Bumble

Phobias are weird.

When I was younger I was always afraid of the dark. Now that I'm older that has lessened a fair bit, but I still sometimes find it just a little bit frightening. To me, though, that's not unreasonable. It's not the dark that's frightening, after all, but what could be inside the dark, and of course with this overactive imagination, anything I conjure up could be.

It's not often a hot date, sadly.

Insects on the other hand, I know don't make a whole lot of sense. Oh having them in your face or near your ears or being worried some might bite or sting you is understandable, but...I actually like bumble bees. I mean, they're big and fuzzy and don't bother anyone, not really. Not like wasps, evil buggers those.

It's funny then as, after a particularly amusing incident, I was reminded by my brother of a time long ago where they didn't bother me at all. Where indeed, I used to save bees with flowers. More interesting indeed is the setting he described, a place with dorm like beds and wooden balconies that connected the rooms. I have scant recollection of that place...

It gets me thinking, though, of all the half-dreams and remembered imaginings. Of places long forgotten or never been and dreamt of. How much is real, how much is a dream?

I read a book called "Pawn's Dream" when I was young. I remember finding it absolutely fascinating, having featured a protagonist who would awake in his dream in another world. By day he was in the 'mundane' (absolutely beautiful) world we know and by night he was in another, strange and new place.

I always think I won't forget that first scene in the book, where the protagonist wakes up in something like a monastery, overlooking an impressive and alien city. The only problem is that the scene bears next to no resemblance to my memory. Oh sure the salient points are similar, but the details are completely different. And then I remember...

Dusty and windswept, I walk along the outer rim of the mountain, my companion and mentor by my side. The oval openings in the sandstone wall to my right overlook a landscape turned red with sand. I can see little past the gusts, but my mind has little time for remembrance as I struggle to keep my footing as the wall ends.

The path continues, now not a corridor but a most desperate ledge following along the rough and rocky outskirts of a stronghold raised far above the land. A mis-step would undoubtedly be fatal. Why am I here?

My mentor is telling me something. A change is coming, and I must prepare for a journey. To what, neither of us know, but I must go swiftly lest I be blocked. We are on this perilous ledge to reach some sort of sanctum where he will gift me...something...to aid me. My mind fills with a blue glow, an indistinct round object, exotic and mysterious...but no knowledge fills me at the recollection.

The rippling sandstorm threatens to tear me from the cliff face, but my mentor's steps seem steady even as I fight against the wind. How can that be so? Something streams to me then, as I shift in my bed. You are not he. But it feels real, and I desperately scream in my mind to stay. I want the adventure, the excitement, even the danger. I can feel an epic journey spinning from my grasp and I struggle, scratching and clawing against it.

You are being selfish. The thought ripples out to me. You are not he. Those are the last words I hear in my mind before the sandstorm picks me up like a child's toy and rips my consciousness from that world.

And I awaken. The years pass. The dream folds into my mind and is lost like a long forgotten treasure.

Except when I think of Pawn's Dream.

And my mind asks...what is that other me doing? And a little part of me wants to smash through the fabric of the 'verse just to have another chance at that moment.

And the largest part of me says...this is why I write. This is what I should be writing. Every fractured dream of another life. Every adventure I imagined as a child. Every passionate desire I long ago folded away.

And a part of me wakes up and says...it never was a dream.

Talky Marks

And here we join our writer to find...he's still really no good at English :p

Apparently I've been doing speech tags wrong for a long time. At an age where I should know better, my punctuation is apparently off, and instead of using commas to end the speech and using lower case 'he said/she said', I've been taking that as another sentence.

So instead of: “Shall we?” he asked, turning to Keruni.

 I still have: “Shall we?” He asked, turning to Keruni.

This is a big deal for me, because up until now I thought my punctuation was largely correct, though my grammar has always been touch-and-go at best. I'm going to have to go through all my stories and edit these corrections in now. Though as a side effect, some of those more glaring "said" moments have softened a little.

Well, better late than never. I'm not really sure if I should be chagrined or glad that I'm still learning at this phase.

I guess I'll settle for neither, and just get my act together.

Oh, and side note, the dreaded Nanz0rd or legend is coming up soon. What will I do...

All About You

Writing is really a selfish practice.

While many may dream of changing the world, of changing hearts and minds through it, it really is selfish. You put yourself in a room and lock everything else out of your mind except what you want to say, the one time when you can say exactly what you want and have people hear you. Make sure it's your voice they hear. Keep it selfish, because writing is really one of the more selfless selfish things out there.

Under the Bridge (rant)

So...I got trolled. And I didn't realise for a whole month, lol.

Well, all I can say is...thanks for ruining it for me. I really hoped that the first comment I received would be somewhat positive, but I guess this is the internet after all, and as long as one can hide themselves in the crowd they'll say whatever they like.

But that's not really so bad. What really gets me is that people are actually like this. They think this is the internet so it doesn't matter, that that person is not real, so they say whatever they like.

And without intending, they reveal their true selves.

In a moral vacuum, what you do is entirely up to you. The anonymous internet is that moral vacuum. There are very few laws and regulations that effectively extend here. There are no pressures on an anonymous user, and little way to track them. No one will know.

Except you.

And increasingly what I see is that no one out there is decent. At all. The fact that most people would reach out and harm someone else without a care in the world is proof of that. And I'm not even talking about those that encourage people to kill themselves, but the little things like accusations and disparaging comments.

You ever read the comment section for a product online and see a bunch of positive reviews and a couple of negative ones? What makes the most impression? How many positive reviews outweigh those negative concerns? 5x? 10x? 50? How much difference is there between that kind of place and this? A private blog with someone accused of this or that. Of course an author will defend themself, but you wouldn't trust them to be unbiased, would you?

No, you'd trust a third party.

On a blog with a single comment, the seed is planted. This person is untrustworthy, someone you shouldn't affiliate with, someone who holds unsavoury views. None of which is true, I should clarify. Whether you like me or not (and there's much not to like), I carry no beef against anyone, regardless of colour, religion or sexuality. Yes, I'm still human and not a robot, but I tend to draw my lines on a case-by-case basis.

Do I make generalisations sometimes? Sure. Do I demean other people based on their race, belief, or sexuality? No. Unless they're crazy and believe I should be killed because I'm not some favourable archetype. Or believe I should be shut down and kept underfoot based on any of those three things.

My friend just read me another blog on how people have changed. Instead of protesting and picking fights for matters of life and death, now people want to take offence at any slight perceived insult and package it as a cause, because they have none.

And that's just sad. There are enough real problems in the world that we don't have to go out of our way to manufacture more. Want to really feel like you're a righteous person? Go feed a starving child, help set up a shelter, tend someone's wounds, march for someone's rights. Heck, do anything that requires you not to just sit at your desk and rub salt into people's wounds. But no, it's too difficult to actually make a difference. That would require actually giving up comfort, and what is a human life compared to that comfort?

It's different for me. I look in the mirror and know I'm not a good person. I know that to live my life I'm ignoring the thousands of people dying that second. The hundreds of thousands of people dying that day. I know I place my life above theirs, every single day of comfort. And that's why I live my life as a balance. If I'm going to have a net effect on this world it had better be positive.

But there's a dearth of people who've ever spared those souls a thought, and I guess that's why the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Why it's so easy for people to tell people to die, or accuse them of whatever they want whenever they want. If you have no idea of the weight of your life, of the life-saving choices you choose to forego every day, it must be pretty easy to assume no one else does. That every one else is just as self-serving and hateful as the next, and the smile they wear is just to hide the dagger behind their back.

But hey, the next time you see me talking to a dude in a skirt, ask yourself why I would be talking to that interesting person if I hated them. And then maybe, just maybe, think about revising that opinion.

Hard Coded

Never violate a woman, nor harm a child.  Do not lie, cheat or steal.  These things are for lesser men.  Protect the weak against the evil strong.  And never allow thoughts of gain to lead you into the pursuit of evil.

- Druss the Legend

There are some things I can easily say myself, for everything else there's David Gemmell.

This is a version of the code by which I live my life. The code my parents instilled with their actions more than their words. Finish what you start. If you do something make sure you do it right. Protect those who cannot protect themselves. Stand up for what's right. Judge fairly, but also with compassion. Only harm those who do you ill, or those with ill intent. And if you should fail, make amends.

This is why you will never see me two-faced. Why I don't pretend not to have made mistakes. Why I own up to my actions. Why I strive to help people, rather than hurt them. Why I defend my friends, and my foes as well, if they are right.

This is why I have never trolled someone. Why I don't attack people. Why I only use one name on the internet, and if you got here you'd have to know it. Because Ikalx is me. Everything that's done in that name, links straight back to this person I've built and doesn't go away. I don't make a new name, a new identity, whenever I see fit. This is all I have. The integrity and honour in this name is bound inexorably to me. All the wrongs and all the rights are here to stay.

And I wouldn't have it any other way. This is how I show I am a person and not just an avatar. It's why I've never felt I needed a picture to prove I was human, and why I don't demand that in others either.

Some people reading might not believe or understand that. For some people, when they see me write that I'm a terrible person, they think I mean a truly terrible person. Someone who often enjoys harming and devaluing others. They see me call myself a scumbag and in their heads it's an "ah-hah!" moment, and an admission of guilt.

They don't see that I call myself a scumbag because I caused someone pain that day.

When they see me say I've betrayed someone, they don't realise I've said that because I failed to become the more that I should have been.

Because that's how I see life. I don't make my morals on a comparative scale to the people around me. I don't do something because everyone else is doing it. They are absolute. And if I do do something wrong, I swallow my pride and apologise for it.

So if you see me doing something wrong, call me on my bullshit. Talk to me about it. Tell me I'm doing wrong. Don't just sit in the dark nursing a grudge, tell it to me. Because nine times out of ten the response you'll get is a shamefaced one, and a promise to do better.

Thought it was about time I clarified that.

Exit; Stage Left

It had been a while since I'd really felt part of an online community, most of mine having either disbanded or fallen quiet in more recent years.

Of course I had to go and screw it up.

There's a point, I think, where I'm revealed to be a douchebag. Sometimes it takes years, or months, but whichever it is, I can be sure it's coming. Not that it's usually something I can control, or even aim for, just something that seems to pop up at some point.

This time, I wasn't really expecting it. This time, it took less than three weeks.

It wasn't the biggest, worst thing I've ever done. I take a little comfort in that. At least as I age I'm failing a little better than before, and knowing to quit before I ruin things for everyone. At least sometimes. But for a student of people, I really don't get how I keep stepping into it. The teachers at school always said I talked to much, guess my mouth is still getting me into trouble.

It was fun, though. The days leading up to disaster, I mean. Hanging with people, getting to talk to them, being excited to see them and getting to chat about writing in a more meaningful way...yeah, it was fun. But I guess it wasn't to be. Probably wasn't the right place for me, since I learned on exit that I had been rubbing people wrong for a long time. I don't like that. I like knowing when I'm pissing someone off, not being in the dark about it. I guess that's my fault for being blind and over-excited.

I'm starting to think there really isn't a place for me. Each time I think people get me, I turn out to be wildly mistaken, and it's only getting worse with age. I'm getting too old and set in my ways, and sometimes, even when I know I shouldn't, I let myself go and relax. I expect people to tell me what's on their mind, because I tend to just say what's on mine straight out.

This time I was seen to be passive aggressive, a loudmouth (probably true), trying to dominate the chat, and attacking people. I guess I've come farther and farther away from being able to express myself in text in a way that people can understand. That, or I've just become a douchebag.

I'm sure it's probably the latter :p

Ah well. It was a good three weeks at least. Now I'll get back to finishing this writing on my own...write too slow, read not enough, and talk too much. Not exactly traits that make a good writer.

Peace.

To the Girl

Are you kidding?

Do you even see yourself?

Some people start as flowers. You can't change that. They bloom and bloom and bloom. But every flower has its season, and the only way to stop that tide is to flow with it, knowing that being a flower isn't about blooming, but about putting new shoots forth, changing and growing as your seasons change. Because that is beauty. Becoming more than you were, ever growing and stretching towards the sun.

But you're different. You're like a little sapling. And as you grow and change, your majesty will only become more apparent. You are anything but boring. Funny and witty and smart do not do you justice. And the next thing you know you'll be walking next to a guy who's talking earnestly to you, who can't believe that he's getting to do so.

And you might not realise it then, because in you're eyes you're just you, but to that guy there's nothing 'just' about you. And he'll want to make that moment last forever, because he knows he can't say it, and he won't. He's just a kid, and doesn't know that the words have power, doesn't know that gently taking your hand might actually have you smiling at him.

He doesn't know that you don't understand why he's like this. That you see him as bright and fun and wildly effervescent, but don't see that you're the reason.

And if he's a good guy, he won't know. Perhaps he'll be brave and take the chance anyway. But if he isn't, if he's just a guy, a guy who is cool and caring and wonderful but doesn't know it, try to make that walk last.

Try to let him see that you're enjoying his company, and give him that little bit of time to show you what he really is.

Because you might regret it, a year or two down the line. He might not be worth it after all, might not be that guy you thought he was.

But sometimes it's sadder still to remember a night where someone bright walked at your side, and yet forget who they were or what they looked like. And instead just hold the feeling of a path missed, of something wonderful lost by the wayside.

Life is tough. Life is hard, and we have to live with our mistakes. But don't let that magic pass you by, roll on to be just a whisper of a memory. Let it live. If only for a night, let that feeling blaze to the stars. Because that's life, that's the magic of the universe, that's the stuff of dreams.

That's where miracles happen.

Merx

A woman steps into a darkened store. There's a guard behind her and the unknown to the fore.

I've finally gotten started on the third scene I wanted to replace, this time it's the city. Eschewing the original scenes in their totality, I've created a set up for my heroine to get a little involved in the factions, and perhaps darkness, lurking beneath the surface of the city. Those tendrils should extend a little deeper throughout the first half of the book, giving it a depth and intrigue which most of the settlements they visited lacked.

For the first time in a long while I'm freely writing, and it's quite enjoyable, except for the fact that I'm stuck. I'm not blocked, the set-pieces are all in place, the actors lurking in the shadows, but this little meeting needs an event (or series of) that would take no more than a handful of days to complete, and not overly impede my character's mission to find information nor distract from the overall quest.

Quite a conundrum, really.

Except most of that doesn't concern me. All I'm actually doing is trying to put a few hirelings (plus one) into a room with some, let's call them...traders...that have an issue that needs taking care of. Be that guarding merchandise in the city, breaking into somewhere, taking down some thugs and thieves, warring with another faction, protecting from an assassin, delivering a missive - on the sly of course, or something else that hasn't come to mind, well, I just can't decide.

Y'know, I'm still enjoying the thinkin' though :)