sounded like Todd had another problem she would have to deal with. “Todd, I can barely hear you. What is all that whistling in the background?”
Todd looked around and shrugged. “Oh, I seem to be falling to my death,” he explained. “Not a problem. Judging by the distance to the ground, I should have a good five or ten minutes before I reach the ground. And everyone knows that you never actually die in a falling dream.”
“Well, when you wake up, would you care to join us on the call in the real world?” she asked.
“Oh, you don't want that,” Todd assured her. “I'm useless right after I wake up. Give me some time to get a few cups of coffee, and I'll call you back then.”
Melinda held her hand to her forehead. Twenty minutes late, ten minutes of this nonsense, and she knows that Todd would be at least half an hour before he can drag himself to a physical computer. “Never mind, Todd,” she told him. “Just go back to bed.”
“Oh, okay?” Todd said, confused. “But I thought this meeting was mandatory.”
“Oh, it is,” she told him. “So get your ass back here as soon as you start dreaming again. And could you do us a favor and dream of Dirk again? He sounded like he had some insights we could use.”
“Are you serious?” Todd yelled. “Ma'am, Dirk is a nightmarish apparition, the total of my darkest instincts and fears.”
“I'm an equal opportunity employer, Todd. I don't care about whether you technically exist or not. I just care if you can get results.”
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Friday, May 16, 2014
Cut it out
Writing is re-writing, and re-writing is cutting.
As a young man once said to me, "Get aggressive with it." At the time it was an incredibly stupid thing to say, given the situation. But that was then, and this is now. So, dig out the scissors and X-acto blades, ruler and tape from the back of that junk drawer because it's hacking time.
Was it Germanicus that once said "Fortune favors the bold?" Doubtful, but we'll pretend he did. Have no fear and remove that lovely prose you are so proud of. Destroy every adverb. Insist on being succinct. Be gruntled in your gratuitous expenditure of destruction.
That all sounds like fun, but why? You have spent time believing what you wrote is worthy for others to read, right? Think of this as mining. You have a lovely pile of coal, which in itself is quite wonderful. Getting it out of the mountain is a huge accomplishment. And yes, coal is a valuable commodity; someone will buy it. But that's not why you are here. Simply providing something for the masses will only yield "something". No, you want the diamonds that are hidden in that dark heap of words. You want the real value of what you have. So be bold young man. Get aggressive with it.
Just make sure you have a great backup!
Other blog posts by Eric Michalsen
As a young man once said to me, "Get aggressive with it." At the time it was an incredibly stupid thing to say, given the situation. But that was then, and this is now. So, dig out the scissors and X-acto blades, ruler and tape from the back of that junk drawer because it's hacking time.
Was it Germanicus that once said "Fortune favors the bold?" Doubtful, but we'll pretend he did. Have no fear and remove that lovely prose you are so proud of. Destroy every adverb. Insist on being succinct. Be gruntled in your gratuitous expenditure of destruction.
That all sounds like fun, but why? You have spent time believing what you wrote is worthy for others to read, right? Think of this as mining. You have a lovely pile of coal, which in itself is quite wonderful. Getting it out of the mountain is a huge accomplishment. And yes, coal is a valuable commodity; someone will buy it. But that's not why you are here. Simply providing something for the masses will only yield "something". No, you want the diamonds that are hidden in that dark heap of words. You want the real value of what you have. So be bold young man. Get aggressive with it.
Just make sure you have a great backup!
Other blog posts by Eric Michalsen
- Tools of the Trade part 1 Pen Paper / Sublime Text
- Tools of the Trade part 2 Open Office / Trello
- Tools of the Trade part 3 Ommwriter / Scrivener
- Website Development and SEO Basics for Writers
- Git and the Writer
- Twitter Tools for Writers
- Kickstarter :: How it is being used by writers
Follow Eric on Twitter @michalsen or catch up on his rantings at his blog.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Dreamleaks 3: The Lady of Derrenth
I never had a home as a child. Not one that lasted long enough for us to call it a home, at least. See, my parents traveled all the time, and that meant that my sister (Diana) and I (Stuart) had to go with them. If they were acrobats or rock stars or something, the cool factor would have made up for all the other ways this stunk a bit. But they weren't. They were financial consultants or something. I never understood the details as a kid. And now, I just preferred not to find out.
But there was a time when we found a home, however briefly. Not on purpose, though. It was a summer twenty years ago, when I was twelve and my sister ten. For three glorious weeks, we got to stay put in the tiny seaport of Deacon's Wharf. My aunt and uncle had a house there with a couple spare rooms, and financial consultants or something are not the type to turn down free stuff, so there we stayed. Its probably the lost childhood talking, but I remember Deacon's Wharf as some idyllic small town, like something out of a history book. Our cottage was barely a block from the beach of an enormous bay that the entire town had been built around. As the land rose up near the bay into a series of cliffs, the town followed. I could still remember the bustling main street far above the water, and the trains that made their way to town, their plumes steams visible from miles away.
We had our fun in Deacon's Wharf and the beaches. No to mention staying a real house for a while, playing with the toys that my cousins had long outgrown. But we knew it wouldn't really be a home. Not for us. My parents warned us that as soon as their business in town had finished, we would take the next train out, no questions asked. That fact haunted us the entire time, an ambiguous deadline that we could never forget. Never, that is, except when we went into the woods.
If the town came from ancient history, that forest came from a storybook. I've been in a lot of forests after that summer, both as a kid and after I grew up, and none of them felt like how a woods should be. Too many bugs and thorns, too many boring fields and brambles. Being in the Derrenth Woods, the one next to Deacon's Wharf, felt like being in another world. One that never would let you forget that you were an alien, that you were not meant to be here. But, if you meant it no harm, the Derrenth Woods would welcome you as a guest into its home. Or should I say her home.
The first time we saw her must have been at least a week after we arrived. By then, any moment we could get away from our parents, we went to the woods. Sometimes we ate lunch there, but mostly we just explored, climbing trees, and discovering the wood's mysteries. This time, its mysteries discovered us. The Lady of Derrenth (that was all the name she ever gave us,) had bright green hair with streaks of red. But it never looked dyed or artificial; nothing about her ever looked that way. I wondered sometimes how it would have looked if we met her some other season. Would it have turned more orange and golden in the fall? Or would she go bald in winter? Kind of glad I didn't get an answer on that one.
Not that her hair was her only unusual trait. She always wore a shimmery blue-green dress, one that flowed like nothing I had ever seen before or since. It was like water made into fabric. The only other glowing she wore were shoes, if you could all them that. More like hardened mud semi-encased in a shell of wood.
The Lady of Derrenth was sort of like that herself. She had a hard or stern look about her, but she never treated us as anything less than kindly. Especially Diana, though that hadn't been any surprise. When we first saw her, leaning on a tree and staring into a pond like her life depended on it, I just watched her, shocked and entranced. My sister, however, skipped right up to her and shook the Lady's hand. “Hi, I'm Diana!” she chirped. “What's your name?”
The Lady looked as surprised to see us as we were at seeing her, but she managed just the faintest of smiles. “It's strange to receive visitors,” she said, notably not answering my sister's question. “Most of your people have learned to avoid the woods.”
My sister gave the Lady a funny look. “Oh, we just visiting some relatives while my stupid parents have to work,” said. “Why wouldn't people want to visit here? This place is awesome!”
The Lady's smile grew wider for just an instant, and then vanished entirely. “Not all that inspires awe also brings joy,” was all she said. “But you are kind. I thought we had visitors in these recent days, and it is good to meet you. But I fear I can't be the best host. The fall comes soon, and with it the harvest. I have much work to do before then.”
“Can I help?” Diana asked. By this time, fear had started to override surprise. Yes, this had been a nice woods to explore, but if the townsfolk didn't come out here, maybe they did for a reason. My child side assumed that this woman was something fantastic, a creature of the woods. But at that age, my child voice had already started to fade, and my rational side worried that this was some crazy hermit. I considered grabbing Diana's hand and dragging her home, then telling our parents and possibly even the police who we saw. But I didn't. My child's voice hadn't been silenced completely, and so a part of me still wanted to believe.
But I resolved that as long as Diana was in the woods, I would never let her out of my sight again, at least not while the Lady was around. For the first couple of days, their activities seemed pretty innocuous. We watched the animals, sometimes staying behind while the Lady went out to greet them, or carved patterns into the ground. Or Diana would tie a string around a tree, one laden with decorations and even some of the Lady's hair. I had no idea what it meant, and the Lady never explained herself. Until that one day when we stayed in the woods until it had gotten dark. Not something we normally did, but then, it never got dark at two pm before.
This time, the Lady grabbed us and warned, “We have to leave, right now. The harvest has come.”
“What?” I protested. I barely ever spoke to the Lady before this, and I certainly never argued with her, but I could feel something off, like my worst fears were about to be confirmed. “It's barely August. Who harvests so early? And more importantly, who harvests a woods?”
“Only one being,” she assured me. “The Harvester.” She wouldn't explain further, just pulled us a long with a strength nobody could imagine such a frail woman could possess. Instead of taking us out of the woods, however, she pulled us farther in, well past where we had ever gone before, and then down – down into caves I didn't know this forest even had. We found ourselves in an underground cavern, one containing a tiny village and an enormous lake. An enormous lake, I should add, that floated above us.
“What's going on?” I asked, but the Lady didn't really have to explain. Besides the massive violation of physics going on above our heads, the village soon exploded with activity, as its people emerged from the houses to greet our host. Each proved my child-side right. I saw all manner of faerie creatures: tiny people with wings, people with bark for skin and leaves for hair, animals with the light of intelligence behind their eyes, floating beings of substances I had never seen before.
My question ceased to matter and I contented myself with stammering like an idiot. Diana just rolled her eyes and said, “What did you think this was about, dork?”
“Hey!”
The Lady held up her hand before the worst-timed sibling argument could begin. “Please, not here. We have enough discord in the Derrenth now anyways.”
“Do you mean the Harvester?” I asked. “What is he?”
The Lady shook her head. “I do not know, exactly. At first I believed it to be a spirit of your cities, one who sought the dominance of the artificial over the world of old. But now that I felt his nature, I felt a bit of our own within it. Perhaps it had once been of the forest, but the desire for power drew him to monstrous sources. Whatever the form of his power, he found it. When he first came to Derrenth, I gathered forces to drive him off. I was, I feared, to reckless and arrogant. I thought too little of his threat. You see, I had an army at my side. The Harvester only brought one.”
“What happened?” Diana asked.
“One,” she mourned, “had been enough. The Harvester's champion had skin as hard as metal, and no force could even hinder it. Worse, as it swept through our forces, it attacked the very spirit of its enemies, the thing that kept them alive. Without even being touched, my people – destroyed themselves. They plunged against each other, dove off cliffs, or simply dissolved into nothingness. I did the only thing I could and ordered a retreat. For all of that autumn and winter, the Harvester held dominance in our land. When spring came, he simply vanished, but I always knew he would return. And this time, he would not just claim this land as his. He would twist it into something new, something my people and I could not survive.”
I felt a shudder and saw the lake above us ripple. The Lady drew a breath. “It appears that he has left, for now at least. I should see you home. It would be wise if you did not return to the Woods again. Especially not tomorrow.”
“Why, what's tomorrow?” I asked.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “The battle we had been preparing for will begin. I can't say we will win, only that we have no other choice. Regardless of what happened, I won't have you see the result.”
She led us out of the woods, which had again returned to light as if nothing had happened. But we felt an unease around us, one brought silence to the animals and left the entire woods as quiet as a tomb. When we got home, we promised each other that whatever the Lady warned us, we would return to the forest tomorrow, to see what happened and how we could help the Lady.
The next morning, the train came. I could hear the roar of the engine long before it arrived at the station. We had barely woken up when our parents ordered us to start packing. If they had their way, we would be gone in an hour.
I couldn't let that happen. Before we even left our room, I told my sister, “Go. Get to the woods.”
“What?” she said. “What about you?”
“I'll do the only thing I can,” I told her. “Stall.”
And so, while she snuck out the window, I groaned and whined like the teenager I soon would be. I pretended to be asleep, I took a shower that was so long I think my bones wrinkled, and I insisted on one last breakfast, one last swim, one last everything before we left.
And … that's the story. If I was the hero, I would tell you how it ended. But I wasn't. I didn't greet the Lady, I didn't believe in her right away, I didn't offer to help. Diana was gone for the entire morning. When she returned, her clothes was shredded and she had a number of nasty cuts and bruises, but she didn't have any physical harm to show for it. Any anger our parents had built up faded when they realized she was missing and turned to relief when she came back okay. But I saw the look in her eyes on her return. Something had changed.
She refused to tell me what, or give me any details. When we finally had a moment along, all she would whisper is “We won.” That's all. We never returned to Deacon's Wharf as children again. And the few times I visited, I barely could look at the woods, let alone go inside. Diana, on the other hand – I think a part of her never really left the woods. When my aunt and uncle passed away, she bought their old home and started a new life there. But from what I heard, she barely even used it. No, she spent all of her time elsewhere. In Derrenth.
But there was a time when we found a home, however briefly. Not on purpose, though. It was a summer twenty years ago, when I was twelve and my sister ten. For three glorious weeks, we got to stay put in the tiny seaport of Deacon's Wharf. My aunt and uncle had a house there with a couple spare rooms, and financial consultants or something are not the type to turn down free stuff, so there we stayed. Its probably the lost childhood talking, but I remember Deacon's Wharf as some idyllic small town, like something out of a history book. Our cottage was barely a block from the beach of an enormous bay that the entire town had been built around. As the land rose up near the bay into a series of cliffs, the town followed. I could still remember the bustling main street far above the water, and the trains that made their way to town, their plumes steams visible from miles away.
We had our fun in Deacon's Wharf and the beaches. No to mention staying a real house for a while, playing with the toys that my cousins had long outgrown. But we knew it wouldn't really be a home. Not for us. My parents warned us that as soon as their business in town had finished, we would take the next train out, no questions asked. That fact haunted us the entire time, an ambiguous deadline that we could never forget. Never, that is, except when we went into the woods.
If the town came from ancient history, that forest came from a storybook. I've been in a lot of forests after that summer, both as a kid and after I grew up, and none of them felt like how a woods should be. Too many bugs and thorns, too many boring fields and brambles. Being in the Derrenth Woods, the one next to Deacon's Wharf, felt like being in another world. One that never would let you forget that you were an alien, that you were not meant to be here. But, if you meant it no harm, the Derrenth Woods would welcome you as a guest into its home. Or should I say her home.
The first time we saw her must have been at least a week after we arrived. By then, any moment we could get away from our parents, we went to the woods. Sometimes we ate lunch there, but mostly we just explored, climbing trees, and discovering the wood's mysteries. This time, its mysteries discovered us. The Lady of Derrenth (that was all the name she ever gave us,) had bright green hair with streaks of red. But it never looked dyed or artificial; nothing about her ever looked that way. I wondered sometimes how it would have looked if we met her some other season. Would it have turned more orange and golden in the fall? Or would she go bald in winter? Kind of glad I didn't get an answer on that one.
Not that her hair was her only unusual trait. She always wore a shimmery blue-green dress, one that flowed like nothing I had ever seen before or since. It was like water made into fabric. The only other glowing she wore were shoes, if you could all them that. More like hardened mud semi-encased in a shell of wood.
The Lady of Derrenth was sort of like that herself. She had a hard or stern look about her, but she never treated us as anything less than kindly. Especially Diana, though that hadn't been any surprise. When we first saw her, leaning on a tree and staring into a pond like her life depended on it, I just watched her, shocked and entranced. My sister, however, skipped right up to her and shook the Lady's hand. “Hi, I'm Diana!” she chirped. “What's your name?”
The Lady looked as surprised to see us as we were at seeing her, but she managed just the faintest of smiles. “It's strange to receive visitors,” she said, notably not answering my sister's question. “Most of your people have learned to avoid the woods.”
My sister gave the Lady a funny look. “Oh, we just visiting some relatives while my stupid parents have to work,” said. “Why wouldn't people want to visit here? This place is awesome!”
The Lady's smile grew wider for just an instant, and then vanished entirely. “Not all that inspires awe also brings joy,” was all she said. “But you are kind. I thought we had visitors in these recent days, and it is good to meet you. But I fear I can't be the best host. The fall comes soon, and with it the harvest. I have much work to do before then.”
“Can I help?” Diana asked. By this time, fear had started to override surprise. Yes, this had been a nice woods to explore, but if the townsfolk didn't come out here, maybe they did for a reason. My child side assumed that this woman was something fantastic, a creature of the woods. But at that age, my child voice had already started to fade, and my rational side worried that this was some crazy hermit. I considered grabbing Diana's hand and dragging her home, then telling our parents and possibly even the police who we saw. But I didn't. My child's voice hadn't been silenced completely, and so a part of me still wanted to believe.
But I resolved that as long as Diana was in the woods, I would never let her out of my sight again, at least not while the Lady was around. For the first couple of days, their activities seemed pretty innocuous. We watched the animals, sometimes staying behind while the Lady went out to greet them, or carved patterns into the ground. Or Diana would tie a string around a tree, one laden with decorations and even some of the Lady's hair. I had no idea what it meant, and the Lady never explained herself. Until that one day when we stayed in the woods until it had gotten dark. Not something we normally did, but then, it never got dark at two pm before.
This time, the Lady grabbed us and warned, “We have to leave, right now. The harvest has come.”
“What?” I protested. I barely ever spoke to the Lady before this, and I certainly never argued with her, but I could feel something off, like my worst fears were about to be confirmed. “It's barely August. Who harvests so early? And more importantly, who harvests a woods?”
“Only one being,” she assured me. “The Harvester.” She wouldn't explain further, just pulled us a long with a strength nobody could imagine such a frail woman could possess. Instead of taking us out of the woods, however, she pulled us farther in, well past where we had ever gone before, and then down – down into caves I didn't know this forest even had. We found ourselves in an underground cavern, one containing a tiny village and an enormous lake. An enormous lake, I should add, that floated above us.
“What's going on?” I asked, but the Lady didn't really have to explain. Besides the massive violation of physics going on above our heads, the village soon exploded with activity, as its people emerged from the houses to greet our host. Each proved my child-side right. I saw all manner of faerie creatures: tiny people with wings, people with bark for skin and leaves for hair, animals with the light of intelligence behind their eyes, floating beings of substances I had never seen before.
My question ceased to matter and I contented myself with stammering like an idiot. Diana just rolled her eyes and said, “What did you think this was about, dork?”
“Hey!”
The Lady held up her hand before the worst-timed sibling argument could begin. “Please, not here. We have enough discord in the Derrenth now anyways.”
“Do you mean the Harvester?” I asked. “What is he?”
The Lady shook her head. “I do not know, exactly. At first I believed it to be a spirit of your cities, one who sought the dominance of the artificial over the world of old. But now that I felt his nature, I felt a bit of our own within it. Perhaps it had once been of the forest, but the desire for power drew him to monstrous sources. Whatever the form of his power, he found it. When he first came to Derrenth, I gathered forces to drive him off. I was, I feared, to reckless and arrogant. I thought too little of his threat. You see, I had an army at my side. The Harvester only brought one.”
“What happened?” Diana asked.
“One,” she mourned, “had been enough. The Harvester's champion had skin as hard as metal, and no force could even hinder it. Worse, as it swept through our forces, it attacked the very spirit of its enemies, the thing that kept them alive. Without even being touched, my people – destroyed themselves. They plunged against each other, dove off cliffs, or simply dissolved into nothingness. I did the only thing I could and ordered a retreat. For all of that autumn and winter, the Harvester held dominance in our land. When spring came, he simply vanished, but I always knew he would return. And this time, he would not just claim this land as his. He would twist it into something new, something my people and I could not survive.”
I felt a shudder and saw the lake above us ripple. The Lady drew a breath. “It appears that he has left, for now at least. I should see you home. It would be wise if you did not return to the Woods again. Especially not tomorrow.”
“Why, what's tomorrow?” I asked.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “The battle we had been preparing for will begin. I can't say we will win, only that we have no other choice. Regardless of what happened, I won't have you see the result.”
She led us out of the woods, which had again returned to light as if nothing had happened. But we felt an unease around us, one brought silence to the animals and left the entire woods as quiet as a tomb. When we got home, we promised each other that whatever the Lady warned us, we would return to the forest tomorrow, to see what happened and how we could help the Lady.
The next morning, the train came. I could hear the roar of the engine long before it arrived at the station. We had barely woken up when our parents ordered us to start packing. If they had their way, we would be gone in an hour.
I couldn't let that happen. Before we even left our room, I told my sister, “Go. Get to the woods.”
“What?” she said. “What about you?”
“I'll do the only thing I can,” I told her. “Stall.”
And so, while she snuck out the window, I groaned and whined like the teenager I soon would be. I pretended to be asleep, I took a shower that was so long I think my bones wrinkled, and I insisted on one last breakfast, one last swim, one last everything before we left.
And … that's the story. If I was the hero, I would tell you how it ended. But I wasn't. I didn't greet the Lady, I didn't believe in her right away, I didn't offer to help. Diana was gone for the entire morning. When she returned, her clothes was shredded and she had a number of nasty cuts and bruises, but she didn't have any physical harm to show for it. Any anger our parents had built up faded when they realized she was missing and turned to relief when she came back okay. But I saw the look in her eyes on her return. Something had changed.
She refused to tell me what, or give me any details. When we finally had a moment along, all she would whisper is “We won.” That's all. We never returned to Deacon's Wharf as children again. And the few times I visited, I barely could look at the woods, let alone go inside. Diana, on the other hand – I think a part of her never really left the woods. When my aunt and uncle passed away, she bought their old home and started a new life there. But from what I heard, she barely even used it. No, she spent all of her time elsewhere. In Derrenth.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
The StoryMaker (Part 2: Result)
All noise in the tavern stilled as the stranger walked in. They know she meant trouble just by looking at her. The way she walked, her every step a cautious one. The swords she intentionally failed to hide beneath her cloak. But most importantly, the scares that marred her otherwise adorable raccoon face. People just don't get scars. At least, they didn't.
“Gimme something strong,” she muttered to the barkeep, a jittery, anthropomorphic ale keg the locals called Tappy.
Tappy rolled back and forth nervously. “Ma'am, it might be best if you just moved on. This is a quiet town, and we don't want any trouble.”
“Nobody wants trouble,” the raccoon replied. “Or if they do, they go looking for it. That's not why I'm here. I'm here because trouble is looking for you.”
“Ridges?” a mantis in the corner asked. His mother (they recently had another child, so the father is back home regrowing his head,) tried to shush him. They didn't talk about Ridges here. But of course, by then, it was too late.
Somehow, the bar managed to get even quieter. Only the sound of a chirping cricket could be heard, at least until slapped Christopher Cricket and told him to knock it off. “That's right,” the raccoon said. “A pack of 'em was spotted a few miles yonder. So the way I figure it, you folks have three options. Run, get rubbed out, or fight back.”
She sighed at the shudder that ran through the crowd. A mouse fainted. In the land of Toontasia, people knew about conflict. They knew about rampaging goblins, vile wizard conquerors, and the occasional dragon. But they didn't know about death. They didn't even have a word for it, not until the “Ridges” arrived. Supposedly invaders from another dimension, even the sight of one could drive a Toontasian mad. They didn't look that unusual; just monkeys without tails and fur. But that familiar made them even stranger. Their bodies bulged in odd directions, and Toontasian scholars believed that they existed in a dimension beyond their comprehension, a mysterious “third” one they dubbed Dimension Z. Even more horrifying were their bodies. They were covered in bumps, marred with random hairs, wrinkles, and unnatural textures, earning them their name.
Even worse, they brought death. Ever since their arrival at Uncanny Valley, they expanded without hesitation, forming strange cities and bringing devastating weapons upon anything that tried to stop them. And they cared nothing about the suffering of those in their way. In fact, they found it amusing. Every time their weapons caused a Toontasian to shatter into a thousand pieces or reduced one to a pile of ash with two sad eyes, the Ridges only laughed. Especially their children.
Rubellia the Raccoon Ranger knew how this would go. The crowd had been numbed into shock for now, but she had only seconds before it would turn to panic. Steam would shoot out of people's ears, eyes would bug out of their sockets, a few people would just run around in circles shouting “Woo woo woo woo woo!”
“I know what you're thinking,” she started. “But this doesn't have to be another Ratburg or Animate Furniture Junction. We all heard the tales about Happy Bunny Lane. We all learned a harsh lesson at Happy Bunny Lane. But we are ready now. The Ridges are powerful, but they are not invincible.”
“But what can we do?” Tappy asked as he poured Rubellia another drink from his head.
“We have abilities the Ridges can't fathom, can't prepare for. They barely understand what an anvil is, let alone are prepared to be bombarded with them using catapults. To a Ridge, armed is armed. Wait for them to let their guard down, and you can just pull a mallet out of the nowherespace and give them a good whack. And their knowledge of explosives is sorely lacking. One enormous pile of TNT or a few black bombs with sizzling wicks will throw them into a panic.”
“But can't they destroy us with their weapons before we even get in range?” the mantis mother asked.
“Not anymore,” Rubellia assured them. “Because I learned a technique to sneak up on any Ridge, at any time. Best of all, anyone can do it, from the smallest ant to elephant wearing pot and pan armor.” To demonstrate, Rubellia just turned to her side.
“I don't get it,” Tappy commented.
“Neither did I, at first,” Rubellia said. “It's a flaw in their eyes. Just by walking at them sideways, we become practically invisible. Not completely, mind you, but more than enough for our purposes. To them, we look like nothing but thin black lines, and nobody's going to see that coming.”
“Gimme something strong,” she muttered to the barkeep, a jittery, anthropomorphic ale keg the locals called Tappy.
Tappy rolled back and forth nervously. “Ma'am, it might be best if you just moved on. This is a quiet town, and we don't want any trouble.”
“Nobody wants trouble,” the raccoon replied. “Or if they do, they go looking for it. That's not why I'm here. I'm here because trouble is looking for you.”
“Ridges?” a mantis in the corner asked. His mother (they recently had another child, so the father is back home regrowing his head,) tried to shush him. They didn't talk about Ridges here. But of course, by then, it was too late.
Somehow, the bar managed to get even quieter. Only the sound of a chirping cricket could be heard, at least until slapped Christopher Cricket and told him to knock it off. “That's right,” the raccoon said. “A pack of 'em was spotted a few miles yonder. So the way I figure it, you folks have three options. Run, get rubbed out, or fight back.”
She sighed at the shudder that ran through the crowd. A mouse fainted. In the land of Toontasia, people knew about conflict. They knew about rampaging goblins, vile wizard conquerors, and the occasional dragon. But they didn't know about death. They didn't even have a word for it, not until the “Ridges” arrived. Supposedly invaders from another dimension, even the sight of one could drive a Toontasian mad. They didn't look that unusual; just monkeys without tails and fur. But that familiar made them even stranger. Their bodies bulged in odd directions, and Toontasian scholars believed that they existed in a dimension beyond their comprehension, a mysterious “third” one they dubbed Dimension Z. Even more horrifying were their bodies. They were covered in bumps, marred with random hairs, wrinkles, and unnatural textures, earning them their name.
Even worse, they brought death. Ever since their arrival at Uncanny Valley, they expanded without hesitation, forming strange cities and bringing devastating weapons upon anything that tried to stop them. And they cared nothing about the suffering of those in their way. In fact, they found it amusing. Every time their weapons caused a Toontasian to shatter into a thousand pieces or reduced one to a pile of ash with two sad eyes, the Ridges only laughed. Especially their children.
Rubellia the Raccoon Ranger knew how this would go. The crowd had been numbed into shock for now, but she had only seconds before it would turn to panic. Steam would shoot out of people's ears, eyes would bug out of their sockets, a few people would just run around in circles shouting “Woo woo woo woo woo!”
“I know what you're thinking,” she started. “But this doesn't have to be another Ratburg or Animate Furniture Junction. We all heard the tales about Happy Bunny Lane. We all learned a harsh lesson at Happy Bunny Lane. But we are ready now. The Ridges are powerful, but they are not invincible.”
“But what can we do?” Tappy asked as he poured Rubellia another drink from his head.
“We have abilities the Ridges can't fathom, can't prepare for. They barely understand what an anvil is, let alone are prepared to be bombarded with them using catapults. To a Ridge, armed is armed. Wait for them to let their guard down, and you can just pull a mallet out of the nowherespace and give them a good whack. And their knowledge of explosives is sorely lacking. One enormous pile of TNT or a few black bombs with sizzling wicks will throw them into a panic.”
“But can't they destroy us with their weapons before we even get in range?” the mantis mother asked.
“Not anymore,” Rubellia assured them. “Because I learned a technique to sneak up on any Ridge, at any time. Best of all, anyone can do it, from the smallest ant to elephant wearing pot and pan armor.” To demonstrate, Rubellia just turned to her side.
“I don't get it,” Tappy commented.
“Neither did I, at first,” Rubellia said. “It's a flaw in their eyes. Just by walking at them sideways, we become practically invisible. Not completely, mind you, but more than enough for our purposes. To them, we look like nothing but thin black lines, and nobody's going to see that coming.”
Testing the StoryMaker (Part 1)
Let me give an example of how I use the StoryMaker from my last post. I will run through a standard set of results, and then create a short story out of the results. I'll use the answers I generate exactly – unless they end up being completely generic (like, say, a fantasy-setting adventure story,) in which case I'll add another setting or theme to get an interesting twist.
The first roll is for the setting. I roll a 20 sided dice and get 13, so standard setting. A second roll of 3 gets me Fantasy/Medieval, and the modifier roll is 19, so I get to add a modifier. That roll is a 4, making the setting Cartoon-based. So this will be a fantasy setting, but cartoon rules will apply. That means a gleeful rejection of the laws of physics whenever humor demands otherwise, literally anything being a potential character, and in most cases, the nonexistence of the concept of death itself.
Next, I get the theme. I roll a 9, resulting in the – horror theme. Could be interesting with cartoon elements. The specific theme that I get is “us as monster.” This refers to any story where humanity is beseiged not by any otherworldly or alien threat, but by the nature of humanity itself. The heroes have to battle humanity's prejudices, paranoia, or greed to survive.
That's a pretty unusual result, so I'll go with that. Now to make a story based on it. I should have the followup post about half an hour or so after this one.
The first roll is for the setting. I roll a 20 sided dice and get 13, so standard setting. A second roll of 3 gets me Fantasy/Medieval, and the modifier roll is 19, so I get to add a modifier. That roll is a 4, making the setting Cartoon-based. So this will be a fantasy setting, but cartoon rules will apply. That means a gleeful rejection of the laws of physics whenever humor demands otherwise, literally anything being a potential character, and in most cases, the nonexistence of the concept of death itself.
Next, I get the theme. I roll a 9, resulting in the – horror theme. Could be interesting with cartoon elements. The specific theme that I get is “us as monster.” This refers to any story where humanity is beseiged not by any otherworldly or alien threat, but by the nature of humanity itself. The heroes have to battle humanity's prejudices, paranoia, or greed to survive.
That's a pretty unusual result, so I'll go with that. Now to make a story based on it. I should have the followup post about half an hour or so after this one.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Kickstarter :: How it is being used by writers
On my other blog I posted 7 questions to 3 writers on their crowd funded projects.
They are:
1: What are you selling on Kickstarter? Is it in campaign, or has it finished? Was it successful?
2: Do you grow your network in Kickstarter, or monetize your existing network?
3: Do you find donors to be more engaged in your network once there is a KS campaign? Before or after donating?
They are:
Susan Price, (writer/editor/wrangler of ferrets and fellow member of Missing Dwarven Phaser writers group)
Susan's writing was in game development for her son's strategy card game, which achieved 126% of their goal ($5000).
Greg Stolze, (writer, game designer and fellow en-wiggee)
Greg holds a prestigious record with Kickstarter, 29 campaigns with only 3 did not make their goal!
Alan Bollinger, (writer, game designer and fellow g+'er)
Designed the card game Cavern Crawl that funded to 80%.
1: What are you selling on Kickstarter? Is it in campaign, or has it finished? Was it successful?
Susan: We were selling a strategy card game [tabletop game]. Campaign ran Aug 12-Sept 11, 2013 and we got 126% of goal [goal $5000, raised $6251].
Greg: I've run a total of 29 Kickstarter projects. 26 have succeeded, 3 failed. Of those, the three failures were for one short story, a drive to raise funds and print a novel, and for the continuance of an online novel. Of the successes, I've released 18 short stories (or really, stories and bundles, as many of the projects have more than one story involved), one novel, five games or supplements for games, one audiobook and one print collection of short stories.
Alan: I did a card game last year, Cavern Crawl. Did not fund - 80% only.
Susan: A little of both, but mostly, we were building a new network. Of our 84 supporters, only a dozen or so were existing friends/contacts.
Greg: It was definitely a matter of monetizing the existing contacts, especially in the beginning. I may have picked up a few new fans on KS, but mostly it's been word of mouth from people who were exposed to my work in traditional avenues. On the other hand, the practice of releasing stuff free and hosting it online forever has some definite upsides. I don't have to tell people, "I've written this story and I'm very, very good, trust me!" Instead, I can say, "I've written all these stories you can read for free right now. If you like those, you'll probably like the next one."
Alan: Both. The only way to even get it to work at all is to really work the forums and social networks. Don't expect to post it and just get funded.
Susan: We located most of our donors by play testing/demo-ing our game at scifi and anime conventions, and GenCon. The online networking serves as a way of staying in touch with donors and others, most of whom got on board because of playing our game and meeting us in person. A handful, maybe 6 of the 84, donated to the KS solely on the basis of what they saw online.
Greg: Once the campaign is up, definitely, and after donating. Then they're with you in that breathless, "Will it or won't it work?" phase. Then, of course, when it completes, they're with you for the "Where's the stuff you promised me?" phase. Because I've relied heavily on intangibles, "Yeah, you only get a story on the internet, but you don't have to pay much for it," I've avoided many of the fulfillment issues that plague successes.
Alan: No. Maybe because it was a smaller project, but I only had a few backers even reach out to me at all.
You can see the rest of the questions at michalsen.wordpress.com
You can see the rest of the questions at michalsen.wordpress.com
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
The StoryMaker: Simple Version
I'm in the middle of revising/writing a Query Letter for my book, so I'm not in the best place to create a new story. Instead, I'll share one of my tricks for when I need inspiration for a story: The StoryMaker! Or, more specifically, the Setting and Theme maker! This is the simpler version. The more complex version includes the intended/hypothetical medium for the story. You can also make it more complex by rolling multiple times in Setting or Theme, then merging them. I will post the complex version if I get enough interest. Also, let me know if any description is too vague. The StoryMaker uses a random number generator that goes from 1-20. So a 20-sided dice, or any of the billion or so random number generators online or in any spreadsheet program.
The Story Generator (Simple Version)
Step 1: Setting
Roll A Base Setting
Roll Result
1-16 Standard Setting; Go to Roll B
17-20 Nonstandard Setting; Go to Roll C
Roll B Standard Setting
Roll Result
1-6 Fantasy/Medeival; Go to Roll D
7-12 Modern; Go to Roll D
13-18 Future; Go to Roll D
19-20 Switch to Nonstandard Setting; Go to Roll C
Roll C Nonstandard Setting
Roll Result
1-2 Primitive/Savage; Go to Roll D
3-5 Steampunk; Go to Roll D
6-8 Cyberpunk; Go to Roll D
9-10 Paradise (Heaven); Go to Roll D
11-12 Punishment (Hell); Go to Roll D
13-15 Frontier/Western; Go to Roll D
16-18 Post-Apocalyptic/Wasteland; Go to Roll D
19-20 Blended Tech (Mix of primitive and futuristic); Go to Roll D
Roll D Chance of Modifier
Roll Result
1-12 No Modifier; Go to Step 2
13-20 Modifier; Go to Roll E
Roll E Chance of Modifier
Roll Result
1 Aquatic; Go to Step 2
2 Aerial; Go to Step 2
3-5 Cartoon; Go to Step 2
6 Voidwrapped (setting surrounded by nothing); Go to Step 2
7-8 Vessel; Go to Step 2
9-10 Gothic; Go to Step 2
11-12 Blending Reality/Historical Eras; Go to Step 2
13 Artificial; Go to Step 2
14 Organic; Go to Step 2
15 Crystal; Go to Step 2
16 Near Human; Go to Step 2
17 Incomprehensible; Go to Step 2
18-20 Alt-Cultural; Go to Step 2
Step 2: Theme
Roll F Base Theme
Roll Result
1-5 Comedy; Go to Roll G
6-10 Horror; Go to Roll H
11-15 Drama; Go to Roll I
16-20 Action; Go to Roll J
Roll G Comedy Theme
Roll Result
1-3 Slapstick
4-6 Surreal World/Puns
7-9 Dialogue and Wordplay
10-12 Relationship Humor
13-15 Satirical
16-17 Body/Scatological Humor
18-20 Random/Meta-Humor
Roll H Drama Theme
Roll Result
1-2 Personal
3-4 Noir
5-7 Professional/Office
8-9 Mystery
10-12 Competitive
13-14 Psychological
15-16 Politics/Intrigue
17-18 Social
19-20 Romance
Roll I Horror Theme
Roll Result
1-2 Gore/Slasher
3-5 The Unknown/Eldritch Horror
6-8 Hunted
9-11 The Conspiracy
12-13 Against the Horde
14-16 Us as Monster
17-18 Archetypical Evil (Satan, etc.)
19-20 Ghost Story
Roll J Action Theme
Roll Result
1-4 Adventure/Hero's Journey
5-6 War Story
7-8 Martial Arts/Brawl
9-10 Shooting/Gunplay
11-12 Stylistic Violence
13-14 Crime/Heist
15-16 Thriller/Suspense
17-20 Exploration/Travel the World
The Story Generator (Simple Version)
Step 1: Setting
Roll A Base Setting
Roll Result
1-16 Standard Setting; Go to Roll B
17-20 Nonstandard Setting; Go to Roll C
Roll B Standard Setting
Roll Result
1-6 Fantasy/Medeival; Go to Roll D
7-12 Modern; Go to Roll D
13-18 Future; Go to Roll D
19-20 Switch to Nonstandard Setting; Go to Roll C
Roll C Nonstandard Setting
Roll Result
1-2 Primitive/Savage; Go to Roll D
3-5 Steampunk; Go to Roll D
6-8 Cyberpunk; Go to Roll D
9-10 Paradise (Heaven); Go to Roll D
11-12 Punishment (Hell); Go to Roll D
13-15 Frontier/Western; Go to Roll D
16-18 Post-Apocalyptic/Wasteland; Go to Roll D
19-20 Blended Tech (Mix of primitive and futuristic); Go to Roll D
Roll D Chance of Modifier
Roll Result
1-12 No Modifier; Go to Step 2
13-20 Modifier; Go to Roll E
Roll E Chance of Modifier
Roll Result
1 Aquatic; Go to Step 2
2 Aerial; Go to Step 2
3-5 Cartoon; Go to Step 2
6 Voidwrapped (setting surrounded by nothing); Go to Step 2
7-8 Vessel; Go to Step 2
9-10 Gothic; Go to Step 2
11-12 Blending Reality/Historical Eras; Go to Step 2
13 Artificial; Go to Step 2
14 Organic; Go to Step 2
15 Crystal; Go to Step 2
16 Near Human; Go to Step 2
17 Incomprehensible; Go to Step 2
18-20 Alt-Cultural; Go to Step 2
Step 2: Theme
Roll F Base Theme
Roll Result
1-5 Comedy; Go to Roll G
6-10 Horror; Go to Roll H
11-15 Drama; Go to Roll I
16-20 Action; Go to Roll J
Roll G Comedy Theme
Roll Result
1-3 Slapstick
4-6 Surreal World/Puns
7-9 Dialogue and Wordplay
10-12 Relationship Humor
13-15 Satirical
16-17 Body/Scatological Humor
18-20 Random/Meta-Humor
Roll H Drama Theme
Roll Result
1-2 Personal
3-4 Noir
5-7 Professional/Office
8-9 Mystery
10-12 Competitive
13-14 Psychological
15-16 Politics/Intrigue
17-18 Social
19-20 Romance
Roll I Horror Theme
Roll Result
1-2 Gore/Slasher
3-5 The Unknown/Eldritch Horror
6-8 Hunted
9-11 The Conspiracy
12-13 Against the Horde
14-16 Us as Monster
17-18 Archetypical Evil (Satan, etc.)
19-20 Ghost Story
Roll J Action Theme
Roll Result
1-4 Adventure/Hero's Journey
5-6 War Story
7-8 Martial Arts/Brawl
9-10 Shooting/Gunplay
11-12 Stylistic Violence
13-14 Crime/Heist
15-16 Thriller/Suspense
17-20 Exploration/Travel the World
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Twitter Tools for Writers :: updated
Below I have listed some Twitter tools I have used in the past. Because these tools are all pulling from the same data source, the Twitter API, many of their features are the same. Where differences come into play is how the information is presented and inferred.
Better Understand Your Profile
@twibitz.com
www.twibitz.com
Tapping into the Twitter API, this tool provides metrics on your account. In my case I can see that my percentage of mentions is low, and I need to engage more. Sign up as version 2 is coming out later this year which will track new followers and pre-run reports for you.
Brand Sentiments
http://www.sentiment140.com
Would you like to see how different brands are perceived online?
The one I found most useful for me is @twibitz.com due to it's simple and straightforward UI. That doesn't mean I don't use the others. The trick with all of this is to find the tools that work with you best, and use them.
What Twitter tools do you use?
Update:
In pushing this post out to the medias, Liz Covart introduced me to Buffer and I found it very cool. It is a multi-account scheduling and analytics social media tool. I have brought in my Twitter, Facebook and LinkedIn accounts this morning and started playing with the app. Thank you Liz!
Previous Posts
Better Understand Your Profile
@twibitz.com
www.twibitz.com
Tapping into the Twitter API, this tool provides metrics on your account. In my case I can see that my percentage of mentions is low, and I need to engage more. Sign up as version 2 is coming out later this year which will track new followers and pre-run reports for you.
Brand Sentiments
http://www.sentiment140.com
Would you like to see how different brands are perceived online?
Tweet Psychology
TweetPsych attempts to create a profile of any public Twitter account. Here is a part of mine:
SocialBro
15 day free trial lets up run multiple reports against your Twitter account to find various nuggets of good stuff. This is a large application and there is a lot here:
Best time to Tweet graph:
Engagement Analytics:
The one I found most useful for me is @twibitz.com due to it's simple and straightforward UI. That doesn't mean I don't use the others. The trick with all of this is to find the tools that work with you best, and use them.
What Twitter tools do you use?
Update:
In pushing this post out to the medias, Liz Covart introduced me to Buffer and I found it very cool. It is a multi-account scheduling and analytics social media tool. I have brought in my Twitter, Facebook and LinkedIn accounts this morning and started playing with the app. Thank you Liz!
Previous Posts
- Tools of the Trade part 1 Pen Paper / Sublime Text
- Tools of the Trade part 2 Open Office / Trello
- Tools of the Trade part 3 Ommwriter / Scrivener
- Website Development and SEO Basics for Writers
- Git and the Writer
Friday, March 7, 2014
Dreamleaks 2: Stuck In Transit
Dreamleaks 2: Stuck In Transit
I used to be the hero.
There was that thought again. Captain Marcus Corona shook it out of his head like he always did. Why did he worry about being the hero? He already was A hero, protector of the lives of hundreds of good, decent, caring people. Never mind that none of them are real.
No, he can't think like that. They're as real as he is, after all. Transit worked like any other city; it just happened to exist entirely inside a computer simulation. And also the laws of physics work, at best, about half the time. And people can take off their own heads with only minor consequences. And just the other day, that Jerry kid fell in love with a animate hammer. But BESIDES all that, it was just like normal. And besides, none of them knew any better. The truth was allowed only to those who could be trusted with it, like Marcus. That's why she made him a captain. And now …
I lived in a ship, one of three alone in the ocean. We played and had adventures and imagined the world around us, what could exist beyond the horizon. We never knew any other life, never even guessed that not only was the world beyond the horizon a lie, so was the horizon itself. So was everything more than a hundred feet from the ships.
Marcus shook his head. Stupid dreams. Why did computer programs even need dreams? He asked EMMA about that once, but as always, she dodged the question. No where was he? Right, now he had a job to do. Most Transitians never even imagined a world beyond their city, but he didn't have that luxury. EMMA just warned of motion outside of the city, in the “real” world. It might not be a threat, but he couldn't afford to take that chance. Besides, nothing should be moving out there anymore, threat or otherwise.
On the way to the city's “borders,” Marcus met Alice Falchione. Great, another complication. “What are you doing here?” Marcus demanded.
Alice just shrugged. “What else? Nothing better to do. Like you couldn't use the backup out there.”
Marcus wanted to argue, but he just snarled and moved on. He couldn't do anything to Alice, and he knew it. He didn't even know what she was. She just popped in and out of Transit on a whim. She could be gone for months, only to return with an army, or a cure for some virus running rampant in Transit. Or a Mariachi band. That was an odd day. EMMA must trust her, since she never asked Marcus to stop her. But Marcus didn't, and he didn't see why anyone else would. Reckless people like her just get people hurt, or worse.
I didn't mean to do anything wrong, really! I just wanted to explore, have a little fun, maybe solve a mystery or two. People said that nobody every returned from the hull of the Third Ship, but I never knew anyone who went there in the first place, so what did that mean? And sure, the place was crawling with monsters, but they weren't THAT bad. I fought worse. Well, I didn't, but I fought things almost as bad. So it seemed natural that this would be the next place to go.
“Just don't get in my way,” Marcus warned, but his words had no weight to them, and he knew it. Alice just smirked and followed him to the borders. As he left the simulation, Marcus felt an electric sensation, as he knew his body changed from one of pure data to one of substance, albeit that of pure energy. EMMA described it as a hard-light hologram, but Marcus didn't really understand what that meant or cared. Alice, as far as Marcus knew, didn't change at all, save for a force barrier forming around her.
The reality outside of Transit was supposed to be the real world, but to Marcus' eyes, this one looked like a poor simulation. Everyone looked so … blocky out here, the vibrant colors of his home replaced with simple shapes. Maybe that was a limit to Marcus' digital eyes; he had no way of knowing. Either way, the shapes that caught their attention moved with a purpose, and they were shaped like humans. As Marcus and Alice floated towards them, they scattered with incredible speed, jumping from one place to another in an instant. And while they seemed to be just observing the machinery that made up Transit and the city around it, Marcus and Alice's unwelcome intrusion made them aggressive. Bursts of color bounced off his virtual skin and Alice's barrier. They retaliated with energy blasts of their own, but nothing came close to hitting the invaders. “I expected better than this,” one of their attackers enigmatically taunted as they vanished.
“EMMA, update!” Marcus begged his creator.
“No further activity detected,” EMMA replied. “At least within the city. But I am still sensing their presence nearby. If I may take an estimate, they are biding their time.”
Marcus frowned. As fast as they are, the attackers must not be that powerful if they fled so quickly. But his holographic body couldn't travel outside of the boundaries of the city, and no point in asking Alice to seek them out. “Then what can we do?” he asked.
“I have a potential solution,” EMMA offered. “They seem interested in exploiting our resources, but are unwilling to engage us in a direct conflict. I propose creating a simple crisis within Transit; nothing serious, but enough to make it appear that our defenses are compromised. When the scavengers investigate, we can ambush them, taking them unaware. If they are simply curious, we can get answers. If hostile, we can eliminate them.”
“I don't like it,” Marcus admitted. “What if things go wrong?”
“I assure you, the crisis I envision is nothing that the citizens of Transit can't handle,” EMMA said. “Provided, of course, that the usual residents are up to the task.”
“You mean, if HE's up to it.” Marcus scowled. For all his powers, all his loyalty, Marcus never seemed to be the one to save the day. No, that fell on Jerry's shoulders. A mere child, an irresponsible one at that. For some reason, he always seemed to be around when trouble started (often because he caused it,) and yet for all of Marcus' efforts, Jerry and his friends would be the ones to bumble into the solution, and he got all accolades. He got to be their champion, their hero...
Marcus stopped himself. He didn't like where this train of thought was going. Alice, however, just chuckled. “You know, EMMA, you're exactly the sort of computer we used to be warned about. Glad you're on our side.” Seeing Marcus' sour mood, she floated over to him and whispered. “He's not even one of you, you know. Seriously, Jerry's a gerbil that EMMA threw into the simulation before he could starve. Let him enjoy his moment as hero. You already had your chance.”
“Enough of your contemptible words,” Marcus demanded as he shooed her away, and for once, Alice listened, her body vanishing into nothing. But the damage had been done. She just babbled nonsense, Marcus thought to himself. A gerbil? What was she even talking about? And yet, when she mentioned that Marcus had his chance, he couldn't help but feel his thoughts drift once more …
I didn't expect to find anyone down there. But instead, I found everyone. A crowd cheered me on as I slipped into the darkness of the hull. I was on the top of the world, but it didn't last. I suddenly saw my friends before me, and a voice asked me who would continue on living in this world, and who would … not. I wanted to refuse this demand, but I couldn't. I didn't even know how not to answer.
But I knew a trick when I heard one. I made my choice, picking only casual acquaintances to live on in this world, folks I wouldn't miss. My friends and I would move on, then. If we couldn't live in this world anymore, I bet there would be another, a better one maybe. And if not, who cares? Hell, we ran out of things to explore in the last one anyway.
I used to be the hero.
There was that thought again. Captain Marcus Corona shook it out of his head like he always did. Why did he worry about being the hero? He already was A hero, protector of the lives of hundreds of good, decent, caring people. Never mind that none of them are real.
No, he can't think like that. They're as real as he is, after all. Transit worked like any other city; it just happened to exist entirely inside a computer simulation. And also the laws of physics work, at best, about half the time. And people can take off their own heads with only minor consequences. And just the other day, that Jerry kid fell in love with a animate hammer. But BESIDES all that, it was just like normal. And besides, none of them knew any better. The truth was allowed only to those who could be trusted with it, like Marcus. That's why she made him a captain. And now …
I lived in a ship, one of three alone in the ocean. We played and had adventures and imagined the world around us, what could exist beyond the horizon. We never knew any other life, never even guessed that not only was the world beyond the horizon a lie, so was the horizon itself. So was everything more than a hundred feet from the ships.
Marcus shook his head. Stupid dreams. Why did computer programs even need dreams? He asked EMMA about that once, but as always, she dodged the question. No where was he? Right, now he had a job to do. Most Transitians never even imagined a world beyond their city, but he didn't have that luxury. EMMA just warned of motion outside of the city, in the “real” world. It might not be a threat, but he couldn't afford to take that chance. Besides, nothing should be moving out there anymore, threat or otherwise.
On the way to the city's “borders,” Marcus met Alice Falchione. Great, another complication. “What are you doing here?” Marcus demanded.
Alice just shrugged. “What else? Nothing better to do. Like you couldn't use the backup out there.”
Marcus wanted to argue, but he just snarled and moved on. He couldn't do anything to Alice, and he knew it. He didn't even know what she was. She just popped in and out of Transit on a whim. She could be gone for months, only to return with an army, or a cure for some virus running rampant in Transit. Or a Mariachi band. That was an odd day. EMMA must trust her, since she never asked Marcus to stop her. But Marcus didn't, and he didn't see why anyone else would. Reckless people like her just get people hurt, or worse.
I didn't mean to do anything wrong, really! I just wanted to explore, have a little fun, maybe solve a mystery or two. People said that nobody every returned from the hull of the Third Ship, but I never knew anyone who went there in the first place, so what did that mean? And sure, the place was crawling with monsters, but they weren't THAT bad. I fought worse. Well, I didn't, but I fought things almost as bad. So it seemed natural that this would be the next place to go.
“Just don't get in my way,” Marcus warned, but his words had no weight to them, and he knew it. Alice just smirked and followed him to the borders. As he left the simulation, Marcus felt an electric sensation, as he knew his body changed from one of pure data to one of substance, albeit that of pure energy. EMMA described it as a hard-light hologram, but Marcus didn't really understand what that meant or cared. Alice, as far as Marcus knew, didn't change at all, save for a force barrier forming around her.
The reality outside of Transit was supposed to be the real world, but to Marcus' eyes, this one looked like a poor simulation. Everyone looked so … blocky out here, the vibrant colors of his home replaced with simple shapes. Maybe that was a limit to Marcus' digital eyes; he had no way of knowing. Either way, the shapes that caught their attention moved with a purpose, and they were shaped like humans. As Marcus and Alice floated towards them, they scattered with incredible speed, jumping from one place to another in an instant. And while they seemed to be just observing the machinery that made up Transit and the city around it, Marcus and Alice's unwelcome intrusion made them aggressive. Bursts of color bounced off his virtual skin and Alice's barrier. They retaliated with energy blasts of their own, but nothing came close to hitting the invaders. “I expected better than this,” one of their attackers enigmatically taunted as they vanished.
“EMMA, update!” Marcus begged his creator.
“No further activity detected,” EMMA replied. “At least within the city. But I am still sensing their presence nearby. If I may take an estimate, they are biding their time.”
Marcus frowned. As fast as they are, the attackers must not be that powerful if they fled so quickly. But his holographic body couldn't travel outside of the boundaries of the city, and no point in asking Alice to seek them out. “Then what can we do?” he asked.
“I have a potential solution,” EMMA offered. “They seem interested in exploiting our resources, but are unwilling to engage us in a direct conflict. I propose creating a simple crisis within Transit; nothing serious, but enough to make it appear that our defenses are compromised. When the scavengers investigate, we can ambush them, taking them unaware. If they are simply curious, we can get answers. If hostile, we can eliminate them.”
“I don't like it,” Marcus admitted. “What if things go wrong?”
“I assure you, the crisis I envision is nothing that the citizens of Transit can't handle,” EMMA said. “Provided, of course, that the usual residents are up to the task.”
“You mean, if HE's up to it.” Marcus scowled. For all his powers, all his loyalty, Marcus never seemed to be the one to save the day. No, that fell on Jerry's shoulders. A mere child, an irresponsible one at that. For some reason, he always seemed to be around when trouble started (often because he caused it,) and yet for all of Marcus' efforts, Jerry and his friends would be the ones to bumble into the solution, and he got all accolades. He got to be their champion, their hero...
Marcus stopped himself. He didn't like where this train of thought was going. Alice, however, just chuckled. “You know, EMMA, you're exactly the sort of computer we used to be warned about. Glad you're on our side.” Seeing Marcus' sour mood, she floated over to him and whispered. “He's not even one of you, you know. Seriously, Jerry's a gerbil that EMMA threw into the simulation before he could starve. Let him enjoy his moment as hero. You already had your chance.”
“Enough of your contemptible words,” Marcus demanded as he shooed her away, and for once, Alice listened, her body vanishing into nothing. But the damage had been done. She just babbled nonsense, Marcus thought to himself. A gerbil? What was she even talking about? And yet, when she mentioned that Marcus had his chance, he couldn't help but feel his thoughts drift once more …
I didn't expect to find anyone down there. But instead, I found everyone. A crowd cheered me on as I slipped into the darkness of the hull. I was on the top of the world, but it didn't last. I suddenly saw my friends before me, and a voice asked me who would continue on living in this world, and who would … not. I wanted to refuse this demand, but I couldn't. I didn't even know how not to answer.
But I knew a trick when I heard one. I made my choice, picking only casual acquaintances to live on in this world, folks I wouldn't miss. My friends and I would move on, then. If we couldn't live in this world anymore, I bet there would be another, a better one maybe. And if not, who cares? Hell, we ran out of things to explore in the last one anyway.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Free Website Hosting :: Github.io
Building on recent posts, today's post will show you step-by-step how to get and build your own website, for free, with no ads.
Although writing is the fun part, I need to start thinking about marketing. Forget the publishers on this one, I'm going to be marketing directly to the Lego Robotic / Maker Fair kids, and as such I need a website. It needs to be simple so I can promote my book during its pre-release stage and after it is in print. I don't need anything complicated, at least not yet. Just a simple page to let readers know about my book. Github to the rescue!
To start you have to create a free account at Github.
Important!
For those of you that think you can just design an HTML page and FTP it up to the site, you can't. FTP is so 2004. We do things with Git now, which means a whole new methodology to learn. What does this mean for you? Either learn Git or find someone else to do the heavy lifting.
Not scared yet? Let's roll.
The first place you will need to visit is the Pages section
There is also a great interactive walkthrough at http://www.thinkful.com/learn/a-guide-to-using-github-pages/ to help you better undertand how to build your website.
These are the steps I followed to create my page:
What is the end product?
I have been working a short novel about a 14 year old boy who builds a monster using discarded parts scavenged from a throw-away society. He names it Wonkzilla, and you can find the beginning of the website at: http://wonkzilla.com
This site is currently a work in progress, but the basics are there, including a very cool robot designed by a Chicago artist, Jason Hawk
You are probably wondering now how I got the domain name pointing to the site. Here is a useful how-to on getting the domain name to point to your site:
https://help.github.com/articles/setting-up-a-custom-domain-with-pages
If you are interested in trying this out for your site, please let me know. We can go over the steps together in the comments below and we can perhaps setup a "best practices" for those new to this technology.
Previous Blog Posts
Although writing is the fun part, I need to start thinking about marketing. Forget the publishers on this one, I'm going to be marketing directly to the Lego Robotic / Maker Fair kids, and as such I need a website. It needs to be simple so I can promote my book during its pre-release stage and after it is in print. I don't need anything complicated, at least not yet. Just a simple page to let readers know about my book. Github to the rescue!
To start you have to create a free account at Github.
Important!
For those of you that think you can just design an HTML page and FTP it up to the site, you can't. FTP is so 2004. We do things with Git now, which means a whole new methodology to learn. What does this mean for you? Either learn Git or find someone else to do the heavy lifting.
Not scared yet? Let's roll.
The first place you will need to visit is the Pages section
There is also a great interactive walkthrough at http://www.thinkful.com/learn/a-guide-to-using-github-pages/ to help you better undertand how to build your website.
These are the steps I followed to create my page:
- I created a repository with my account michalsen.github.io.
- I cloned down the repository to my local machine.
- Using HTML, CSS and javascript I built a single page.
- For the javascript I just went to unheap.com and found a layout I liked and used that.
- Made text changes in the sample index.html file, a couple small tweaks in the CSS and added a couple images.
- Added those files to the local repository
- Committed those files
- Then pushed those files to the master repository at michalsen.github.io
What is the end product?
I have been working a short novel about a 14 year old boy who builds a monster using discarded parts scavenged from a throw-away society. He names it Wonkzilla, and you can find the beginning of the website at: http://wonkzilla.com
This site is currently a work in progress, but the basics are there, including a very cool robot designed by a Chicago artist, Jason Hawk
You are probably wondering now how I got the domain name pointing to the site. Here is a useful how-to on getting the domain name to point to your site:
https://help.github.com/articles/setting-up-a-custom-domain-with-pages
If you are interested in trying this out for your site, please let me know. We can go over the steps together in the comments below and we can perhaps setup a "best practices" for those new to this technology.
Previous Blog Posts
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