lost to all but a few of the highest ranking demi-fates is a legend of a prophecy telling of the end of order and certainty, the failure of fate, and the onset of chaos. the prophecy was made by the original fates and set to stone, which has broken and separated in the years since it's creation. gathering these pieces of prophecy is one of the highest priorities of the organizations.
although the truth of the prophecy is a closely kept secret, it exists as a fairy tale among the demi-fates. the harbingers were unearthly demons that consumed the powers of demi-fates and stole their destinies. but as long as the ideals of the society (later the organization) were strongly held, the harbingers could do no harm.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
the origins of an era
a long time ago, three women exhibiting godlike powers took the fates as their names and began to carve their domain out of the chaotic world. as their dominion grew, they bestowed powers upon their most loyal followers, who became gods to the normal humans.
eventually, the fates succumbed to mortality, and what remained of their dominion dissipated. from the remnants of their closest followers, the "society" was born. those with powers became known as the demi-fates and became leaders of the society. anybody found born with powers was conscripted by the society and apprenticed to the demi-fates.
although the society was initially bound by the ideals of the original fates, disparate ideologies began to grow, dividing the demi-fates nearly evenly by which of the three power aspects they had. this led to the fracture of the society and the formation of the three organizations as they are known today.
eventually, the fates succumbed to mortality, and what remained of their dominion dissipated. from the remnants of their closest followers, the "society" was born. those with powers became known as the demi-fates and became leaders of the society. anybody found born with powers was conscripted by the society and apprenticed to the demi-fates.
although the society was initially bound by the ideals of the original fates, disparate ideologies began to grow, dividing the demi-fates nearly evenly by which of the three power aspects they had. this led to the fracture of the society and the formation of the three organizations as they are known today.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
this thing still on?
yup. looks like it still works. so now that i'm done with school, i'll be adding more chaos theory stuff. or string theory. one of those two is the working title for harriot's world.
ok, so for the last ten minutes, i've been looking for something funny or cute to post. my interest in that is now exceeded by my desire for a cig and ps3. so no joke for you.
love.
ok, so for the last ten minutes, i've been looking for something funny or cute to post. my interest in that is now exceeded by my desire for a cig and ps3. so no joke for you.
love.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Episode 1: Too anecdotal to be true (part 1)
wow, it's my first new original writing in what seems like years and years. here's part of the first episode for use in "interview with an angel". for clarification, episodes are intended to be logical delineations on anecdotes, where each episode constitutes one moral or lesson or whatever. also, i'm contemplating changing the pov, which is as i originally intended, but i plan to play with it and see what i like. i haven't decided on what names to use, either.
all that said, i'd now like to make the expected platitudes. blah blah blah school. blah blah blah end of semester. blah blah if i can. i mean, i've taken a break today to work on this, haven't i?
It's a Saturday morning, and Kim and I are playing a game of tennis on our high school's courts. The campus is otherwise empty, unsurprisingly. We're comparably skilled, but it's obvious that I'm putting more effort into the game than she is.
I win the last point and give a quick, triumphant fist pump to the air before shambling to the bench to take a long draft from my thermos. Kim's amusement is plain on her face when she finally joins me at the bench, game balls in hand. She tosses the balls into her bag and sits cross-legged with exaggerated nonchalance.
"Good game" Kim says.
A little short of breath, I reply, "Thanks. You too." I'm as satisfied with myself as Kim is amused.
"Bruce, why don't you ever let me win?"
I jerk my head to emphasize my surprise. "Why should I?"
"'Cause I'm a girl."
"Ha!" I give her a sidelong glance. "You know, if I was just the slightest bit more sexist, you'd've just given me license for all sorts of... sexist shenanigans."
"Tsk. You're too sensitive to be a sexist."
I retort with an abashed "Am not! Take it back." She giggles. "But seriously, why don't you try harder?"
What I hope is a thoughtful frown replaces her laughing. "I don't know, maybe I just like hanging with you."
"Well, of course. I'm awesome." Then she punches me on the arm. To which I respond with a quick rub of my arm and a little pained laughter. "See? If I really was sensitive I'd be blushing instead of blustering."
Now she's smirking. "You are blushing."
I cut my eyes. "Well... Well, can you blame me?" I expect that I'm blushing more.
After a moment, she lightly slaps my arm where she punched me before. "Come on; let's play one more. I think I feel like beating you." She pulls the balls back out from her bag and jogs onto the court.
"That's what I like to hear."
It becomes apparent after only a few points that Kim very much intends to win, so I redouble my efforts and try to make a game of it.
all that said, i'd now like to make the expected platitudes. blah blah blah school. blah blah blah end of semester. blah blah if i can. i mean, i've taken a break today to work on this, haven't i?
It's a Saturday morning, and Kim and I are playing a game of tennis on our high school's courts. The campus is otherwise empty, unsurprisingly. We're comparably skilled, but it's obvious that I'm putting more effort into the game than she is.
I win the last point and give a quick, triumphant fist pump to the air before shambling to the bench to take a long draft from my thermos. Kim's amusement is plain on her face when she finally joins me at the bench, game balls in hand. She tosses the balls into her bag and sits cross-legged with exaggerated nonchalance.
"Good game" Kim says.
A little short of breath, I reply, "Thanks. You too." I'm as satisfied with myself as Kim is amused.
"Bruce, why don't you ever let me win?"
I jerk my head to emphasize my surprise. "Why should I?"
"'Cause I'm a girl."
"Ha!" I give her a sidelong glance. "You know, if I was just the slightest bit more sexist, you'd've just given me license for all sorts of... sexist shenanigans."
"Tsk. You're too sensitive to be a sexist."
I retort with an abashed "Am not! Take it back." She giggles. "But seriously, why don't you try harder?"
What I hope is a thoughtful frown replaces her laughing. "I don't know, maybe I just like hanging with you."
"Well, of course. I'm awesome." Then she punches me on the arm. To which I respond with a quick rub of my arm and a little pained laughter. "See? If I really was sensitive I'd be blushing instead of blustering."
Now she's smirking. "You are blushing."
I cut my eyes. "Well... Well, can you blame me?" I expect that I'm blushing more.
After a moment, she lightly slaps my arm where she punched me before. "Come on; let's play one more. I think I feel like beating you." She pulls the balls back out from her bag and jogs onto the court.
"That's what I like to hear."
It becomes apparent after only a few points that Kim very much intends to win, so I redouble my efforts and try to make a game of it.
Monday, November 10, 2008
character sketch: christopher cowman (part 2)
here's the back story i promised last time. including this, there seems to be more information on christopher than even harriot. that may be 'technically' true, but this is just a single anecdote that sums christopher's impetus, whereas harriot's character is much more open ended. but enough self-criticism, here's the events that led to the present incarnation (relatively speaking) of christopher cowman.
as a teen, christopher had a crush on this cute red head he'd seen while working at his father's garage. apparently her family had just moved to town and were getting settled. he didn't even know her name, but he knew he'd marry her. the thought made him sad sometimes, but he didn't know why. one day he came across her being accosted by two obviously drunk men. this was the first time he'd ever let his anger flare as hot as it did. afterwards, he'd never remember actually doing anything. he does remember images like photographs flashing in his mind: him sitting over each of the mens' bodies, bashing their skulls in with a rock. she was passed out, so he picked her up and carried her to the doctor. she came to on the way and realized who she was with. she hugged him tight and in between sobs kept repeating "thank you thank you thank you" all the way to the doctor.
he finally learned that lilly was her name. she and christopher were inseparable for the next couple of weeks and were married within a month of his rescue. not long after that, he found out he was going to be a father.
it was inevitable that their relationship would begin to chafe young christopher. he couldn't leave lilly alone when he left for work, so everyday he'd drop her off and pick her up from her folk's home, and every night he'd stay home with her. one night, about three months into the marriage, he lost his patience with her dependance on him. he wanted to go out, and she didn't want to be left alone. heated words were exchanged, and lilly said that christopher wasn't her baby's father.
his anger flared. it didn't matter that it was true or not. as his fingers clenched, shock and horror for what he was about to do swelled in his mind, but not enough to diminish his fury. the image of his fist flying at lilly's face was smothered by the lightning that showed him hanging by the neck from a gallows, surrounded by the hateful, the curious and the disinterested.
when he regained control of his faculties, lilly lay at his feet, bleeding from a gash on her head. panicked, he carried her to his truck and took her to the doctor, but she was dead before they got there.
christopher slipped out while the doctor was calling the police. he knew what was in store for him, and he knew he deserved it, but he was more terrified than at any other time in his life. so he ran. all he could think of was to run, that and the images of lilly's and his death burning in his head.
as a teen, christopher had a crush on this cute red head he'd seen while working at his father's garage. apparently her family had just moved to town and were getting settled. he didn't even know her name, but he knew he'd marry her. the thought made him sad sometimes, but he didn't know why. one day he came across her being accosted by two obviously drunk men. this was the first time he'd ever let his anger flare as hot as it did. afterwards, he'd never remember actually doing anything. he does remember images like photographs flashing in his mind: him sitting over each of the mens' bodies, bashing their skulls in with a rock. she was passed out, so he picked her up and carried her to the doctor. she came to on the way and realized who she was with. she hugged him tight and in between sobs kept repeating "thank you thank you thank you" all the way to the doctor.
he finally learned that lilly was her name. she and christopher were inseparable for the next couple of weeks and were married within a month of his rescue. not long after that, he found out he was going to be a father.
it was inevitable that their relationship would begin to chafe young christopher. he couldn't leave lilly alone when he left for work, so everyday he'd drop her off and pick her up from her folk's home, and every night he'd stay home with her. one night, about three months into the marriage, he lost his patience with her dependance on him. he wanted to go out, and she didn't want to be left alone. heated words were exchanged, and lilly said that christopher wasn't her baby's father.
his anger flared. it didn't matter that it was true or not. as his fingers clenched, shock and horror for what he was about to do swelled in his mind, but not enough to diminish his fury. the image of his fist flying at lilly's face was smothered by the lightning that showed him hanging by the neck from a gallows, surrounded by the hateful, the curious and the disinterested.
when he regained control of his faculties, lilly lay at his feet, bleeding from a gash on her head. panicked, he carried her to his truck and took her to the doctor, but she was dead before they got there.
christopher slipped out while the doctor was calling the police. he knew what was in store for him, and he knew he deserved it, but he was more terrified than at any other time in his life. so he ran. all he could think of was to run, that and the images of lilly's and his death burning in his head.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
character sketch: christopher cowman
i'm posting a short character sketch today. i don't know, maybe he'll show up later. harriot, oscar and dexter aren't the only power users in this world. i've got some back story for him, and i'll post it some time. right now i'm not entirely happy with it. maybe after some editing...
christopher knows he'll hang. he deserves no less. he saw it--so long ago but he could never forget. the moment his fist touched her face, the vision of his fate burned in his mind. it was like a lightning bolt landing just outside the window of a pitch black room, and just as violent.
he deserves it, but he's afraid. he doesn't want to die. so he runs. and he's been running since. he's a capable mechanic, and quiet, so he doesn't have much trouble getting jobs in the towns he passes. he tries to avoid people in general; if he touches them he gets a vision of their death. it's impossible to avoid entirely, though, and he excepts it as a sort of penance. sometimes he wonders why it doesn't hurt like the first time. sometimes he wishes it would. sometimes it hurts enough.
christopher knows he'll hang. he deserves no less. he saw it--so long ago but he could never forget. the moment his fist touched her face, the vision of his fate burned in his mind. it was like a lightning bolt landing just outside the window of a pitch black room, and just as violent.
he deserves it, but he's afraid. he doesn't want to die. so he runs. and he's been running since. he's a capable mechanic, and quiet, so he doesn't have much trouble getting jobs in the towns he passes. he tries to avoid people in general; if he touches them he gets a vision of their death. it's impossible to avoid entirely, though, and he excepts it as a sort of penance. sometimes he wonders why it doesn't hurt like the first time. sometimes he wishes it would. sometimes it hurts enough.
Friday, October 24, 2008
interview with an angel, part 1
some nights i lie awake just waiting for my mind to wind down. it never seems to matter that it almost always dwells on the same tired thoughts: missed opportunities, life's regrets, junk like that. l'esprit de l'escalier. more like l'esprit du lit.
well, a few nights back i began thinking about this pseudo-autobiographical story i'd started writing a while back. i had outlined pretty much the whole thing, but made progress only on the first part. so, since it seems i can't go a week without posting here (maybe a good thing?), below is part one of 'interview with an angel'.
In a stereotypical coffee shop, the early morning sun shines on every species of professional imaginable, ordering or drinking their caffeinated concoctions with biscotti, bagels, and even donuts—pedestrian as they may be. The din of people maneuvering the tables and sitting in their chairs, walking and talking, eating and drinking, carries the feel of a race car engine revving just before the race has begun. On the edge of the dance sits a well-dressed man, sitting relaxed with his attention on the morning's sudoku, and occasionally his watch, but nothing else.
At a glance, he appears indistinguishable from any of the other patrons. But there are several subtle differences. He seems to be in no hurry, or rather he is just where he needs to be. The drink next to him happens to be a Bloody Mary. Also, he’s literally glowing. Not with a blinding glow, but the kind of glow that onlookers dismiss as the sun coming through the window, bathing him. Still, he looks less like the angel he is than a middle management corporate beast of burden.
And despite his faux smile, “finally” is written plainly on the angel's face as he rises to greet the man who's just entered the shop. The newcomer looks the very definition of dapper. He carries himself as if he were under the spotlight in a Broadway play. Everything he does is just slightly exaggerated: his canvassing of the shop until he sees the angel; his near strut to the angel's table; his two-handed hand shake. He removes his coat and carefully lays it folded over one chair, then checks that his tie and suspenders are straight and that his shirt is properly tucked before taking the seat next to it, directly across from the angel.
Where the presence of the angel is dissonance among the crowd, this man is antithesis to the crowd; a wondering eye my hesitate when falling onto the angel, but the man demands attention.
“Sorry I'm late. I swear I must've walked into five other places looking just like this one—on this block alone, no less.”
The angel waves dismissively. “Not at all. Before we begin, would you like a drink?”
The man rubs his chin as if in deep deliberation. “You know... This whole thing has gotten me feeling nostalgic. I'd absolutely love a Comfortable Screw.” The angel hands the man a highball. He takes the familiar drink, not phased in the slightest that the angel seemed to pull it out of air. “Oh, thanks. Yes, that's delicious. Thank you for not totally mucking it up.”
“I'm sorry, but I can't imagine how one can mess up a Comfortable Screw.”
“Well, as often as I'd order one, I'd get a Slow Screw or a Screw up against the Wall, or anything in between—anything but an actual Comfortable Screw. That's why I stopped ordering them all together.”
“I suppose I see—”
“Ha... I just realized what that must say about me. How fitting.”
This surprises the angel, who's only expecting mindless chit-chat. After replaying the last few seconds in his mind, he pulls out a small notebook and begin making scratches on the first page in angelic shorthand.
“Excuse me—it seems that we're just going to jump right in. I know that you're expecting a traditional interview, but let me explain how this will actually work. You will tell me about yourself, no more and no less than you're prepared to disclose. However, be aware that we will make our decision based on what you say here in light of any and all information we have on you. I may prompt for elaboration on any given point. I may not. Do you understand?”
“Sure. That all seems very reasonable to me.”
“Then you may begin whenever you're ready.”
The man puts his drink on the table and leans in towards the angel, as if to physically enter his confidence. “Well, first I just have to satisfy my curiosity. At first, I was just surprised that I was given this opportunity, until I realized that this opportunity was in fact an interview to get into heaven. I have to ask: is this interview process some kind of special mechanism for cases like mine or is this pretty much standard fare?”
The angel sets his pad and pen down and takes a drink before answering. “We’ve only started interviewing entrants very recently—I’d say not longer than a century. It was the first initiative enacted after the organizational restructuring. For several reasons that I can’t go into with you, we’ve needed to become more selective of the people allowed into heaven, hence this interview process. So, to answer your question, it is standard for every potential entrant to justify their entrance to heaven. The actual interview is customized to be culturally appropriate for each individual, but remains fundamentally and functionally universal.”
“Well… If anything my curiosity has been piqued even further. But I'll respect your need for discretion.”
At that, the angel trades his drink for his pad and pen and jots down a few quick scratches. He did not expect that answer, as evidenced by his raised eyebrow, the only crack in his composure.
well, a few nights back i began thinking about this pseudo-autobiographical story i'd started writing a while back. i had outlined pretty much the whole thing, but made progress only on the first part. so, since it seems i can't go a week without posting here (maybe a good thing?), below is part one of 'interview with an angel'.
In a stereotypical coffee shop, the early morning sun shines on every species of professional imaginable, ordering or drinking their caffeinated concoctions with biscotti, bagels, and even donuts—pedestrian as they may be. The din of people maneuvering the tables and sitting in their chairs, walking and talking, eating and drinking, carries the feel of a race car engine revving just before the race has begun. On the edge of the dance sits a well-dressed man, sitting relaxed with his attention on the morning's sudoku, and occasionally his watch, but nothing else.
At a glance, he appears indistinguishable from any of the other patrons. But there are several subtle differences. He seems to be in no hurry, or rather he is just where he needs to be. The drink next to him happens to be a Bloody Mary. Also, he’s literally glowing. Not with a blinding glow, but the kind of glow that onlookers dismiss as the sun coming through the window, bathing him. Still, he looks less like the angel he is than a middle management corporate beast of burden.
And despite his faux smile, “finally” is written plainly on the angel's face as he rises to greet the man who's just entered the shop. The newcomer looks the very definition of dapper. He carries himself as if he were under the spotlight in a Broadway play. Everything he does is just slightly exaggerated: his canvassing of the shop until he sees the angel; his near strut to the angel's table; his two-handed hand shake. He removes his coat and carefully lays it folded over one chair, then checks that his tie and suspenders are straight and that his shirt is properly tucked before taking the seat next to it, directly across from the angel.
Where the presence of the angel is dissonance among the crowd, this man is antithesis to the crowd; a wondering eye my hesitate when falling onto the angel, but the man demands attention.
“Sorry I'm late. I swear I must've walked into five other places looking just like this one—on this block alone, no less.”
The angel waves dismissively. “Not at all. Before we begin, would you like a drink?”
The man rubs his chin as if in deep deliberation. “You know... This whole thing has gotten me feeling nostalgic. I'd absolutely love a Comfortable Screw.” The angel hands the man a highball. He takes the familiar drink, not phased in the slightest that the angel seemed to pull it out of air. “Oh, thanks. Yes, that's delicious. Thank you for not totally mucking it up.”
“I'm sorry, but I can't imagine how one can mess up a Comfortable Screw.”
“Well, as often as I'd order one, I'd get a Slow Screw or a Screw up against the Wall, or anything in between—anything but an actual Comfortable Screw. That's why I stopped ordering them all together.”
“I suppose I see—”
“Ha... I just realized what that must say about me. How fitting.”
This surprises the angel, who's only expecting mindless chit-chat. After replaying the last few seconds in his mind, he pulls out a small notebook and begin making scratches on the first page in angelic shorthand.
“Excuse me—it seems that we're just going to jump right in. I know that you're expecting a traditional interview, but let me explain how this will actually work. You will tell me about yourself, no more and no less than you're prepared to disclose. However, be aware that we will make our decision based on what you say here in light of any and all information we have on you. I may prompt for elaboration on any given point. I may not. Do you understand?”
“Sure. That all seems very reasonable to me.”
“Then you may begin whenever you're ready.”
The man puts his drink on the table and leans in towards the angel, as if to physically enter his confidence. “Well, first I just have to satisfy my curiosity. At first, I was just surprised that I was given this opportunity, until I realized that this opportunity was in fact an interview to get into heaven. I have to ask: is this interview process some kind of special mechanism for cases like mine or is this pretty much standard fare?”
The angel sets his pad and pen down and takes a drink before answering. “We’ve only started interviewing entrants very recently—I’d say not longer than a century. It was the first initiative enacted after the organizational restructuring. For several reasons that I can’t go into with you, we’ve needed to become more selective of the people allowed into heaven, hence this interview process. So, to answer your question, it is standard for every potential entrant to justify their entrance to heaven. The actual interview is customized to be culturally appropriate for each individual, but remains fundamentally and functionally universal.”
“Well… If anything my curiosity has been piqued even further. But I'll respect your need for discretion.”
At that, the angel trades his drink for his pad and pen and jots down a few quick scratches. He did not expect that answer, as evidenced by his raised eyebrow, the only crack in his composure.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
impending research
well, just about all of my time for the next 2 weeks will be spent maintaining my impeccable school record (as in my work doesn't quite justify kicking my ass out of school). so this will probably be my last post until november 3.
i think it'd be nice to have read the books that harriot's read--considering i intend to write her. just because i need a starting point, i looked up sci-fi/fantasy writers on wikipedia and made a list of any who were published in the 1950's or earlier, some of whose works i may or may not have read already. below is a list of 38 such books (winnowed down from like a million).
before i get to these books, though, i've got three other books to read first: Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre, Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card, and The Watchmen by Alan Moore. i'll need to finish these before getting to the research.
the plan is to post synopses of the books as i read them, with analysis as to how they relate to harriot and my story. i suppose i'll practice with the three books i mentioned above (when i get to them, of course).
and now the list:
i think it'd be nice to have read the books that harriot's read--considering i intend to write her. just because i need a starting point, i looked up sci-fi/fantasy writers on wikipedia and made a list of any who were published in the 1950's or earlier, some of whose works i may or may not have read already. below is a list of 38 such books (winnowed down from like a million).
before i get to these books, though, i've got three other books to read first: Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre, Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card, and The Watchmen by Alan Moore. i'll need to finish these before getting to the research.
the plan is to post synopses of the books as i read them, with analysis as to how they relate to harriot and my story. i suppose i'll practice with the three books i mentioned above (when i get to them, of course).
and now the list:
- The Snow Queen - Hans Christian Anderson
- Peter Pan and Wendy - JM Barry
- The Little White Bird - JM Barry
- The Martian Chronicles - Ray Bradbury
- Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
- The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
- The Land that Time Forgot - Edgar Rice Burroughs
- The Pirates of Venus - Edgar Rice Burroughs
- A Princess of Mars - Edgar Rice Burroughs
- Jurgen, A Comedy of Justice - James Branch Cabell
- Alice's Adventures in Wonderland - Lewis Carrol
- The Man Who Was Thursday - GK Chesterton
- Rogue Queen - L Sprague de Camp
- The Worm Ouroboros - ER Eddison
- The House on the Borderland - William Hope Hodgson
- Two Sought Adventure - Fritz Leiber
- The Screwtape Letters - CS Lewis
- Out of the Silent Planet - CS Lewis
- The Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
- The Call of Cthulu - HP Lovecraft
- Lilith - George MacDonald
- Silverlock - John Myers Myers
- Portrait of Jennie - Robert Nathan
- Star Man's Son - Andre Norton
- The Crossroads of Time - Andre Norton
- Titus Groan - Mervyn Peake
- Land of Unreason - Fletcher Pratt & L Sprague de Camp
- Immortality Inc. - Robert Sheckley
- Citizen in Space - Robert Sheckley
- Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
- The Night Life of the Gods - Thorne Smith
- Turnabout - Thorne Smith
- The Lady or the Tiger - Frank R Stockton
- Rudder Grange - Frank R Stockton
- The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
- The Dying Earth - Jack Vance
- The Island of the Mighty - Evangeline Walton
- Witch House - Evangeline Walton
Thursday, October 9, 2008
how things fit
the three characters described in previous posts are intended to be the main characters in a story my friend and i are making. (i hesitate to use the word protagonists, as it's not clear now what direction any of them will take.)
the story is set in the 1950's and follows three characters as they begin a mystic quest on behalf of a mysterious organization, in the hopes of filling a void in their lives. they don't know the ultimate goal of this organization, nor the consequences of their success.
harriot is the "main" main character; oscar and buzz are important, but most of the time (all of the time?) the pov is harriot's. the organization believes that there is one person destined to complete the quest, but they don't know who. so they just tap any person showing signs of "power". they go through literally hundreds a year, with everyone ultimately dying. these three are the first to last so long, and have a serious chance of completing the quest. due to external pressures (of some unknown, mystic nature), the organization is forced to certify one of the three as "the one". conflict comes from the quest and harriot's interactions with oscar, buzz, other questers, and the organization.
the nature of "power" in this world is base on perception. those with "power", whom i'll call power-users, are able to interact with their perceptions in two distinct ways: observation and actuation. furthermore, there are different levels to which a power-user can take this interaction: involuntary(weakest), reflexive, intentional(strongest). this is not to say that power-users interact with all they perceive; they only have access to some well defined aspect of their perception. those who have strong aptitude for observation tend to be weak with respect to actuation, and vice-versa. everyone is capable of learning to use their power intentionally.
much of the story is inspired by an anime call "the law of ueki". there 100 middle schoolers are entered into a tournament representing 100 "god candidates". the next god will be the candidate whose champion wins the tournement. each candidate has bestowed a power on their champion. in this world, the nature of these powers also obey specific rules; all powers turn one specific thing into another. for example, one character can turn towels into steel, another can turn water into fire, and so on. the main character, ueki kouske, seems to have the weakest power (he can turn trash into trees), but his creativity and sense of justice repeatedly carries him to victory.
i know, i know, but my story is only loosely inspired by the anime. anyway, i'm currently compiling a list of books harriot may have read, for initial research.
the story is set in the 1950's and follows three characters as they begin a mystic quest on behalf of a mysterious organization, in the hopes of filling a void in their lives. they don't know the ultimate goal of this organization, nor the consequences of their success.
harriot is the "main" main character; oscar and buzz are important, but most of the time (all of the time?) the pov is harriot's. the organization believes that there is one person destined to complete the quest, but they don't know who. so they just tap any person showing signs of "power". they go through literally hundreds a year, with everyone ultimately dying. these three are the first to last so long, and have a serious chance of completing the quest. due to external pressures (of some unknown, mystic nature), the organization is forced to certify one of the three as "the one". conflict comes from the quest and harriot's interactions with oscar, buzz, other questers, and the organization.
the nature of "power" in this world is base on perception. those with "power", whom i'll call power-users, are able to interact with their perceptions in two distinct ways: observation and actuation. furthermore, there are different levels to which a power-user can take this interaction: involuntary(weakest), reflexive, intentional(strongest). this is not to say that power-users interact with all they perceive; they only have access to some well defined aspect of their perception. those who have strong aptitude for observation tend to be weak with respect to actuation, and vice-versa. everyone is capable of learning to use their power intentionally.
much of the story is inspired by an anime call "the law of ueki". there 100 middle schoolers are entered into a tournament representing 100 "god candidates". the next god will be the candidate whose champion wins the tournement. each candidate has bestowed a power on their champion. in this world, the nature of these powers also obey specific rules; all powers turn one specific thing into another. for example, one character can turn towels into steel, another can turn water into fire, and so on. the main character, ueki kouske, seems to have the weakest power (he can turn trash into trees), but his creativity and sense of justice repeatedly carries him to victory.
i know, i know, but my story is only loosely inspired by the anime. anyway, i'm currently compiling a list of books harriot may have read, for initial research.
5 minute rule; part 2
i like the poetry (irony? serendipity? whatever...) of using the five minute rule to explain the five minute rule. while i've been questioned a couple of times about it in the 10 years, i think it could stand concretization.
the first time i was kicked out and readmitted to college (about 10 years ago), i was forced to take a student development course. they discussed time management, study methods, etc. as you can imagine, i was daily riveted.
one (and only one) concept stuck with me. the idea behind the five minute rule is simple. if you need to get something done, tell yourself you'll do it now, but only for five minutes, after which you can stop. of course, five minutes come and go, and you're already working, so might as well continue. and the reason you keep using the rule is that, this time, you really will work for only five minutes. the reason i like it so much is, i think, that it resonates with my personal motto: self actualization through self delusion.
with respect to this blog, i use the five minute rule to just write something (like this post), no matter how irrelevant. this gets the motor running, and i can then direct that energy towards stuff i actually care about writing (like the groundwork for this story i'm working on). so in the future, post titled "5 minute rule" will probably be random nonsense. (at least, they'll be less pointed than this post.)
the first time i was kicked out and readmitted to college (about 10 years ago), i was forced to take a student development course. they discussed time management, study methods, etc. as you can imagine, i was daily riveted.
one (and only one) concept stuck with me. the idea behind the five minute rule is simple. if you need to get something done, tell yourself you'll do it now, but only for five minutes, after which you can stop. of course, five minutes come and go, and you're already working, so might as well continue. and the reason you keep using the rule is that, this time, you really will work for only five minutes. the reason i like it so much is, i think, that it resonates with my personal motto: self actualization through self delusion.
with respect to this blog, i use the five minute rule to just write something (like this post), no matter how irrelevant. this gets the motor running, and i can then direct that energy towards stuff i actually care about writing (like the groundwork for this story i'm working on). so in the future, post titled "5 minute rule" will probably be random nonsense. (at least, they'll be less pointed than this post.)
Friday, October 3, 2008
character sketch: dexter busby (aka buzz)
dexter is an optimistic all-american kid just out of high school. he's a man of platitudes. he's also very much a creature of the present; he has no real aspirations for the future. After all, "it'll turn out". his optimism isn't without basis. he's lucky. very lucky. for as long as he can remember he's been lucky and he knows it. that's not to say that he isn't smart or capable, "luck'll only take you so far". of course, "a little luck goes a long way".
nothing has really been out of reach for buzz: he was the star of the baseball team, most popular guy at school, and never lacked a date on saturday night. that notwithstanding, his reach never really exceeded his grasp: he enjoyed baseball, so he excelled; making friends was easy when everyone wanted to be your friend; athletic + popular + good-looking = lots of attention from girls.
enter the mysterious stranger who asks a simple question for which buzz has no answer. why? he recognizes that he's gifted beyond just about everyone. but for what purpose? is there a purpose? that's the one thing buzz's life has been missing, and, somewhat to his consternation, is not forthcoming. perhaps this stranger, with his particularly pointed question, also has some answers.
nothing has really been out of reach for buzz: he was the star of the baseball team, most popular guy at school, and never lacked a date on saturday night. that notwithstanding, his reach never really exceeded his grasp: he enjoyed baseball, so he excelled; making friends was easy when everyone wanted to be your friend; athletic + popular + good-looking = lots of attention from girls.
enter the mysterious stranger who asks a simple question for which buzz has no answer. why? he recognizes that he's gifted beyond just about everyone. but for what purpose? is there a purpose? that's the one thing buzz's life has been missing, and, somewhat to his consternation, is not forthcoming. perhaps this stranger, with his particularly pointed question, also has some answers.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
character sketch: oscar rickey
perhaps the one person who cares for harriot despite her personality (excepting her mother, of course), oscar barely registers on her radar. where she's only known him for a couple years (as her neighbor), he's known her since they were in middle school together, and been her silent admirer nearly that whole time.
oscar's fairly average by most accounts, with one exception. he holds his beliefs intensely and is absolutely certain in the veracity of his world view. until recently, there were two indisputable facts at the center of his life: first, there was no man (including him) good enough for harriot; second, he's the person she needs the most, since he's the only one who truly understands her. that's why he does whatever he needs to do to be part of her life. the fact that harriot has had (very) little success in social situations has kept oscar from going off on some fit of deluded paranoia. (yes, his convictions border on insanity. but since his situation is as it is, they keep him in line with society. he's even considered a fine young gentleman.)
that equilibrium was disrupted when he met a mysterious stranger promising a path to power and prestige. now, there are possibilities open to him that were previously inconceivable. perhaps he'll soon convince harriot that they were meant to be.
oscar's fairly average by most accounts, with one exception. he holds his beliefs intensely and is absolutely certain in the veracity of his world view. until recently, there were two indisputable facts at the center of his life: first, there was no man (including him) good enough for harriot; second, he's the person she needs the most, since he's the only one who truly understands her. that's why he does whatever he needs to do to be part of her life. the fact that harriot has had (very) little success in social situations has kept oscar from going off on some fit of deluded paranoia. (yes, his convictions border on insanity. but since his situation is as it is, they keep him in line with society. he's even considered a fine young gentleman.)
that equilibrium was disrupted when he met a mysterious stranger promising a path to power and prestige. now, there are possibilities open to him that were previously inconceivable. perhaps he'll soon convince harriot that they were meant to be.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
character sketch: harriot cooper
she's a confident and independent 23 year old with a razor wit. which, in 1955 terms, means she's a socially awkward outsider. so despite her rubenesque figure, which she makes very little effort to hide, no one really dares to brave her acerbic tongue. women are uncomfortable around her and men would rather be elsewhere.
she performs her duties as a nurse with diligence and pride. everyone she talks with has a nickname for her (including harry, hattie, babe, doll, etc.), even though she constantly insists on being called harriot. Despite her lack of grace, her boss seems to be intensely attracted to her (ass).
still, she's happy with the way her life has turned out. well, sort of. actually, she's rather bored with her life. she lives alone. she spends most of here free time with her extensive collection of jazz and blues records. she's a fan of escapist fantasy novels, like the works of hg wells and jules verne. she also devours riddles just about as soon as she's heard them.
one day, a mysterious stranger suggests that she may be destined for greatness. though initially doubtful, the prospect of adventure stews in her mind until she eventually gives in and takes her first steps onto an incredible journey.
she performs her duties as a nurse with diligence and pride. everyone she talks with has a nickname for her (including harry, hattie, babe, doll, etc.), even though she constantly insists on being called harriot. Despite her lack of grace, her boss seems to be intensely attracted to her (ass).
still, she's happy with the way her life has turned out. well, sort of. actually, she's rather bored with her life. she lives alone. she spends most of here free time with her extensive collection of jazz and blues records. she's a fan of escapist fantasy novels, like the works of hg wells and jules verne. she also devours riddles just about as soon as she's heard them.
one day, a mysterious stranger suggests that she may be destined for greatness. though initially doubtful, the prospect of adventure stews in her mind until she eventually gives in and takes her first steps onto an incredible journey.
an application of the 5 minute rule...
hmmm... three weeks since my last post. i need to work on that.
today is just a list of things i'm thinking about doing. can't say i'll get to 'em all. can't say they're all the same scope, either.
ultimately, i want to do research in creative ai. just gotta find a starting place.
i came up with a technique for analyzing feature models for application product lines for a project last semester. i should do a more formal treatment for it.
i think i can jump onto some natural language processing research. maybe.
there's this writing project with rodd. for a start i might throw some character sketches here.
i want babies. 3 of them. girls. Alice, Megan, and Sarah. it'd be nice if i can get married, but if i have to buy some surrogates, then i will.
i'ma goan gradumate and get me a job. sumday.
making some dinner sounds pretty good right now.
today is just a list of things i'm thinking about doing. can't say i'll get to 'em all. can't say they're all the same scope, either.
ultimately, i want to do research in creative ai. just gotta find a starting place.
i came up with a technique for analyzing feature models for application product lines for a project last semester. i should do a more formal treatment for it.
i think i can jump onto some natural language processing research. maybe.
there's this writing project with rodd. for a start i might throw some character sketches here.
i want babies. 3 of them. girls. Alice, Megan, and Sarah. it'd be nice if i can get married, but if i have to buy some surrogates, then i will.
i'ma goan gradumate and get me a job. sumday.
making some dinner sounds pretty good right now.
Monday, September 8, 2008
random thoughts
my sister made a comment a while back that there was no such thing as random. with my cs background, this almost sent me into apoplexy. but i think i knew what she meant: any event follows from it's context, so it can't be called random. i posit that an event's randomness requires recognition by an observer, who may or may not be aware of it's context. she says (i'm paraphrasing) an event's randomness is independent of observation, and so is it's context. thus it can't be random.
the argument looks to me like the question of the difference between fact and truth. however, in this case the point in contention is whether an event may be classified as random in the absence of observation. i suspect this parallels any kind of classification of events.
the argument looks to me like the question of the difference between fact and truth. however, in this case the point in contention is whether an event may be classified as random in the absence of observation. i suspect this parallels any kind of classification of events.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
some dialogue
i wrote this a while back. it's my first attempt at writing dialogue. yes, my first. and forgive the formatting.
Woman, on top of Man in bed (both clothed), with hair disheveled from tussle. Man, with arms pinned above his head by Woman, with his head turned to the side, tongue slightly appearing out of the side of his mouth, has his eyes closed and is trying to hold his breathe.
Woman: “what are you doing?”
Man: “playing dead.”
With that, Woman releases his arms, a little dejected. Man quickly rises up and envelopes Woman in his arms, turns and throws her down and pins her arms. Woman is shocked, but the look of disappointment remains.
Man: “oh, how the tables have turned.”
Woman: “get off of me.”
Man: “it seems you are at my mercy now.”
Surprise has left her face, and is replace with a mix of anger and annoyance.
Woman: “get off me now.”
Woman’s tone makes Man a little annoyed.
Man: “seriously?”
Woman: “yes.”
Man sighs as he releases Woman’s arms. Woman quickly rises up and envelopes Man in her arms, turns and throws him down and pins his arms again. Woman laughs triumphantly. Man exclaims.
Man: “damn you and damn my sense of fair play”
Woman: “you’ll never get the best of me.”
Man: “so true. name your terms.”
Woman: “will you surrender so easily?”
Man’s and Woman’s tone soften, breathes deepen.
Man: “if the terms are agreeable.”
Woman: “so you’re hoping for a benevolent queen?”
Man: “maybe not too benevolent.”
Woman looks down with a moan, then back at Man’s face with a smirk.
Woman: “well, one of my terms has been met.”
Man: “you know how wit turns me—“
Neither Man nor Woman say any more, as Woman quickly and deeply kisses Man.
Woman, on top of Man in bed (both clothed), with hair disheveled from tussle. Man, with arms pinned above his head by Woman, with his head turned to the side, tongue slightly appearing out of the side of his mouth, has his eyes closed and is trying to hold his breathe.
Woman: “what are you doing?”
Man: “playing dead.”
With that, Woman releases his arms, a little dejected. Man quickly rises up and envelopes Woman in his arms, turns and throws her down and pins her arms. Woman is shocked, but the look of disappointment remains.
Man: “oh, how the tables have turned.”
Woman: “get off of me.”
Man: “it seems you are at my mercy now.”
Surprise has left her face, and is replace with a mix of anger and annoyance.
Woman: “get off me now.”
Woman’s tone makes Man a little annoyed.
Man: “seriously?”
Woman: “yes.”
Man sighs as he releases Woman’s arms. Woman quickly rises up and envelopes Man in her arms, turns and throws him down and pins his arms again. Woman laughs triumphantly. Man exclaims.
Man: “damn you and damn my sense of fair play”
Woman: “you’ll never get the best of me.”
Man: “so true. name your terms.”
Woman: “will you surrender so easily?”
Man’s and Woman’s tone soften, breathes deepen.
Man: “if the terms are agreeable.”
Woman: “so you’re hoping for a benevolent queen?”
Man: “maybe not too benevolent.”
Woman looks down with a moan, then back at Man’s face with a smirk.
Woman: “well, one of my terms has been met.”
Man: “you know how wit turns me—“
Neither Man nor Woman say any more, as Woman quickly and deeply kisses Man.
Welcome
hmmmm, i've never been the journal keeping type. and i prolly never will. however, internal dialogue no longer satisfies. plus a blog is a more persistent medium than my mind nowadays.
i'll be posting my writings, rants, and whatever thoughts i feel the need to expunge. i'll not be following any real format, so expectations should be nil.
as fun as i'm sure it is to have millions (and millions) of fans reading my stuff, i'll survive regardless.
so read it or don't. comment or don't. it's time to pay the price.
i'll be posting my writings, rants, and whatever thoughts i feel the need to expunge. i'll not be following any real format, so expectations should be nil.
as fun as i'm sure it is to have millions (and millions) of fans reading my stuff, i'll survive regardless.
so read it or don't. comment or don't. it's time to pay the price.
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