On the roof

I sat on the edge of the building's roof, my legs dangling in the air high above the ground. I watched below as dozens after dozens of car lights flashed past, people rushing to get to or from one thing or another. I wondered what it was that was going through their minds. Were they focusing on where they had to go? Were their minds wandering to other things, or different worlds? Were they happy, or sad, or afraid? There were a lot of questions to be asked, but there were few answers to be had. I was ok with that.

A gust of wind breezed passed, and I felt my legs sway along with it. I looked up at the night's sky to be met with another myriad of lights, but these were still, as the stars were much too far away to be seen as moving like the cars, even though they surely traveled far faster. Thousands of lightyears away they burned, or at least so I assumed, and unlike the people below, they had no thoughts. It was odd to think that something that appeared so bright, and so beautiful, was in a sense empty.

And in between them, sitting on a construct of concrete and steel, was me. I supposed that some might find some kind of meaning in that. Something symbolic. But I didn't worry much about it. There wasn't much to say about me. I found these things on either side of me, moving far faster than I, curious wonders which I could never fully understand, to be far more interesting.

I felt the wind caressing my face as I laid back, cold concrete making a rough and solid surface for me to relax on. I didn't mind it. I had fallen asleep on things much less comfortable in the past. Running my fingers over the uneven surface, I thought about the work that must have been put into creating such a large structure. How much planning had to be put into making sure that it would be a stable structure, that it would have to space needed to fulfill its purpose. How many hands had to be put in to follow those plans and make a dream a reality.

It was pretty incredible to consider how the world had come together. So many people working together, whether they even realized it or not, creating things that would change the course of history in both incredible and subtle ways. The smallest things in the world could snowball out to make more of an impact than one could ever hope to do. No one could consciously control it.

I stood up and dusted myself off before glancing back down at the cars in the streets below. It was getting late, and the number of cars passing through was quickly decreasing. It wouldn't be long before there was hardly a single one passing. This late at night, the world was a different place than it was during the day. A lot quieter, a lot more mysterious, and in some cases, a lot more dangerous.

And I wanted to see it.

The forest knight

The woods were dimly lit, with the trees climbing high into the air, branches interlocking high above to let light through only in small patches that barely managed to touch the ground. The air was thick and moist, and Leena felt as though she could hardly breath because of it. She had long since lost track of how long she had been traveling amongst the trees, trying to find her way. She had wandered in on a dare by her friends, but... Well, she could hardly find her way out now.

The way plants grew was very strange to her. They seemed to be crawling towards one another, intertwining as though they were attempting to grow in ways that supported each other. It was as though the forest was alive, a biome full of creations that would only be capable of existing were they to rely upon one another. She felt nervous as she attempted to find her way, as though when she reached out to the trees to support herself on, the trees pushed back against her, telling her to leave.

Leena sat down somewhat roughly, pulling the bag off of her back and reaching in to grab the last of the food that she had been carrying with her. It would give her a few more hours of energy, and she could only hope that she would be able to find her way out before that time ran out. She looked around and found a small stream of clean water, which she was able to drink from. It seemed as though every time she stopped there was water ready for her.

"You seem to be lost," came a voice from behind her. It was low and rough, as though it were coming from a man who had been around for far too long, and it startled Leena. She stumbled to her feet and turned to see something that she couldn't quite explain. It was as though a man were trapped within a near by tree, nearly camouflaged within it, as his face was half covered with tree bark, and his clothes were green and leafy. "You shouldn't have come into these woods, dear," he whispered. His voice felt as though it were all around her, coming from every plant in the forest.

"I... I'm sorry," Leena replied, her voice weak with fear. "My friends... They dared me to, and I thought... I didn't know..."

The man stepped out of the tree, plants moving freely out of his way so he might escape. He had a thick green cape draped around his shoulders, and Leena realized that his barky appearance was a set of armor. A rusted steel broadsword hung at his hip, dragging along the ground. His eyes were old and dull, and they barely moved, as though he were blind. "Let me show you out of these woods," his voice came again.

Leena stepped toward him in earnest surprise. "You'll help me out?" she asked. "Please, sir, I'm so frightened being here."

"Well, there's your fault," he said. "You must not be afeared of these trees. They'll feel it."

Leena blinked. "They'll feel it? How?"

"These are ancient woods, my dear. They know more than you ever could. Accept them. They will set you free."

Leena frowned and looked around. She didn't know what to think, but at this point she could hardly see as she had a choice. She closed her eyes and kept thinking to herself the same thing: "I'm not afraid of the trees. I'm not afraid of the trees."

"Are you gonna go or what, Leena?"

Leena opened her eyes in a jolt, to find herself back out of the forest, her friends surrounding her as they had before she had entered. "Don't tell me your pussying out, Leena," Brandon taunted.

She looked towards the woods, remembering what had happened. She remembered the man she had seen. She remembered the fear and the hunger and the darkness. "No," she said slowly. "I don't think I'm going to go."

Summoning

Brianna reached into the pocket on the inside of her cloak and pulled from within it a small piece of red chalk. The group of people in front of her watched on in quiet interest, unsure entirely of what it was she was going to do. She had gathered them together with the promise of showing them the entrance into a world unlike any that they had seen before. With recent rumors of supernatural powers appearing in the blood of of people as mutations, they were willing to see what it was she had to offer, with the hope that it would somehow awaken in them that which had been awoken in others.

She was only partially lying.

With her chalk, Brianna drew a circle in the air, which appeared in midair as though she were drawing on a piece of glass. She could see the look of surprise and intrigue on the crowd before her, and smiled coyly to herself. She created a sigil in the air, keeping an eye on the crowd, making sure that everyone was paying attention and not trying to leave. It would be less than desirable for any among them to change their minds about seeing what she had to show them at the last minute, for many reasons. But to her fortune, everyone was too mystified by the magic that was occurring before them.

The crowd that she had gathered was quite large, numbering at one hundred, and she was able to see in each of them a small light of the flame which was appearing among the population. That small spark, if properly nurtured, would ignite the powers that they so desired, though calling them mutations was less than accurate. The truth was that magic had slept within their souls for generations, having been backed away and hidden as society lost belief in it, and waited to be revealed.

"Prepare yourselves, friends," Brianna called out to the crowd as she finished her sigil. "For it is time that you are shown the world which you so desire to become a part of, and that you are so rightfully meant to be in. Please, do not turn your eyes away, or else you may find yourself having missed the opportunity of a lifetime."

The crowd muttered amongst themselves, but as she had hoped, not a one moved away. A grin spread across her face, and the mark on the back of her hand began to shine as she felt the heat of magic begin to burn. She curled her hand into a fist and smashed it through the sigil, which shattered like glass, and immediately a silhouette began to form. The silhouette grew, becoming larger than any of them, gaining limbs that no person could hold. In a bright flash of light it gained form, and a demon stood before them.

Screams came from the crowd, and those who screamed first were the first to be devoured. The demon surged among the crowd as they tried to leave, but they found themselves trapped within an invisible box which the demon had formed to entrap them. It tore them apart, blood splashing and painting the grown deep red. In only a few moments, they were gone.

The demon turned back to Brianna, who bowed deeply before it. "Your sacrifice was well," the demon spoke into her mind, its lips unmoving. "What is your wish?"

Brianna smiled wickedly. All had gone according to plan.

"Only that I continue to serve you," she said, "and that you might protect your accolade."

Roleplaying 2

It's been a long time since I last talked about roleplaying. When I first brought it up, I talked about how it provides a good challenge for a writer, to work within a story where they are not the sole prognosticator, to have to react to characters that they do not control, and to have to understand how their own characters would react to things that are not fully planned in advance. It's a magnificent way for someone to learn to better write, though there are of course problems associated with it, such as not being the one who plans the majority of the plot and letting yourself be carried from scene to scene.

However, what I do not believe I talked on as much was how roleplaying can be a fantastic way to learn about a person. I've talked a few times about how writing can be both a good and a bad way to learn about the person who is doing the writing, and while I will continue to say that you should not judge a person solely on the things that they write, I will also say that there are few better or more interesting ways to learn about someone. The way that a person writes a character, or describes a scene, or creates tension can explain a lot about the ways that they think. The ways that they react to the things that you write can also say a lot.

I have seen in many personal experiences the ways that people insert themselves into the characters that they write in a roleplay, sometimes without even thinking about it. Sometimes they will even write about the people around them, also without thinking, and the relationships that they create with these characters and the ways that they have one character talk about another says a lot about how they think about the people around them.

The specific details that they choose to respond to in each and every reply speaks to the things that give more value to over others, or things that understand better than others. I know that in many ways I am much better at dialogue than most other sections of writing, and so what a character says is something that I much more likely to respond to than, say, how they are dressed.

Much of this all is subconscious, and may not even be something that the person wants to admit to when confronted about it. Especially because, as I have said multiple times, they may not even realize they are doing it. It's something I've seen people get embarassed about, try to play off as not being their intent or not even being what happened, but there's nothing wrong with writing what you know. It's what many people say you should do, and not something that I would disagree with. If anything, if someone were to point these things out to me, I would think more about it, and thus hopefully improve myself as a writer.

But perhaps this is something that I simply notice more because of the fact that I am a writer. In the same ways that people notice the way music rises and falls and take things from it, or looks at a painting and is able to discern more from it than simply what is being shown. But it's certainly something worth considering, and if you like to write and have never tried roleplaying, I highly encourage it. You can learn a lot about both yourself and whoever you do it with.

Power and threats

I feel like a lot of these real talk posts are me repeating the same message under different banners, but the fact is that that's kind of what writing is all about. So, spoiler alert: the end result of this all is that balance is important.

One of the things that you have to think about in a series of stories is where things are going to end up. With one story it's not quite as much of an issue, though of course the ending is important, but what I mean is: how powerful are your characters going to be by the end, and how powerful is the threat that they have to overcome?

With a lot of stories, this isn't necessarily an actual physical presence. Many stories are about internal struggles, and learning, rather than full on fighting. But I'm the kind of person who really enjoys a good fantasy setting, with swords clashing and arrows flying, and perhaps some fireballs falling from the skies. So when physical combat (or magical, whatever) is one of the main driving points of your story, you have to consider just how strong your characters are. They have to grow throughout the story, of course, or find tricky ways around their problems that aren't immediately obvious, because otherwise there's no tension. So, in someway, the enemy is going to at least start off as even stronger than the main character.

But when one story goes into the next, this can become problematic. If, at the end of the first story, your character saves the world from an all-encompassing danger, what is there left for them to do in the next one? After all, anything less than what was there in the first story can now be easily defeated. Therefore, what comes next must logically be stronger and more dangerous yet. But this quickly becomes problematic.

A lot of movies and tv shows face this problem, and some games, though perhaps to a lesser extent. How often have you walked away from a sequel to something you really enjoyed and said to yourself, "Man, they really jumped the shark on that one"? If you're anything like me, probably a lot. If you start at saving the world, you have to move onto the galaxy, and then to the universe, and then what is there left?

And aside from that, if your character is so powerful that they can stop someone with the power to destroy the universe, what is stopping them from doing the same? Their morals and beliefs are there, sure, but those can be corrupted, not to mention that if action pictures have taught us anything, it's that there's going to be some massive collateral damage in the big fight. Not to mention what they might do on accident.

Hell, what kind of place would someone that strong even have in society? They would be a danger to everyone around them. Everyone would know exactly who they were, and everyone in their right mind would be afraid of them. That's why superheroes hide their identities. Well, that's one reason anyway, but I digress. Someone who can benchpress a planet hardly has many places that they can fit in.

Actually, you know what? That could be an interesting story. Someone is so powerful after having saved the universe that they themselves could destroy it easily, and the next story is entirely about them just trying to figure out what the hell to do with themselves now that they're the only reasonable threat there is. No threats, no massive fights. Just trying to fit in. I like that.

Where to write

I think we all know the stereotype of the writer sitting at his laptop in the local coffee shop, sipping on his caffeinated beverage as he types away a storm for long hours of the day, finishing his great masterpiece that will probably receive all kinds of criticisms but sell millions in the end regardless because it was secretly amazing, or some load of junk like that. I know plenty of people who have tried to follow this model, taking out their preferred method of writing to Starbucks, or some non-brand deal place, and trying to write. Hell, I've done it too. For some people, it may even work - you're surrounded by people talking about all kinds of things, and you can grab snippets of their conversations for inspiration, and you have a constant stream of caffeine to keep you awake and focused. But it's not for everyone.

Like me. I tried it for... I don't know, maybe half an hour to an hour? Small period, I know, but if I sit down and make myself write, I can get a lot of words down in that amount of time. But sitting in that coffee shop, I simply couldn't focus. Maybe it's just because I'm not a coffee guy, or because I don't like people all that much, but there was just too much going on. Too much noise, too many smells, too many unfamiliar things. I couldn't concentrate. I got maybe a hundred words down in that span of time, and I hated every word I put down.

I think the biggest part to choosing where you want to write is being comfortable wherever you are. Personally, I'm not comfortable many places outside of my own home, so that's where I write best. I don't have to worry about what's going on around me, because I know how everything is supposed to be, and I'll know if something happens without having to focus on it. I can tune out everything around me, and engulf myself in the world that I'm creating.

It's interesting to think about why this is, though. When you're comfortable where you are, most people choose to do less, I think. They don't feel pressured by what's around them to get work done, and so they choose to push that work off, instead doing things that help them relax - like nothing. In a work environment, they feel a need to get things done, because that's what everyone around them is doing, and they don't want to fall behind the crowd.

But, at least for me, writing isn't like that. Writing, though I consider it to be my work, and I try to work hard at it, is also the thing that I use to relax. When I am writing, I feel like I have purpose, like I am doing something that is worthwhile. But writing is not something that looks productive. From the outside, the act of writing is monotonous, and it doesn't produce much outside of words on a piece of paper, or a computer screen. No one can see the work that you put into it, because what you are making may never even make it to the surface. Writing is an act of putting down, reworking, erasing, and doing over again. You can't just pump something out. You have to make it shine. But all the while, though what you are doing changes constantly, it never looks any different.

I think for me that's the thing that keeps me from working in public. I try not to let perceptions of me affect me, but it's difficult to do that all of the time. When I am alone, I can feel that my writing is productive. But in public, that becomes a much more difficult task. But that doesn't apply to everyone. For some people, the exact opposite is true.

So I suppose that coffee drinking author stereotype isn't going to go away anytime soon.

Cool characters

I recognize that this is more of an issue in tv shows, movies, and games than it is in written stories, but I feel like the points that I make will still stand. There's nothing wrong with wanting to write a cool character. If you want to write a character that is the epitome of cool, that makes your reader go, "Wow, I wish I were that cool," when they read them, that's fine. That is totally your prerogative. However, as with many things, you have to have some sort of balance in that badassery, or else it just goes over the top and stops being cool and just becomes silly.

Unfortunately, this is totally a subjective thing. What I think is the coolest thing in the world, someone else might find to be incredibly lame and try-hard, or vice versa. And even more unfortunate, one of us may be in the majority opinion, and the other in the vast minority. And in my case, very frequently I am in the vast minority when it comes to opinions on what is cool.

I can try and write my own versions of cool, and I might think they're cool characters, and you might think they're cool, but lots of others might not. And further still, what is cool is not necessarily a consistent thing. Many ideas of what is cool is based on current culture, which may change at any moment, and there's no way to predict what will last and what won't. This is easily seen looking back. There are thousands of things that we can look back on, and think, "Why did we ever think that was cool?"

But when you're trying to write a cool character, those are the factors that we have to draw on. The very act of trying to make something cool is effectively putting a date on it, showing when it was made and when it was actually considered cool. And with the long amounts of time that it takes to produce a story, by the time you're finished, the things that made your characters cool may not even be cool anymore. That means rewriting them. But that takes time. And by the time you're finished...

You get the point.

Many of our opinions of cool are based on what used to be cool, as well. By trying to pull on these things, we are alienating people who never experienced those things as being cool. But we probably don't even realize that we're doing that, because to us they never stopped being cool.

It boils down to a simple fact: a character can be cool, but chances are that coolness won't last. Which may not be a bad thing. We can leave a mark in our writings to say what things used to be, and that's perfectly alright. We may even choose to write intentionally in ways that used to be cool but are no longer, in order to date the characters themselves and set them on a page in history. Perhaps this can be used to hold them back in the story, or give them something to work towards in the future.

Personally, I wouldn't want a character of mine to be defined as being cool. But I suppose, in a way, I'm not the person who gets to decide that anyway.