There was a shifting in the air as the calendar silently changed from October 30th to October 31st, marking the day of Halloween. The ground shook ever so slightly, but only for a moment, so those who were still awake either didn't notice, or thought it was merely in their minds. And across the world, as each clock struck midnight, empty parking lots gave way to enormous collections of tents, rising from the ground, each covering their own collections of candies, toys, and halloween themed games, hosts at the ready to entertain when morning came and the throngs of guests would arrive.
And that they did. As the sun rose, slowly at first but quicker with time, people came out to the show. They dressed in their halloween costumes, they brought their candy bags and pails, and throughout the day they laughed and they danced and they trick-or-treated at the various stands, collecting candy and toys and playing the games, having the times of their lives. Some came to prepare for nightfall, knowing their houses would be stalked by the children out on the hunt for candy, and knowing too that the stands would have plenty on sale for the last minute shoppers. Wave upon wave of participants flowed in and out of the lots, and the Halloween spirit overcame them all.
But not once did anyone question where the Halloween squares had come from. Not once did they question why they came and were ready on Halloween day, without anyone having ever seen them being built in the days before, or how they disappeared without a trace come November dawn. Not once did a single soul ask how no one had ever met any of the hosts or entertainers outside of these squares. Even the cynical, the riley, the most unenthusiastic of people were swept up in their fun, and forgot just for a day to ask.
And on November 1st, as the sun rose and children all over the world held onto their heads as the sugar rush wore off and they were dragged back to school with their skulls pounding, the world forgot that the Halloween squares had ever been there in the first place. They forgot about the candy and the games. They forgot about the strangers who were their to entertain. When they looked at their massive hauls of candy, all they remembered were the nighttime treks around their neighborhoods, trick-or-treating from door to door, and they remembered what massive hauls they had had, whether they had had them or not.
And the ghosts and the ghouls crept back under the earth, waiting for their chance to rise again, and be apart of the world again, if only for a moment. To smile and to laugh and to spread cheer. To feel alive. Even if Halloween square was anything but.
Monday, October 31, 2016
Sunday, October 30, 2016
Free Write 10
I had an idea for what I wanted to write today, but honestly, I'm just exhausted. I didn't exactly have a good night last night, or a good morning to follow it, and it just kinda hit me pretty hard. I'm feeling better now, though admittedly only partially, but it just kinda made me feel... bleh today. I don't really have a better way of describing it. I tried to make myself feel better by playing some games, watching some videos, stuff like that. It... sort of worked? But I kinda forgot about writing during that time, and the thing that I wanted to write today will require some thought, and I don't have the energy to do that right now. But it's ok. It'll probably be more appropriate for tomorrow anyway.
I only today remembered that I needed to sign up for Nanowrimo this year. It's not that I forgot about Nano, or that I didn't want to do it this year. I just kind of forgot that signing up for it was a necessary step in the process. I'm not as crazy excited about it this year as I have been in years past, but I know what story I want to write, and I'm curious to see where it goes. Nano's always an exciting, busy time for me, and the work schedule that I have right now should hopefully be pretty good for working on the novel. I don't know how well the story's going to come out, but I know that I am more than capable of making it work between Nano, the blog, and having a job. I already did it last year, after all, even if it was pretty close in the end.
I was looking around at Nano stuff today after I signed up for it, and I was reminded about their annual Night of Writing Dangerously. It takes place about an hour or two away from me, and I'd really love to be able to go to it one year. It's pretty expensive to get into, but they apparently have an interesting set up for that - it's not necessarily supposed to be you buying a ticket, but rather getting people to donate money to Nano through your name until you reach the amount of the ticket. I think that's pretty cool, though I wouldn't exactly know how to convince people they should donate in that matter.
But the event is a noir themed dinner party centered entirely around writing. You go, you eat dinner, you get drinks, you get some free writing goodies, and you write. You write and you write and you write for six hours, surrounded by other writers doing the same thing. And you can help each other, and you can get to know each other's stories, and you can share with each other that kind of thing that makes you so passionate that you would spend six hours and three hundred dollars on doing. I think that's incredible, and it sounds like so much fun. I'd love to get there one day. Not this year, unfortunately. I'll be out of the country at the time, and even if I wasn't, it takes place during a black out period for asking for days off at work, so I couldn't very well guarantee that I'd be able to go.
Maybe next year, though. Definitely one day.
I only today remembered that I needed to sign up for Nanowrimo this year. It's not that I forgot about Nano, or that I didn't want to do it this year. I just kind of forgot that signing up for it was a necessary step in the process. I'm not as crazy excited about it this year as I have been in years past, but I know what story I want to write, and I'm curious to see where it goes. Nano's always an exciting, busy time for me, and the work schedule that I have right now should hopefully be pretty good for working on the novel. I don't know how well the story's going to come out, but I know that I am more than capable of making it work between Nano, the blog, and having a job. I already did it last year, after all, even if it was pretty close in the end.
I was looking around at Nano stuff today after I signed up for it, and I was reminded about their annual Night of Writing Dangerously. It takes place about an hour or two away from me, and I'd really love to be able to go to it one year. It's pretty expensive to get into, but they apparently have an interesting set up for that - it's not necessarily supposed to be you buying a ticket, but rather getting people to donate money to Nano through your name until you reach the amount of the ticket. I think that's pretty cool, though I wouldn't exactly know how to convince people they should donate in that matter.
But the event is a noir themed dinner party centered entirely around writing. You go, you eat dinner, you get drinks, you get some free writing goodies, and you write. You write and you write and you write for six hours, surrounded by other writers doing the same thing. And you can help each other, and you can get to know each other's stories, and you can share with each other that kind of thing that makes you so passionate that you would spend six hours and three hundred dollars on doing. I think that's incredible, and it sounds like so much fun. I'd love to get there one day. Not this year, unfortunately. I'll be out of the country at the time, and even if I wasn't, it takes place during a black out period for asking for days off at work, so I couldn't very well guarantee that I'd be able to go.
Maybe next year, though. Definitely one day.
Saturday, October 29, 2016
Feet
Rick tugged the heavy boot off of his foot, feeling an intense sense of relief as he felt the fresh coolness that he knew would be only amplified the moment he removed his sock as well. The air on his bare skin was incredible - and he was used to the smell enough that it didn't bother him. He had been on the trail for days, having hiked well over one hundred miles, and his feet were tired, sweaty, and swollen. Any chance to remove the constrictive boots and socks was a welcome change of pace.
The river beside the trail wasn't particularly deep, but the water was moving quickly and was frigid cold to the touch. It was made by melting ice water from further up the mountain rushing down the crevices until it reached where he was standing. It wasn't particularly clean - you couldn't just drink from it - but putting his feet in that icy water, Rick couldn't have asked for anything more. With his foot having swelled as much as it had, this was exactly what he needed. The coldness would help to reduce the swelling, and the rush of the water would give him a feeling of weightlessness that was a huge relief after having his entire weight on them for so long.
He'd been dealing with his feet for years. He'd been diagnosed with neuroma nearly fifteen years prior, which frequently caused pain and swelling in his foot, but he had done his best to never let it stop him from doing the things that he loved. He still hiked frequently, he still worked a job that required him to be standing nearly all day, and he still went dancing with his wife every couple of months. The pain was a near constant - so much so that he barely even noticed it anymore. From time to time people would ask him about it, after he had been hiking for a while usually, and he'd think about it and become conscious of his foot. "Yep, still hurts," he'd say. And then he'd move on.
People would try to give him advice. They'd tell him all sorts of things, and they usually contradicted with one another. No one really knew what they were talking about, he found. A few did, of course - but those few usually told him to do the things that felt better, which was what he was doing anyway, but it was nice to have someone corroborate with him from time to time. He frequently heard not to do exactly what he was doing now, for one reason or another. Usually something to do with how the icy water would rub against him or some other made up bullshit. They seemed to ignore the part where ice was what you applied to swelling to help it. And he wasn't an idiot - he always made sure to get his feet dry before covering them up again. Wet socks were a surefire path to problems.
It was an hour before he stood up again, pulling his boots back on. It was nice to get a chance to relax. But he had places to be.
The river beside the trail wasn't particularly deep, but the water was moving quickly and was frigid cold to the touch. It was made by melting ice water from further up the mountain rushing down the crevices until it reached where he was standing. It wasn't particularly clean - you couldn't just drink from it - but putting his feet in that icy water, Rick couldn't have asked for anything more. With his foot having swelled as much as it had, this was exactly what he needed. The coldness would help to reduce the swelling, and the rush of the water would give him a feeling of weightlessness that was a huge relief after having his entire weight on them for so long.
He'd been dealing with his feet for years. He'd been diagnosed with neuroma nearly fifteen years prior, which frequently caused pain and swelling in his foot, but he had done his best to never let it stop him from doing the things that he loved. He still hiked frequently, he still worked a job that required him to be standing nearly all day, and he still went dancing with his wife every couple of months. The pain was a near constant - so much so that he barely even noticed it anymore. From time to time people would ask him about it, after he had been hiking for a while usually, and he'd think about it and become conscious of his foot. "Yep, still hurts," he'd say. And then he'd move on.
People would try to give him advice. They'd tell him all sorts of things, and they usually contradicted with one another. No one really knew what they were talking about, he found. A few did, of course - but those few usually told him to do the things that felt better, which was what he was doing anyway, but it was nice to have someone corroborate with him from time to time. He frequently heard not to do exactly what he was doing now, for one reason or another. Usually something to do with how the icy water would rub against him or some other made up bullshit. They seemed to ignore the part where ice was what you applied to swelling to help it. And he wasn't an idiot - he always made sure to get his feet dry before covering them up again. Wet socks were a surefire path to problems.
It was an hour before he stood up again, pulling his boots back on. It was nice to get a chance to relax. But he had places to be.
Friday, October 28, 2016
Obsession
I've been playing a lot of Dark Souls over the last year, having gotten into the series after playing Bloodborne, and while there's not a lot of story to the games, what is there follows a consistent and constant theme throughout the games. While you travel from world to world, fighting your way through endless hordes of monsters well beyond your capacity to fight and slowly but surely overcoming them and using the souls and blood of your fallen enemies to become ever stronger, you are told repeatedly about a far off goal that no one has ever been able to reach, or be able to move past after reaching it. But we are not like our predecessors. We, as the player, as the hero of our story, push ever onward past where those before us have failed, past the impossibilities of the fight we face, until we are set upon by a choice that ultimately is the deciding factor for our journey.
It's not much of a story. A good frameworking for one, but not much of an actual story. But what it is is remarkably reflective of how the fans of Dark Souls play the games. They don't let the difficulty of the games stop them. They die to the same enemy over and over and over again, and each time they learn a little more until they can destroy that enemy. Some of them will go back again and continue to fight and to learn until they can crush that enemy in the palm of their hands without ever being touched. A rare few will go so far as to learn the entire game in this fashion.
The player and their character are both driven by the same force, which connects them - obsession. The player is obsessed with conquering the game, famous for its rampant difficulty, so that they can say that they are a member of the elite. The character, and everyone in the game's world, are obsessed with continuing. They don't want to die along with their world, and want to push it forward so that their story may continue. They want to be a moving force, rather than to sit idly by as they and everything that they have ever known is wiped away. Both are obsessed with their forward momentum, to the point where anything that pushes them back becomes nothing more than another obstacle to overcome.
And this obsession is what connects audience with world. It whats immerses you into the game, even without a real story to speak of, and makes you feel prideful every time you surpass something and make it to a new area. That sharable, relatable obsession. It's an important point to remember as a writer, because you don't have to make a plotless video game to apply that. It is always applicable. Making your character obsessed with what they are doing will draw in the reader, because they will want to know what comes next just as much as the character does.
It's not much of a story. A good frameworking for one, but not much of an actual story. But what it is is remarkably reflective of how the fans of Dark Souls play the games. They don't let the difficulty of the games stop them. They die to the same enemy over and over and over again, and each time they learn a little more until they can destroy that enemy. Some of them will go back again and continue to fight and to learn until they can crush that enemy in the palm of their hands without ever being touched. A rare few will go so far as to learn the entire game in this fashion.
The player and their character are both driven by the same force, which connects them - obsession. The player is obsessed with conquering the game, famous for its rampant difficulty, so that they can say that they are a member of the elite. The character, and everyone in the game's world, are obsessed with continuing. They don't want to die along with their world, and want to push it forward so that their story may continue. They want to be a moving force, rather than to sit idly by as they and everything that they have ever known is wiped away. Both are obsessed with their forward momentum, to the point where anything that pushes them back becomes nothing more than another obstacle to overcome.
And this obsession is what connects audience with world. It whats immerses you into the game, even without a real story to speak of, and makes you feel prideful every time you surpass something and make it to a new area. That sharable, relatable obsession. It's an important point to remember as a writer, because you don't have to make a plotless video game to apply that. It is always applicable. Making your character obsessed with what they are doing will draw in the reader, because they will want to know what comes next just as much as the character does.
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Selling
I've been working retail for over a year now, at two different stores, and I've proven myself quite terrible at actually selling product. I have a pretty bad memory to begin with, so I'm not always good at even helping customers find what it is they're looking for, but at my current job the store is small enough that I don't have too much trouble with that, as long as they're not looking for a very specific item. Even then, I can usually get them close enough to it that they find it before I do.
However, when people are asking me what kinds of things I would recommend if they are doing x thing or having y problem, I really have nothing to provide them. I don't know very much about different products, and I can only really sympathize. Even things that I have been specifically trained in, I have difficulty explaining to a customer and really convincing them of why they should get one thing over another. Granted, part of that is because people will get an idea set in their head, and I frequently have to tell them otherwise, and they don't want to listen to that. But I also can't really sell something that I wouldn't buy - and I don't really buy anything.
Currently I work at an outdoor retailer, which I love, and I've actually received quite a bit of training for my job. I can pretty easily recognize people's problems and what they need to solve them. But the problem is that I don't know which product to recommend in order to solve those problems. I can explain to them what to look for and what they're trying to accomplish, but I can't actually hand them an item and say "Here, this is what you need." But that's exactly what they're looking to me for - I'm literally in the position of expert as far as they're concerned, and I'm supposed to be the expert, but I am not in the slightest. And because of that, I've literally had customers ask me if there was someone else who actually had some answers for them. And I can't be mad at them for asking that, because they are completely in the right to do so, and I would do the same if I were them.
But I want to learn how to be better about all of that. Both because I enjoy this job, and because some day down the line, I'm going to be in a position where I need to be able to sell my own writing, and I don't feel confident that I could do that right now. I don't feel as though I could convince someone to buy anything, much less something that I created. I want to be able to. I want to be able to hand it to them and say "Buy this because." But I'm just not in that position yet.
Practice makes perfect, I guess. Should probably actually try some of the products at work. But man, that shit's expensive.
However, when people are asking me what kinds of things I would recommend if they are doing x thing or having y problem, I really have nothing to provide them. I don't know very much about different products, and I can only really sympathize. Even things that I have been specifically trained in, I have difficulty explaining to a customer and really convincing them of why they should get one thing over another. Granted, part of that is because people will get an idea set in their head, and I frequently have to tell them otherwise, and they don't want to listen to that. But I also can't really sell something that I wouldn't buy - and I don't really buy anything.
Currently I work at an outdoor retailer, which I love, and I've actually received quite a bit of training for my job. I can pretty easily recognize people's problems and what they need to solve them. But the problem is that I don't know which product to recommend in order to solve those problems. I can explain to them what to look for and what they're trying to accomplish, but I can't actually hand them an item and say "Here, this is what you need." But that's exactly what they're looking to me for - I'm literally in the position of expert as far as they're concerned, and I'm supposed to be the expert, but I am not in the slightest. And because of that, I've literally had customers ask me if there was someone else who actually had some answers for them. And I can't be mad at them for asking that, because they are completely in the right to do so, and I would do the same if I were them.
But I want to learn how to be better about all of that. Both because I enjoy this job, and because some day down the line, I'm going to be in a position where I need to be able to sell my own writing, and I don't feel confident that I could do that right now. I don't feel as though I could convince someone to buy anything, much less something that I created. I want to be able to. I want to be able to hand it to them and say "Buy this because." But I'm just not in that position yet.
Practice makes perfect, I guess. Should probably actually try some of the products at work. But man, that shit's expensive.
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
Music
I think I've mentioned it before, but I'm a big fan of country music - partially because I like the sound, but mainly because I feel that it tends to tell stories in its music more than other genres, which, surprise surprise, is a big boon to me. I mean, you could argue that all music tells a story, and you wouldn't be incorrect. But I feel like most of the time, most songs are about a single instant or scenario, while country music tends to be more of a scene or overarching plot, if that makes any sense. Lots of other genres are also trying to be a bit more creative with their stories, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but country is very straightforward. It doesn't want you to have to dig around to really get the meaning.
Let me use two songs that I enjoy as examples. One by The Beatles, and one by Blake Shelton.
In The Beatles song Norwegian Wood, there is definitely a story being told. One of a boy and a girl getting involved, going back to her place, drinking and talking, and eventually him staying the night. But what exactly happens the following morning gets pretty strange, and it's something in the song that most people don't really seem to recognize. If you follow the words of the song, it seems pretty clear to me that, having been ditched by the girl in the morning, the guy burns her house down.
And I say all of this, and it seems pretty straightforward, but I'd be willing to bet that not many people who have heard that song have connected those dots together. It's just a dude having a one night stand as far as most are concerned. And I was certainly among that crowd for a long time, until I started really trying to sing along with it. And when I pay attention to the words, well... A lot of Beatles songs start to get weird when you pay attention to the lyrics.
Blake Shelton, on the other hand, wrote a song called Austin. A similar idea, with the girl ditching the guy, only rather than be bitter, the guy puts his heart on the line. A year after leaving, the girl attempts on several occasions to call the man she left behind, and each time is greeted by an answering machine which lists out the possible reasons that he is away from the phone, before stating that if she is calling, he still loves her. And seeing his devotion to her makes her realize what a mistake she has made, and when the two are finally reunited, she teases him by imitating his answering machine, ending with the admission that she still loves him too.
And there's never any question throughout the song that that's what is happening.It is a very straightforward story, with a heart melting message that I'm not afraid to admit I get teary eyed over.
I like both of these songs, admittedly for different reasons. But I think it's pretty clear why, from the perspective of wanting to hear a musical story, I'm more inclined towards the latter.
Let me use two songs that I enjoy as examples. One by The Beatles, and one by Blake Shelton.
In The Beatles song Norwegian Wood, there is definitely a story being told. One of a boy and a girl getting involved, going back to her place, drinking and talking, and eventually him staying the night. But what exactly happens the following morning gets pretty strange, and it's something in the song that most people don't really seem to recognize. If you follow the words of the song, it seems pretty clear to me that, having been ditched by the girl in the morning, the guy burns her house down.
And I say all of this, and it seems pretty straightforward, but I'd be willing to bet that not many people who have heard that song have connected those dots together. It's just a dude having a one night stand as far as most are concerned. And I was certainly among that crowd for a long time, until I started really trying to sing along with it. And when I pay attention to the words, well... A lot of Beatles songs start to get weird when you pay attention to the lyrics.
Blake Shelton, on the other hand, wrote a song called Austin. A similar idea, with the girl ditching the guy, only rather than be bitter, the guy puts his heart on the line. A year after leaving, the girl attempts on several occasions to call the man she left behind, and each time is greeted by an answering machine which lists out the possible reasons that he is away from the phone, before stating that if she is calling, he still loves her. And seeing his devotion to her makes her realize what a mistake she has made, and when the two are finally reunited, she teases him by imitating his answering machine, ending with the admission that she still loves him too.
And there's never any question throughout the song that that's what is happening.It is a very straightforward story, with a heart melting message that I'm not afraid to admit I get teary eyed over.
I like both of these songs, admittedly for different reasons. But I think it's pretty clear why, from the perspective of wanting to hear a musical story, I'm more inclined towards the latter.
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Black cat
The herb shop in the middle of downtown didn't get very many visitors - it maintained a sense of traditional medicine in a world of ever advancing technologies, which many mocked it for - but the low cost of its supplies and a healthy supply of regulars kept it in business. The only real expense its owners had made towards advertising their store was the fine marble statue of an eastern dragon in front of the shop. It was a beautiful black marble, finely chiseled and incredibly smooth to the touch. They encouraged their guests to touch the dragon, to stroke its nose and run their hands along its mane, for good luck. They cleaned and polished the stone daily, and few of their customers actually touched the stone for luck, so after ten years, it continued to look as immaculate as the day they had bought it.
If there was anyone who was a particular fan of the dragon, though, it was the owner's cat. A black burmese, who was a large fan of disappearing into other black objects in the warm sun and generally being lazy. Though he was hard to spot, he could often be found somewhere along the dragon's body, curled up in a ball and sleeping or lazily watching the humans walk by. He didn't much need affection, which is why he spent so much of his time hiding - he knew at the end of the day, he could walk back inside and his masters would have food ready for him.
On that particular day, he was surprisingly visible, laying on the very top of the dragon's head, curled up in a ball with his head buried in his own lap. It was a hot summer day, but there weren't many people mulling about in the streets. It was a strange day, that brought so few people down the streets, for while not many went into the shop, many still passed by it, barely deigning to give it a second glance. It was this strangeness that encouraged the cat to rest out in the open.
Around midday the cat awoke and stretched out, letting out a small meow as it did so. At the same moment, the dragon statue blinked its stone eyes, adjusting its vision to the light. It had been some time since it had really tried to see, but the mewl had awoken it from its nap.
If there was anyone who was a particular fan of the dragon, though, it was the owner's cat. A black burmese, who was a large fan of disappearing into other black objects in the warm sun and generally being lazy. Though he was hard to spot, he could often be found somewhere along the dragon's body, curled up in a ball and sleeping or lazily watching the humans walk by. He didn't much need affection, which is why he spent so much of his time hiding - he knew at the end of the day, he could walk back inside and his masters would have food ready for him.
On that particular day, he was surprisingly visible, laying on the very top of the dragon's head, curled up in a ball with his head buried in his own lap. It was a hot summer day, but there weren't many people mulling about in the streets. It was a strange day, that brought so few people down the streets, for while not many went into the shop, many still passed by it, barely deigning to give it a second glance. It was this strangeness that encouraged the cat to rest out in the open.
Around midday the cat awoke and stretched out, letting out a small meow as it did so. At the same moment, the dragon statue blinked its stone eyes, adjusting its vision to the light. It had been some time since it had really tried to see, but the mewl had awoken it from its nap.
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