Pool

The clack of pool balls striking each other filled the room as Edward entered the bar. The smell of alcohol was strong, but not quite as strong as the sound of billiard players. Edward really only came here to play. He wasn't much of a drinker. He would play for hours, however, and he participated in all the tournaments, though he didn't often win. He just loved to play.

He went straight to the back wall and collected a cue off of the racks. There were a few tables still open, and it never took long for others to come and join him at his. He set up his rack of balls and started to chalk the tip of his cue as he waited for a partner to join him. Shortly afterwards the door opened again, and a woman entered the bar whom he had not seen before. She looked around briefly before moving briskly to the wall and collecting a cue and coming straight to Edward's table.

"You're Edward, right?" He raised his eyebrow, but nodded. "Play me," she demanded. Edward chuckled and nodded, gesturing for her to take the break shot. She seemed almost angry as she took her cue and made her shot. Edward could see immediately that she was talented, as she sunk two balls right off the bat.

Over the night, they played at least a dozen games, though Edward lost track. The mysterious girl beat him at every game, without difficulty. She rarely missed a shot. The entire time, though, she seemed to be angry at him, as if his playing was somehow insulting her. He couldn't tell what was wrong, and so dedicated himself to playing. After a few games, he found it was necessary for him to purposefully make shots that blocked her off from the pockets, just so that he could have a turn.

By the end of the night, Edward had slowly managed to get closer to beating her at the game, but she seemed no closer to relieving her anger. As they played, they didn't talk. People came by to watch, and yet they seemed as entranced as the players were, as though they were not themselves allowed to speak. They didn't stop playing until the owner came to them at the end of a game and asked them to go home.

As they stepped outside, Edward stopped the woman. "What's the matter?" he asked her. She almost glared at him. "You were clearly the better player. I've never met you before. I have no idea who you are. Why are you so angry with me?"

"Why do you play the game?" she asked roughly. "I've heard all about you. Always playing, always competing, and yet you rarely win against good players. So why?"

Edward blinked, surprised. "I play to have fun," he responded simply. The woman shook her head and walked away.

Edward watched her go, confused. Her anger seemed so misplaced. "She needs to relax," he muttered to himself. "It's just a game."

Strange beginnings

Talia found herself in the middle of an enclosing of trees. She couldn't remember how she got there, or why she was there, or even frankly much of who she was. She couldn't remember much of anything other than her name. She was laying on the ground, and she couldn't tell if she had fallen there or simply fallen asleep. The open space amongst the trees was very large, and the trees themselves were gigantic.

Talia sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes. Somewhere in the back of her head, she thought that perhaps the trees were bigger than they should have been, but she wasn't sure why she thought that or what the proper size of the trees should be. She seemed to have no concept of size that was fitting with the environment around her.

She tried to stand up, but found that her legs could barely support. Luckily, she was near enough to one of the trees that she was able to slowly make her way to it and prop herself up against it. She briefly registered how tiny her hand appeared to be on the wood of the giant tree. As she rested against the tree and attempted to massage her legs, she tried to remember how she had gotten there. In doing so, her back began to ache. She wondered if perhaps she had landed on it, but she couldn't remember.

After a while, she felt confident enough in her legs that she was able to stand up. After a few shaky steps she managed to find her stride, and began making her way around the tree to see where she was. On the other side of the tree was a forest, all as big as the enclosing she was in. Just then, a giant bird flew over head, and she found herself unable to look away from it. Everything was so big here! Or maybe, she began to realize, it was that she was just very small.

She tried to find her way through the forest, but it was just too big and dense, and she couldn't keep track of where she was going or make good ground without becoming tired. As she walked, she became more and more aware of the dull ache in her back. She tried to reach around and feel if there was anything there, and her fingers grazed against something paper thin. The feeling made her back twitch.

"Where is this place?" she wondered aloud. "What is happening to me?"

"This is our forest," replied a voice from above. "And you seem to have forgotten how to use your wings, it seems."

Talia looked around for the source of the voice but saw no one. Suddenly a young man dropped from the sky in front of her, landing effortlessly, and as he stood she saw he had a beautiful set of butterfly wings growing from his back. "Who are you?" she demanded, leaping back in surprise.

"My name is Bimaal," the man responded. "You must not be from around here, I don't recognize you. Where are you from?"

"I... I can't remember. I can't seem to remember anything." Talia looked down at her feet, embarrassed.

"You poor thing," he cooed, stepping carefully towards her. She didn't back away or make him stop. "Let me help you. What's your name?"

"Talia."

"Talia, you look like your wings could use a good stretch."

"What wings? I don't remember having wings."

Bimaal placed a hand on the square of her back, running a finger down her spine. The sensation made her shiver, and suddenly she heard an unfurling as the wings growing out of her back stretched out. The ache in her back seemed to groan in relief. "W-what are you doing to me?" she asked.

Bimaal chuckled. "You really don't know, do you?" he asked in response. Talia shook her head.

"You're a fairy."

Trouble sleeping

Jared often found that he had trouble sleeping at night. It took him long stretches of time simply staring at the ceiling before he could drift into unconsciousness, but he could never stay that way for long. He found himself waking frequently throughout the night, and he never felt particularly rested come morning. He spent most of his days exhausted, attempting to keep himself active through use of caffeine by various means, but it was never quite enough to compensate for such little sleep that he received.

He was eating lunch by himself one day, half awake as usual, when an unfamiliar voice asked if they could join him. He looked up from his meal to find a woman standing above him. He nodded his approval and, with a smile, she sat across from him.

"You looked lonely," she said, "and I wanted to remedy that. My name's Rebecca."

"Jared."

Rebecca smiled warmly and prepared her food. She made light conversation attempts, but Jared was too tired to fully comprehend what it was she was saying to him. Suddenly her words broke through as she asked, "Are you ok, Jared? You look very tired."

He chuckled at that. "I tend to, yes," he answered. "I chronically sleep poorly." He downed the last of his coffee and rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry if it seems I'm not paying attention. I just have trouble focusing. Too tired."

Rebecca nodded and put her hand on top of his own, much to his surprise. "I suppose you've tried medication and the like, and it doesn't help?" Jared nodded. "I'm sorry," she said. "You shouldn't have to deal with that.

Jared chuckled again and shook his head. "You don't have to apologize to me. It's not your fault. It's just something I have to deal with."

Rebecca nodded and sat back. In silence the two finished their meals. As Rebecca stood up, she said, "Thank you for letting me join you for lunch, Jared. If you ever want to try something different to help with your sleeping problem..." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card, placing it before him. "Try giving that number a call." She smiled and walked away as Jared picked up the card. All that was on it was a phone number. No name, no explanation, just the number.

It was a couple months before Jared gave in and called. It was late at night, and he simply could not fall asleep. He didn't expect an answer, given the time, but he thought perhaps he could leave a message, and the next morning have a response that could help that night. Much to his surprise, however, the phone only rang twice before there was an answer.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end was a woman, and it sounded oddly familiar, though Jared couldn't quite think of why.

"Hi, I was told I should call this number for assistance with a sleeping problem?"

The woman on the other end began to giggle for a moment, leaving Jared very confused. What number had Rebecca given him? "If you would give me your address, your assistance will be delivered momentarily."

In less than half an hour, there was a knock on Jared's door, and he was surprised to find Rebecca herself on the other side. "Rebecca?" he asked.

She giggled, and immediately he recognized it as the same laugh that had come from the other end of the phone line. "Surprise," she said, stepping inside. Jared couldn't argue, and simply closed the door behind her. She was dressed in pajamas, and without a word made her way to his bedroom, with Jared close behind.

She laid on his bed and patted the space beside her without a word. Jared was too tired to argue, and lay beside her. Rebecca wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close to her, cradling him against her body. Jared opened his mouth to question what she was doing, and she simply smiled and put a finger to his lips. "Sleep now," she said.

Jared rolled his eyes in protest, but found that his eyes were growing heavy. The last thought that crossed his mind before he passed out was that she was surprisingly comfortable.

Storylines

Let me start off by saying that I prefer Fantasy over Science Fiction. They both have very similar capabilities and tendencies as far as storytelling goes, which is why they're often stocked together in libraries and bookstores. There's more to it than this, but my explanation of the difference between them is that Science Fiction feels the need to explain itself and how it's world works, while Fantasy simply says "It's magic."

There's nothing inherently wrong with either of these. People like to argue that there is, but there's not. Everything needs to be explained in some capacity, but the depth is not nearly as important as how much it satisfies the reader. I'm the kind of person who is perfectly satisfied with "It's magic." Some people are not. As long as your explanations are consistent and satisfactory, however, it really doesn't matter.

This applies to storylines as a whole. No matter what genre you read or write, there are some stories that go crazy in depth about every little thing, and there are some that barely go in-depth at all. Sometimes in a series of stories, the amount of depth that a writer goes into changes. And that's ok too. Each story is individual, even if they are linked together. As long as the story itself is consistent, and elements aren't lost in a world between linked stories, it shouldn't matter.

With all things, these only apply if you do them well. I can think of a dozen instances off the top of my head where a story's sequel is abruptly more complex or simple than its prequel, and it pisses me off. It's not because the story is told differently, however. It's because the transition between the stories, the explanation for why that transition happens, is done poorly. A story can grow in depth, or it can shrink as it finds its focus. That's fine. It can even explode as a revelation is found, or suddenly compress as a situation changes, and that's fine too. But it has to feel appropriate, and the characters have to move at a different pace. The characters are the true force behind the story.

Let's assume, for a moment, that there is a story about a farmboy, living his life on a farm. Complications happen, things need to be fixed, but it all takes place on the farm. Then, in the next story, suddenly that same farmboy finds himself in a huge city. His world is suddenly, abruptly exploding before him. But what makes the transition work is that he reacts to it as a farmboy. He can't abruptly be a city slicker to fit in with his new world. He can be that by the end of the story, which opens an interesting story about what happens when he goes back home to the farm. But it can't happen immediately.

The only way that kind of transition can happen quickly is if the next story has a significant change in time between the two stories. But you can only get away with that if, as the story progresses, you explain what has happened in that missing time. You can string your readers along this route and it works, as long as by the end of it the don't feel like they missed something.

Too often I see people talk about how they wish a story was more simple or more complex to fit them as a person. If a story doesn't resonate with you, then it wasn't meant for you. There's nothing wrong with that. But you can't expect a story to change as you do. A story changes as its own characters dictate. Not even the author can change that and still have a coherent, interesting story.

Fanfiction

You can probably guess what fanfiction is by the name if you've never heard of it, but let me just briefly explain. Fanfiction is simply a story written within the context of another story that already exists, written by a fan of that other story. It's fairly common for tv shows, video games, movies and the like to have fanfiction written to them.

I find that a lot of people who write or read fanfiction are very defensive about it. They don't want to be judged by it, they don't want to be thought of as less because they have some connection to it. But why is this a supposed problem? What's wrong with fanfiction? People who write original stories will often do small fanfiction pieces as writing practices. Do they publish them? No. But that doesn't mean it's not good writing. It applies your writing abilities in different ways than a lot of other writing practices do.

I like reading fanfiction. I don't do it often, but I enjoy it. I can not write it for the life of me. I've tried. I simply can't do it. Trying to wrap my brain around characters and a world which aren't mine, and telling a story with them in a new and different way, is something I struggle with. So I have a lot of respect for people who can. Some people have the opposite issue, where they can write fanfiction, but can't write original stories for the life of them. And I would imagine they have a lot of respect for people who can.

So why is there some sort of fight going on between these two sets of people? What is so offensive about writing fanfiction? Why should it have to be defended like it's some bizarre, unacceptable act? And why is it treated as though it's an inclusive community, and only those involved directly in it can influence it? I have a friend who is intimately familiar with fanfiction communities, and they have told me a lot about the kinds of things they do. They thoroughly confuse me.

I grant that some things are very community specific. But from what I've been told, fanfiction writers only seem to want to listen to the advice that other fanfiction writers can give. They treat it as though it is totally different from other forms of writing. This isn't a thing. All writing is connected to each other in some way. Texting and writing the next great novel seem so vastly different, but they both involve trying to carry a meaning across to an audience. You have to know what words to use, when, and how. Writing is writing. It doesn't matter what. It only matters that you do.

We are all better at some forms of writing than others. This is undeniable. I'm good at fiction. I suck at research papers, journalistic articles, fanfiction, and even online conversations at times. But that doesn't mean that they aren't connected. So I think that we should stop treating them like separate entities, and appreciate them all for what they are.

Resolutions (Continued)

I am writing this, beginning at 11:48. This is what I was talking about yesterday. It's very difficult to keep this shit up after this point, due to the laziness of the holidays. I find it unlikely that I will be able to finish this in time to truly say that I kept it up everyday, but I am going to try and do so regardless. That's the goal, and that's what I'm going to push myself to do. At the very least, I can say that I started this on the correct day, and that I tried. Fortunately I haven't started counting yet.

These things happen. It's why we set goals for ourselves. So that we have something to constantly be pushing towards, because even if we never make it to the end goal, we're still bettering ourselves along the way. I know this because I have never truly made it to a goal that I have set. I have gotten close many times, but I have always fallen short. But I am still a better man for having done so.

It may turn out by the end of 2015 that I go against that statement. I may make it to the end without missing a single day of writing. I find it unlikely, but it may happen. But realistically speaking, that's not the real goal that I'm trying to go for. My goal is to create a pattern for myself in which I write every day. I've said that before, but it's important that I keep it in mind. In theory, making it through a year with writing every single day should be far more than enough to establish a pattern. But it may not be so. I don't know. I've never particularly tried to establish a pattern before. I have patterns that I follow, surely, but I've never really consciously established them. Nor have I really tried.

All this is a new experience for me. But that is kind of the point of a resolution, after all. You're resolving yourself to do something new, different, exciting. Maybe two of those three, I don't know. But you're still trying to change something about yourself, ideally making it better. And you can't do that once and never do it again. You have to keep doing it, constantly, or else you fall short of becoming a better person. Being a good human being doesn't mean doing the right thing once when it matters. It means doing the right thing all the time, especially when it matters.

We all fall short of that. It's just how it is. But that doesn't truly make us bad. It just means that we have to keep trying. That's something that I have to remind myself a lot, to keep trying. It's so easy to look at your past mistakes and say that you're not worth anything and just let yourself fall flat on your face. But you have to keep going. You lose meaning and purpose if you just stop there. Great authors didn't write their best work and say "That's it, I'm done." They wrote their best work and said "This isn't good enough. I can do better." And they kept writing. They may have never lived up to that one high point, or they may have never finished the piece that was greater than anything they had ever written before. But that didn't mean they stopped.

It's easy to look at a person, define them by a single instance in their life, and never let anything else change that. We all do it. We do it daily. But we shouldn't. Just imagine how you would feel, do feel, when someone else does that to you. You're growing, you're changing, but they still see you as something you left behind you. It sucks. But you keep going, because they're not the one's that matter. You are.

We have to keep going. We have to push even when we think we can't do it. Because hey, you might start writing at 11:48 and still manage to finish what you were trying to write nine minutes later.

Resolutions

I've never really understood the purpose of making New Year's Resolutions. You're just coming off a huge string of holidays, you've been lazy for weeks, and you've got presumably a whole batch of new things from Christmas. What the hell makes you think you're going to just jump into a new life aspect? The most common resolution is to go to the gym. Do you really expect to get up and start going to the gym right away? Especially January 1st. You've just spent the night partying. Getting up in the morning is not going to go well, and you think you're going to get up and do work you've probably never successfully done before? It's not going to work.

It's early to be talking about this. So why am I? Because trying to move it back a week isn't any better. It's Christmas today. It's a day to be lazy. It is so incredibly hard to make myself do anything but play games that I got as presents. And that's what I've been doing all day. And yet, here I am, writing another bit of writing.

I started this a week prior to Christmas. I knew this was coming. But that's why I started it early. I wanted to start building the habit before the hard part came. It's easier to keep pushing than to start. Especially through the hard times. At some level, we all know this, because we've all been through it. In school, in work, with our family. We've all had times where we wanted to just give up, but we did it anyway.

But imagine if that was the starting point. If finals came before the classes, if evaluations came before the work, and if the fights came before the love. Why would you ever get past day one? Why would you ever want to? We may not want to acknowledge it, but the new year is probably the day when we are weakest, at least as far as a regular calendar is concerned. We are happy, undoubtedly, but we are tired, fat, and weak. That's just how it goes.

So why is this when we try to make a life changing difference? I grant, we feel weak, we want to change that. But we know it's going to happen. It's an established tradition. It's about changing. So let's change it.

Let's make our resolutions on December 1st, instead of January. Then we have time. We've recovered from Thanksgiving enough that we can start doing something impactful. We still have to deal with our everyday lives, but that's the point. You can't make a change in yourself on an abnormal day. If you do, when you get back to the normal, you don't know how to make the two fit together. So you do it when nothing is letting you do it.

The first day still sucks. It always will. But it won't suck as much. And the second day you can actually make it to. The third day, you might have to take a break, but on the fourth day you get right back to it. Make no excuses, except no excuses. A week goes by before you know it, and you keep going. Then when the holidays arrive, you have momentum. It carries you through Christmas, as much as it sucks, and it keeps you going til New Years. Then you make it to January 1st, and what do you do? You don't change anything. That's the important bit. It is absolutely vital that you don't change anything, because you have already made your change, and you need to stick to it. It must be normal, or at least getting there. Because January 1st is the hard part.

I am trying very hard to keep this up. I have to make it to the New Year before I even start counting. That's what I decided. But I'm trying very hard before I even get there because I want to give myself as much of a chance to do it as I can. That's why I have such a hard time understanding the tradition. New Years, to me, isn't a time to start over. It's a time to start counting. Counting the things we've already started, and counting how long we can keep them up.