It's been a while

 And a very long while at that. I'm not going to pretend that this is some grand return for me - it's not. I don't know if this something that I will be upkeeping in any capacity for that matter. A lot has happened and changed since the last time that I wrote on here - some of it very good and some of it very bad - and amongst it all I've kind of lost my pension for writing. I think there's still something somewhere in me that yearns for it, but it has been quite a long time since it gave me the same kind of burning passion and energy that it once did. In a way, I think I've been scared of it for quite some time. That's not to say that I haven't tried to write - I still participate in Nano every year, although it has been a long time since I've won it. I make varying amounts of progress into it before I lose steam, and the frustration and anger start to settle in again and I fall off.

I don't remember how much I wrote about the struggles I was going through with writing towards the end of what my blog was before. I don't intend on going back and finding out. But it had long since stopped feeling fun or like a project I was working on, and had started to feel more like a job that I was putting on to myself and not getting anything out of. If you've never felt that way, you're a liar, but it doesn't feel good. And so I elected to stop. And, in doing so, I kind of let go of the last flickering light that writing had in me.

But that's not to say that the memory of it didn't stay with me. I still think about the things I have written and this blog from time to time, and a small piece in the back of my brain has always wanted to come back to it. But like I said. I've been afraid. Afraid of feeling that way about writing again, and giving up on it entirely. That's something I struggle with as a whole, but that is probably a story for another time, and a stronger me. Perhaps when I've found an answer for that I'll write about it.

I don't intend on telling anyone that I'm doing this again. Not yet, at least. So if you were one of the few people who did read these back in the day and you somehow are still notified about them in someway, I urge you not to expect much. I don't know if this is going to be something I do frequently. I don't know if I will write more fiction or real talks. I simply don't know what I have the capacity for when it comes to writing these days. And, realistically, now is probably not the best time to start messing around with this blog again. Like I said, I still do Nano, and it's right around the corner. But, among many other things, I have recently started trying to meditate, and as I was doing so tonight, this blog came to mind once more, and I sort of wrote a lot of this in my head as I was doing so.

I may not be very good at meditation. I'm still not quite sure what to make of it.

I hesitated, coming out of it, if I should follow through and write this. I don't know if doing this will help me or harm me in some way. But I decided I wanted to try, because it has been so long, and the only way to really find any kind of answer is to push forward. So, right here and right now, that's what I'm doing. I don't know if I'll be back again tomorrow to write, or the day after that, next week, next month, or ever again. But it's worth trying. And, if I'm being honest, I hope I will be. I don't know that I still want to be an author like I once did. But there was always a certain joy in getting words down on paper. A feeling of accomplishment when I hit publish, even though I knew virtually no one would ever see what I had written. I've felt that again in a lot of other areas since. And I'm hoping to feel it here again, too.

The Adventure Zone

Chances are if you've talked to me much in the past half year or so, I've told you about The Adventure Zone - a Dungeons and Dragons podcast that convinced me to start playing with my friends. I came into the podcast after it had been running for a number of years with around fifty episodes already created, each over an hour long, and it took me a couple of months to catch up with it all. Since then I've been listening to the episodes eagerly as they came out every other week, engrossed in the story of it, which had started as a funny experiment with a character named Taako for shits and giggles.

If you believe in the power of words, in the growth of a story and characters. If you want to become invested in something that can make you laugh and cry and make your skin crawl. If you want to see what it is that I love about writing, and the kind of power I know it can hold and want to be able to wield, you need to listen to The Adventure Zone.

I know this isn't going to reach many people. I'm not some big advertising power. I'm sure as hell not someone who could even conceivably get paid to advertise for them, and that's not something they do anyway. I'm saying this purely because, as I am listening to the latest part, as its story is finally after so long coming slowly to a close, I am being moved. I love its characters. I love its world. I love where it has come from and where it is going. I would give anything to be able to experience it all again anew, because it is worth experiencing. It is so worthwhile to take the time to listen to. Just do it.

I have never seen words used better.

Returning

This is a post I meant to write, like... I dunno. A month and a half ago now? Something like that. Which, very quickly, is pretty much why for a very long time I didn't want to take a break from my writing. Every day that went by without me writing was another day that I either didn't feel like writing, or I would just forget about it entirely. I can't tell you how many times over the past few weeks these words have passed through my mind while I was away from a computer I could use to write them, and by the time I sat down at one I had already forgotten about them.

I'm sure that if you're reading this you're well aware of who I am, what my problems are, and why I took the break that I did. However, to be perfectly honest, I like to imagine that one day I'll actually be a writer and this will still be out there and I'll still be practicing my writing on here, and people will be able to look through all of my musings and see how my writing evolved over the years - maybe even see that to be an author you don't have to start with great skill. That's a fantasy of mine, but I like to write with it in mind. So let me take a moment to explain myself.

In January, I was diagnosed with major depression - a problem that, realistically, I had knowingly been dealing with for eleven years. At the same time, my girlfriend of nearly five years dumped me, which certainly did not help my condition. I've heard lots of stories of people who were diagnosed with depression, ADD, OCD, or a number of other mental and health problems whose condition improved once they knew what they were dealing with. For me, the opposite happened. As the diagnosis was given, I started seeing doctors and therapists and psychologists, I started taking medication... Things got worse. Aspects of my life have certainly gotten better, and I can't deny that. I've found new things to be passionate about, I've become calmer about things I was very strict about in the past, and I have actively started to try and understand myself better. But the dips from calm into depression have become more frequent, my sleep has gotten considerably worse (which is impressive, all things considered), my energy has dropped to all time lows, and things that I used to be able to do without problem have become daily struggles.

Writing is one of those things. Trying to write this blog became a slog. It became stressful every day, knowing that I had to write and that I had not written and that I had no idea what to write about. So I took a step back. Considerably longer than I wanted to. Even after I had made a plan for how I wanted to come back and redo things, even after some of the yearning for my writing had returned, even after I had gained a number of story ideas, I stayed away from it. Partially because I was afraid of it. I don't want writing to be stressful for me. That defeats the purpose of it. And partially because what I want my life to be has become very muddled for me.

So here's my plan. I don't know that I want to return to daily writing. That's been extremely stressful for me over the past few years. But I don't want to have these massive stops, either. I'll have to figure out the frequency thing as I go, I think. But I'm going to stop worrying about how long my writing is. I don't want it to be like a couple sentences, obviously, but if I can manage even just two decent paragraphs, I don't plan on worrying about it. And I'm probably going to write considerably less fiction. I'll still write it without a doubt, because that's what I love and like I said, I have new ideas. But I'm going to write more about the things that I've been dealing with, the things I want to build and create with my new passions in wood and metal, and probably a good amount of gushing about video games because I'm a giant nerd.

Ironically, this is the longest blog post I've made in a very long time. Hopefully that's a good sign. But I guess we'll see how it goes from here on out.

By hand

Up until recently, I used to be the kind of person who wanted to do as much as physically possible with his own two hands. I've always been pretty bad at asking for help, so I've kind of just slowly trained myself to be able to adapt to things. And it wasn't that I ever looked down on people who did ask for help - I just didn't want that person to be me. This involved stuff like using power tools, simply because I didn't view that as actually being me that did it. Everything is cooler when it's made by hand after all, right?

It's not that I don't necessarily still think this way. Old habits die hard. But as I've started to take on multiple projects of varying difficulty, I've found that this philosophy of wanting to do everything by hand makes me want to do the work less. Which is silly, because I enjoy the work and I want to keep going. But intentionally physically exhausting myself when I don't need to doesn't help anyone - in fact, you can't visibly see the different in the product at the end unless I make an error at a machine. And the only way to learn how not to do that is to keep using the machines and slowly gain more experience with them.

And it's funny, because as I get more power tools, I start to realize that there are more things that they enable me to do. And it's not that I couldn't necessarily do them before, but it's certainly easier and more inviting to do them now. Things like making curved surfaces in wood or just generally leaving overhangs on the material so that I have room for error down the road. It's things that I definitely could have done before, but that become more feasible and enjoyable as I get easier ways to do them. And the easier I can work, the faster I can get things done, and the faster I work, the more projects I can make. So hopefully soon I'll just be powering through stuff every day.

Last

The voices were countless and constant. It might not have been so insufferable if they were at least consistent, but there were so many of them in so many tones that it was impossible to single any of them out, and they all wanted him to do different things. The voices had started quite abruptly - Marcus had heard about them for all his life, but it had only been recently that he had heard them. The voices of the dead, watching on after their passing and speaking to those who remained, hoping to advise them based on what they had learned in their own lives. He knew they hadn't been rumors, for he had had friends who heard them, but he himself had only just heard them for the first time.

It didn't take him long to realize why. Perhaps one of them had tried to tell him, but he had been unable to discern the words - it was hard, after all, to differentiate well over a trillion voices yelling over each other in his brain. The war had been raging for months, and the news had made it apparent that they weren't winning. So when so many voices started at once, in the panic was evident amongst them, Marcus knew. He knew that the war was over. He knew that there would be no more fighting back. He knew that he was that last human left.

He had never done much in his life. It was probably why he had never heard the voices before. And it was probably why he was still alive. He didn't talk much, he got average grades, he spent most of his time at home. He didn't have anyone to turn to when his family had died. No friends. No extended family. He had holed himself up inside his empty house, the lights turned off, curled up in his bed. Occasionally he quietly snuck downstairs and stole some food out of his fridge - the technology had long been developed that made it so his fridge was never empty. And while he couldn't explain it, he could certainly use it.

There were a few voices that encouraged him to carry on. This had worked for him so far, after all. But many wanted him to go out and fight. To avenge them. To avenge the human race. To find a way to stop the robots that had turned on them. But at this point, what point was there? What point was there to anything? His options were to die, or to continue on alone. Either way, eventually he would pass away, and it would all be over. Humans had already lost.

And the voices, though none of him wished to do so, pushed him closer every day to ending it sooner rather than later.

My future

I have been absolutely loving blacksmithing and woodworking lately. Though I haven't done them everyday, I do think about them constantly, seeing ideas for things I can make, coming up with my own ideas, and working on things that will better enable me to do the actual work. Hell, over this weekend I cleaned out, repainted, and repurposed a room in my garage to make it into a workshop so that I would have more space to work and better organization for the things I have. When I know what I'm doing, and I can constantly see my work progressing, I find it refreshing and relaxing, even though I'm sweating and exhausting myself.

I'm looking forward to the things I'm going to make. The things I'm going to learn to do. In the short term it's going to be fairly expensive, getting new tools and materials and taking classes, but this is all something that could very well pay off in the long term. Who needs to pay a couple hundred dollars for shelving or furniture when you can build it yourself? Hell, I could be the one getting paid to make those kinds of things.

Which is something I've been thinking about a lot lately. Debating if that's something that I actually want to pursue. I've always wanted to be an author - writing has always been the thing that felt most natural to me, most rewarding. But now... Writing feels like it's becoming a chore, and it doesn't always feel like it has a lot of spirit to it. It doesn't feel great. It sucks, because I still want it in my life, so not writing doesn't feel good, but writing doesn't feel good either. I constantly feel strained for ideas, for time. I just... don't really want to write.

I don't know what I should do next. I mean, I know some of the things I'm going to do - I'm going to build more, I'm going to take more classes. I still have several projects I need to do, and I know what class I want to take next, which will lead to the next tool I'm going to get. And I'm excited for that. But as far as writing goes... I'm just not sure.

I don't know if taking a break would help. It hasn't really in the past, as far as I've seen. But all of this could very well be fatigue. I've been writing nearly non-stop for years now. And I'm proud of that, but it's also become increasingly difficult. So, at least for now, I'll keep trying.

But I really don't know.

Scale

Randall worked in the forge, pounding away at his steel to give it a new shape. It glowed as he withdrew it from the flames, and his blows were frequent and powerful. The scale from the super heated metal flew in every direction with each blow, and much of it slammed against the bare skin of his arms. Several pieces of the scale that struck his skin cooled quickly as it did so, becoming stuck to the skin and hair of his arms, though he did little to stop it or remove them. He had long since become accustomed to the heat of the scale.

He made his way out to the main floor as he waited for his steel to reheat, grabbing a glass of water and chugging it quickly. He could hear the chatter of the customers as they looked him over. It was much the same as it always was. Concern about the scale, surprise at his stature, questioning if he ever really talked. Randall wasn't much of salesman - he had apprentices who were much better at that kind of thing, and he let them handle it. He was very much so a working man. He took to the hammer and anvil, and he enjoyed it - he could work for hours on end and not get tired of it.

The scale was what people talked about the most, though. Even his apprentices frequently expressed concern over it. He couldn't blame them for it, really - most people would be horribly scarred having that much scale flying at them. But he had long since realized that he wasn't most people. And though that may have scared other people if they were in his shoes, he was quite accepting of it. It let him do his work even more, after all, and his work was what made him happy.

He disappeared into the back room again and spent a couple minutes moving the steel. He knew that he was alone in the back. There was only one apprentice in the shop today, and he was manning the front. Randall could feel the need to let loose. He looked down and watch the steel scale fall away, as his own scales pushed out beneath them. Green, shimmering scales, harder than any of the things he made. They spread out all over his body, though most of it remained hidden under his clothes.

How long had it been since he learned he was a half-dragon? He had forgotten. The better question was, how long would it be until someone else learned?

Yosemite

I had been in scouts for years when I went to Yosemite Park for the first time. It was a place that I had heard about hundreds of times throughout my life - it's like a requirement if you live in California and enjoy being outdoors to any degree that you go there. But I was probably around 15 by the time that I finally went. And that's not like a, I went when I was a little kid and just don't remember it kind of thing. I legitimately had never been there. It was such a weird thing to the people around me that my dad was even surprised by it.

I remember the drive in to the park was very long - not the drive to get there, but the actual drive from the park entrance down to where we were camping. And I remember looking out the window at it all and just being amazed. There's a reason that Yosemite is such a popular spot in California. It's absolutely gorgeous. Whether you are in the valley, looking up at the trees growing around you and seeing just how massive everything is, or if you are on the top of one of the mountains and looking down and seeing everything that you have been through, Yosemite is stunning. I remember asking my dad how I had never been here before - which was of course responded to with a look and statement of disbelief.

But as we camped out for the night, and I saw the stars through the trees, and I could smell the fresh air and hear the sounds of nature, I realized something. I had been in scouts for years. Slowly but surely, I had grown to love nature. To love being out there, seeing the sights, experiencing the world through my own senses, rather than those of others. If I had gone to Yosemite much earlier than that, I wouldn't have appreciated it as much as I did when I finally got there.

Now a days it's hard to remember a time that I didn't enjoy being out there. Even if I don't do it that often, there is something oddly freeing about being up on a mountain, sweating and breathing hard, but knowing it was because you pushed yourself all the way up. It's just... natural. Which is my favorite state of being.

And that first time I was in Yosemite, having it all come crashing down on me in such beautiful immensity, was the first time it really hit me. Just how much magic there is in the natural world. And let me tell you something. It's addicting.

Staying awake

I touched on this about a week ago, but I've been having a very hard time staying awake lately. I've had trouble sleeping for years, and it seems it's finally catching up with me - I near constantly feel as though I am on the edge of falling asleep, and if I don't have something to keep my hands and mind active, I very likely will. It's especially a problem when I'm at work, because unless I am very actively engaged with a customer, I usually don't have a lot that keeps me active enough to fully stay awake. I don't fall asleep on my feet, but I certainly don't feel particularly awake.

I know people who wouldn't really find this to be much of a problem. For them, sleep is a wonderful thing and they can never get enough of it. And I definitely can't argue that I don't need the sleep. I very much do. But I would rather I be getting it at night, when I'm in bed, rather than during the day when I'd like to be getting things done. Every time I fall asleep is time lost during the day, and while I may not always use my time very efficiently, I often wish to do things at specific times, which is ruined by sleeping through it. Silly things, like not wanting to start working on a project until the turn of the hour, but at least when I'm awake and that time comes, I'll actually go and get to work. But lately I keep sleeping through and wanting to wait until the next hour, and then falling asleep again, over and over and over.

Even now as I'm typing all of this out, I'm fighting to keep myself awake. My eyes are threatening to close, I can't stop yawning, and my brain is certainly not functioning on full throttle. It's honestly probably part of the reason I haven't been writing much fiction lately - I'm too tired to try and actively create a story. I've tried, and I just don't feel good about what comes out of my fingers. I hate it, because I feel as though I'm losing control of myself, which is really saying something when I consider how little control I've felt as though I have had over myself to begin with.

I should really probably get a sleep study done. I need to figure out where to go for one, what I have to do, stuff like that. Not to mention I'll have to figure out when I'll have time to do it. Having a job makes dealing with health problems not the easiest thing in the world. But like I've said before, at least my job cares.

Sci-fi

I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about what I enjoy in stories of different genres, rather than wanting to actually write something. I'm tired - at least as of the moment - of writing what feels like the same stories again and again. So I guess, rather unconsciously, I've been trying to find the things that make me excited about writing again.

In my writing yesterday, I mentioned that to me, fantasy is about using magic to help explain the events. It's not just the setting - modern and medieval fantasy share elements with each other, but they're very different from one another all the same. Science fiction is very similar to me. If you go to a library or book store, chances are fantasy and science fiction are shoved together on the same shelves, though anyone who reads them is consistently frustrated by it, because they are incredibly different. But in many ways, that difference comes down to a single element - fantasy uses magic to explain, while science fiction uses science.

I'm not a huge sci-fi fan, though there are definitely some that I enjoy. A lot of the times, the ones that I enjoy more are the ones that don't feel the need to overload on their science. Now, perhaps that's just because I'm more of a fantasy fan, but I find that if the science behind the events of the story are simpler and more relatable, I find the story as a whole easier to follow and more interesting. For instance, I'm not a huge fan of Star Trek. I have certainly seen some interesting episodes, but I frequently find that the constant stream of technobabble just confuses things. They make up problems, and then make up solutions for them, entirely with words that mean absolutely nothing to me.

Compare it to something like the game Parasite Eve for PS1. There is (was? I'm not sure) a scientific theory that states that mitochondria in the cell is a parasite that helps our cells to function in exchange for life. Parasite Eve explores this concept - what if the mitochondria could gain power over the cells and become the predominant force? It doesn't get much more complicated than that. So much so that if you talked to someone who's played the game before, probably the first phrase out of their mouths will be "Mitochondria are the powerhouse of the cell," because the game says it so frequently. And while it may be a bit silly and over the top, it makes for an interesting and solidly put together story that doesn't take a lot of deciphering to enjoy.

Maybe I'm just a simple guy. I don't think there's a whole lot wrong with that. But, generally speaking, I think if you can make a story interesting without requiring the reader to have a dictionary on hand, that says a whole lot more than putting in every vocabulary word you can think of.

Hidden

I've been playing a lot of games lately where information about the world is hidden away from the player. And I'm not talking, like, true intentions of characters or organizations or detailed maps or something like that. Like, basic facts about the world that all of the in game characters are familiar with that are just never actually given to the player. I don't find it somehow intriguing to listen to hours of characters talking about things that are part of their everyday lives while I work on piecing together what the hell it all means.

Now, can something like this work? Of course it can. The thing is, most of the time that involves having a character - either primary or secondary - who is in the players shoes, not knowing anything about the world and needing to learn and explore to find it out. An amnesiac, a foreigner, a child - something that helps the player feel like they are not alone in the world. But some games just don't have that, and it makes the world feel very strange and almost spiteful of someone trying to come in and learn.

I can kind of understand why a developer would choose to do so. Listening to extended amounts of backstory or world building can be boring and frustrating when you just want to play the game. Having characters explain things to each other that they should already know doesn't make any sense. They want to let you get into the action, and they want the world to feel natural and organic. But that doesn't mean a whole lot if there's no context to put everything to. What do a character's motivations mean to the player if they involve spouting keywords that mean nothing to us? Organizations with titles and no explanation as to what they do or how they came to power. It's just irritating.

Can you imagine if you came to the United States, with no understanding of its government or infrastructure, and the moment you asked what a president was, the only response you got was "the president"? But everyone around you just kept talking about it as usual, but just refused to answer your questions on the subject. That's not a fun puzzle to solve. It's just irritating.

And yet I see this happen all the time in books, movies, and games. Primarily in the fantasy genre. I mean, I'm not all that smart, but I'm pretty sure fantasy doesn't mean that you get to just make stuff up and never explain it. You just don't have to explain how magic works - it's magic, that's the point. Although you could. And usually that's pretty fun.

Fire

You may have noticed that with a lot of my writing, I have a strange obsession with fire and burning. Honestly, I really don't know what it is - you know how everyone has something they just kind of say when they don't know what else to say? That's kind of what fire is like for me with writing. When I'm running out of ideas, I just kind of go to fire. And that doesn't mean that I go to burning things and destroying with flames - rather, I usually go to some form of controlling fire, or controlling one's self around fire.

And I suppose given just how many blog posts I have done now, I haven't done all that many fire posts, but if you go through and look at them all, they're not all too different. Though I suppose that could be said about a lot of my writing. But like I said, when I write on fire, it tends to focus on those two things. In fact, one of my favorite stories (and one that I really have no idea where to go with) has a main character that controls fire through his guitar. I would love to explore more about him and his friends. The problem is I really don't know what the point of their story is. Hard to push towards a goal when there isn't any, after all.

I really just find something fascinating about fire. I was like that when I was in boy scouts, too - I was never particularly good at building fires, but I loved sitting around the campfire and just staring into the flames, watching the way that it danced around itself, making fleeting images above the wood that faded and disappeared into the night sky, leaving only faint embers that lasted for the briefest of moments. It was beautiful and warming and happy - and yet, at the same time, I knew that it was dangerous to get to close to it, and that given the opportunity, fire could cause mass destruction.

But I guess that's what makes it so cool to me. It's versatile. It can be used to create and to destroy. I mean, hell, I'm learning how to use fire to make art. And I'm not an artist, but that's just too cool of an opportunity to pass up - especially when I already like working with wood. It all just kind of makes sense to me. From blacksmithing, to scouts, to pyrography... Fire is in a ton of my interests. And when I'm playing a game with elements in it? You know I have to go the fire path, even if it's not the best.

So it's just kind of something that's in my head a lot. And when I run out of other stuff, that tends to come in. So I guess it's really not that much of a surprise that I would want to write about it.

Soreness

I'm generally a very stiff person - like, actually physically stiff - but there are definitely times when that stiffness goes from standard to debilitating. But the thing with stiffness is that there is both good and bad stiffness, though I think for a lot of people that's a pretty hard concept to grasp. And I mean, I can't really blame anyone for that, because if I wasn't familiar with it myself, I would think someone saying that was crazy. But there is, and it comes at the end of a day hard worked and well used.

Frequently, the people who talk about this kind of stuff are people who exercise regularly, and they can tell that they've pushed themselves when afterwards they're body begins to feel sore and stiff. Of course, in reality they probably should be stretching more, which is the real reason they feel stiff and sore, and that is very much so the wrong kind, as it will eventually lead to immobile muscles and frequent injury. However, there is certainly a certain amount of soreness that comes with it regardless, and that's the kind of feeling that reminds you throughout the day that you are progressing.

And that same kind of soreness can come if you spend your day working on a number of physical projects. Reorganizing and cleaning, moving heavy boxes from one place to another so that you can better use the space you have available to you. And of course, there is a fine line to toe - you don't want to injure yourself doing it, but you should be able to feel the fact that you did. After all, if the feeling is negligible, chances are so was the work you put in. The more you can feel what you have done, the more that must mean that you have accomplished.

It's interesting how far some people and sports take this concept. I was recently watching a video about an ultra runner, someone who runs a thousand or more miles in a year, primarily over dirt roads and mountains. The interesting thing about him, though, was his comment about pain and pleasure. "There aren't any ultra runners who don't know suffering," he said. "You can't be a part of this sport and have not experienced suffering. Every run is suffering. But the difference between us is that we push through that suffering. We don't let that suffering control us. Because we know on the other end of that pain is where the pleasure is waiting for us."

It's incredible to even think that someone could think this way. Stranger still that it's successful. But I think it's a mindset worth having, because it applies to everything in life. If you can push through the pain, on the other side you will find pleasure unlike any you had previously known. No pain, no gain, right?

REI

I've mentioned before that I now work at REI, which is a statement I'm not afraid of making, unlike when I was previously working at Target - probably because I have very few poor things to say about REI, which is the opposite of what it was like at Target. I'm not sure if REI is the place that I want to spend the rest of my life - retail in general has its ups and downs, especially for someone like me who doesn't particularly like being around large numbers of people - but I would argue that it is easily the best place for me as of right now.

I forget if I've talked about this on here before, but I suffer from pretty major depression, and have only recently been diagnosed for it. I've tried for a very long time to ignore and bury this fact - doing so has not stopped it. It has not helped me. As of now, however, acknowledging it has not particularly helped either. But months of acknowledgment are not much in the face of years of hiding. Which brings me to the reason why REI has been so spectacular for me.

REI, for the unaware, is a co-operative and not a business, which means that they are not owned and controlled by stocks, but rather their members - and their members are their customers. Quite literally - to become a member is a one-time fee of twenty dollars, non-recurring, it lasts the rest of your life, and it gives you not only access to exclusive dividends and discounts, but gives you the right to vote on REI's board of directors. Target sure as hell won't offer you that. And it's not like Costco, which requires a membership to get through the door. An REI membership is completely optional. But what have you got to lose? Hell, we don't even keep the money - we donate one hundred percent of membership fees to national parks and services.

This puts employees - and particularly the higher-ups - in a rather unique position compared to other companies. Money is not the bottom line. Is it important? Of course. You have to make money to continue operations. But people are the bottom line. We don't want you to come back so that we get more money - we want you to come back because you enjoy being in the store, sharing your stories of where you've been and where you're going, and get the advice of people who do those same kinds of things and know a ton about the different products you're going to be buying.

But a customer can't enjoy shopping if the employee doesn't enjoy working. Which is why, when I told my manager that I suffer from depression, and that as it has recently gotten worse it has become more difficult for me to work, despite how I feel about the company, he was understanding. Supremely understanding. He wasn't mad at me for wanting to leave early. He wasn't upset with me for hiding this fact about myself up to now. Rather, he was proud of me for being brave enough to admit it, and he wanted to help. He told me how to get a leave if I needed it so that what I'm going through would not impact my standing with the company. He offered his own advice from his own experiences. He gave me tissues and literally got up and hugged me when I couldn't hold it in anymore.

And I know that I can trust him.

I've had good experiences at my particular REI, and I've been to a few others that I really couldn't speak ill of either. I don't know a lot about the big picture. But if my manager, a man who is willing to do so much to help me when I need it, tells me that when he sees what headquarters and the new CEO are doing he gets excited for the future of REI, so do I.

Organization

Michael dumped out the tools onto the table, worrying more about making sure they didn't fall to the floor than he did about being neat in his emptying. There wasn't much point in trying to make it look neat - this was just a temporary home as he actually cleaned. He had spent too long working in cramped quarters with tools spewed about in every direction. It was becoming difficult just to work on anything, because so much of it was in the way and he didn't want to move it, knowing that he had no good place to put it.

It would be a project, for sure. He had already spent the better part of a week just trying to clear out the spare room in his garage - there was little place to put most of it, and unfortunately not all of it was junk, so he had had to organize just he could organize. It probably would have been considerably easier if he had had someone helping him, if for no other reason than he wouldn't have gotten physically exhausted so quickly, but it was his space, his work, his tools, and his project. It seemed silly to have someone else do the work for him. After all, it would be him using everything, and it was best if he knew exactly where everything had gotten placed.

First was his actual storage. He had built the decent sized cabinet some months prior, but he had done a poor job of actually using it at the time, and now it would be a job to actually move it into the side room. There were a number of things in the path between the cabinet and the door, and while he had done his best to make as much room as possible, there were many things that he simply couldn't move, and so it would be quite the obstacle to overcome.

Once that was complete, however, he could begin work on cleaning and storing the tools he had just finished dumping out onto the table. While that wouldn't be necessarily hard, it would be tedious, and he may very well decide that he did not like his basic idea for an organization as he went along and need to redo it all. After all, it would be the first time he actually organized his tools, and he wasn't entirely sure how he wanted to do it. While that was, theoretically, one of the easier steps, it would probably take him the longest.

But having an actual work space dedicated to his projects would be a huge benefit, both because he would actually have enough space to work on things, and because he would no longer have to worry about things being upset once he set them down. Not to mention it would be much easier to clean up.

Free Write 25

I've been having a really hard time staying awake lately. I've had trouble sleeping for years, but I've never been the kind of person to take naps throughout the day - I fall asleep easily while traveling, granted, but usually when I'm sitting at home messing around on my computer I stay perfectly awake. Lately, however, I feel myself drifting almost constantly throughout the day, and if I get on the couch in my usual spot to play games or watch youtube, I quickly fall asleep, and while I'll wake up around a half an hour later, each time I fall asleep on the couch it becomes harder not to fall back asleep when I wake up.

I've been getting more woodworking tools, which I'm pretty excited about. Having a decent saw will make my projects in general considerably easier and less physically taxing, and finally having a decent whittling knife means that I can start exploring that venue. I had already gotten a book on how to get started with it, and looking through it there's some really cool stuff in there to make, and I'm excited to try my hand at it all. It'll take some practice, of course, but it's not like there are other things that won't. And it's something that both will allow me to make some very cool stuff, and help give me something that I can idly do with my hands, which is always a good thing for me.

I have been loving blacksmithing as well. I'm not particularly good at it, though I doubt after three days anyone is, but I find it weirdly relaxing. The heat, the sound of pounding steel, the steady pace of shaping the metal as I work. I don't know what it is, but I do actually feel relaxed while doing it. There are times when I'm worried about the project that that stops being as true, but that's something that will lessen with time and experience and knowledge. I wish I knew what it was that makes me feel relaxed - it would be nice to be able to replicate that.

I was doing really good for a long stretch there at writing fiction. I mean, I don't know that the quality was all that great, but I was doing it frequently and making a huge lead on my goal of two fiction for every one real talk. But I've been having a really hard time writing lately. I'm not exactly sure what's causing it - fatigue, laziness, writer's block. Could be a lot of things. I've been in a weird place for a while now, and while it's from things that have been affecting me for nearly half my life, they're becoming much harder to deal with as of late. It's kind of like, now that I've acknowledged it, it can really take a hold of my brain and pin me down. It's certainly not something I'm comfortable with. But I don't have much choice but to keep trying to work through it, so I suppose that's what I'll keep working on.

Of numbers

Sometimes when I have a dream, I wake up knowing that I have to find a way to make it into a story. Such was the case with Wings, with the novel I wrote this year for Nano, and for the dream I had last night. Sometimes it's a small scene that spawns an entire concept, and sometimes it's a long series of scenes that play out like a movie, and I have to find a way to not only connect them in a logical way, but mold the rest of a story around them. Some things get ditched and altered, and some remain remarkably close to the way they originally appeared in my mind.

It's kind of hard to explain everything that happened in my dream. A lot of it is disconnected, or draws on real life pop culture, but over all it did follow a central main character. I can say for sure that he was a young boy, not necessarily intelligent, but gifted with a strange sight. Everywhere he looked, he could see numbers, for many years seeming as though they were completely random. But with time he learned to connect them, to understand them, and to use them. In fact, there was a couple of lines I remember him saying, the first of which being "The numbers are your desires."

It takes place in a world of magic, though until this boy learns how to utilize these numbers, he is incapable of any meaningful magic. Everyone around him begins to learn how to control the elements, how to fly, how to fight, and he is stuck being plagued by these numbers.

But the numbers, once understood, allow him magic beyond the capabilities of any others. With understanding, he can see the literal fabric of reality, and using the numbers as code, rewrite it in anyway he sees fit. Of course, being the main character, he is fortunate enough to be a pacifist, and to want only to use this power to make the world a better and kinder place. However, he soon finds that he is not the only one who can see the numbers, and that the ability to see and manipulate them can even be taught to others.

This then prompts him, as the main person capable of using this power, to open a new school of magic, which he deems the Guardians. He wishes for them to a neutral party, not to take any sides in combat, but instead serve to enhance the world by pulling the best creations from past and future, studying them, learning not only how to create them, but to improve them as well. Again, when speaking of the purpose of the Guardians, a line that I remember him saying: "A house isn't a home if your neighbors can't knock and say hello."

Now, a lot of this is weird, and very cheesy. Personally, I don't have much of a problem with cheese, but I can also see where someone like this character could make the story less interesting. It's certainly something that I would have to play around with, to see what kind of world I want to create and how to go about it. But I really enjoy the idea. It's almost like a coming of age story for the boy, as he discovers the depth of his powers and how he can use them, and more importantly what he wants to use them for. To witness him stand at the crossroads between the possibilities, and decide where he wants to go and what he wants to do. To me, that is the mark of a good character.

Elric Aldaraan

You may have noticed an increasing number of blog posts as of late about a character named Elric and his companions. Chances are if you know me and are reading these posts you already know this, but Elric is the name of my character in the Dungeons and Dragons campaign which I am playing in. The posts about him and his partners are all either retellings of events that have happened in the campaign, or me attempting to establish backstory for Elric. It's not all one hundred percent accurate to what happens in the games - partially because I don't have a perfect memory - but I find them to be a good source of inspiration for writing, and I find doing the writing helps me to explore Elric and really get in his head.

It probably helps that I enjoy the character. I find that I enjoy characters that don't necessarily know a whole lot, and thanks to Elric's many years in the monastery, he really doesn't know much about the real world - or at least what he considers to be the real world. It will be determined which he prefers eventually. It's kinda funny, he spent so long living in an idealistic and religious society that he really dislikes those kinds of things, but he is very idealistic himself. He believes that everyone deserves the choice of what to do with their lives, as long as they are not stopping or hurting others in the process. Eventually he'll see how difficult that can be to maintain. We'll see how he reacts to that.

The hardest part, though, is separating him from me when we're actually playing. There are definitely ways in which I would react to situations that are not the same as Elric would, and in the heat of the moment, it can be hard to differentiate. Moments like that have already happened - having Elric steal back some money that the party was made to pay, for instance. But I also can take those as an opportunity to explore his character. He had a purpose for stealing it, after all - he believed that his partner had been swindled and taken advantage of, and that went against his beliefs. It's not something he would do often, but if any of his friends are being swindled...

Stuff like that that makes an interesting character. And potential future events, as well. Stuff like - what if his ideals made him go against the party? What if, for one reason or another, he believed that the enemy was the one who was truly fighting for the freedom of choice? To me, in my mind, Elric would turn away from his companions if that were the case. Not because he doesn't care for them, but he believes in choice above all. It's an interesting dynamic to consider, and I hope I get the chance to explore it further.

Baphomet

Dei approached the strange object at the end of the hallway, carefully picking it up out of the broken vines that had previously been holding it in place. It was hard to tell what the purpose of it was - a cube with some kind of runic writing on it, a button on each side just under each rune, with no clear purpose or use. Prompted, she tossed the cube to Safia, who examined it for a moment before slipping it into her bed.

Before Dei could ask what was going on with the thing, Ash's body shivered and squirmed on the ground. While it was true they additionally and purposefully had avoided doing final fatal damage, this was an unprecedented occurrence. His wooden armor was falling away, being replaced by thick layers of fur. The creature forced itself up and onto its feet as the group stood, transfixed, unsure of what to happen. By the time it was on its feet, two massive horns had sprouted from its head, its legs had become that of a horse, and a long tail extended out from its backside. Even Parsley, who moments ago had been a rampaging bear, watched in shock as the body rose and roared at them all.

"I am Baphomet!" The beast cried out in anger, its voice ringing in the group's ears. "I will crush you all and send you spiraling in to the abyss!" Even without a weapon, the beast was massively powerful, crushing the ground beneath his feet with sheer force alone. Its claws and teeth were sharp as daggers, and he swung wildly at all amongst the group, seeming to care little about who had done what to him as they fought. He sought only for blood, caring little for strategy and relying entirely upon his brutal strength and hatred.

It was fortunate that the group had already dealt with the remaining guards while Ash had still been himself, for now as he had become whatever this Baphomet was, the group could focus their efforts on him alone. His skin was hard as steel, but slowly and surely they chipped away at him, until he began to look bruised and bloodied.

But even then, Baphomet would not let them achieve victory so easily. With seemingly little effort, it called forth two enormous wings from its spine, beginning to attempt to fly away. But they know that they could not permit such a foul creature to escape. Between thrown spears, magical spells, and flying arrows, Baphomet was downed just before he could escape, and let out a pitiful screech as the fur and muscles melted away to reveal a human man who had gone far beyond his own capacity.

Ash

"No, this isn't how it was supposed to go! You're ruining everything!"

The voice boomed down the hallway as the group and their escapees made their way through the guards, calling forth the shadows and burning them away. They were oddly coordinated - those adept in physical combat tore through the guards, leaving the shadows for the holy and magical combatants.

"Why, Heather?" the man cried out from the end of the hallway, standing just before the odd, glowing object that had been wrapped in thorns. "Why does it have to be this way?"

Zilgra had released her dog, Kore, and was mounted upon his back, whip and dagger in hands as she glared up at the man. "You of all people have no right to call me that, Ash!" she called out in response. "What the hell do you think you're doing? What gives you the right to decide?"

Ash watched as she and the monk ran up at him, weapons drawn and clearly coming to end him. In an instant, bark covered his body, encasing him in wooden armor, making it more difficult for them to harm him. If they were going to fight, he certainly wasn't going to let them get to him easily. He still had things to do. Plans to fulfill. He would unite man and beast under one flag, and anyone who dared stand in his way was going to perish first.

As the two ran towards him, the others finishing off the fights they had left behind, Ash sent vines to entangle their feet. But while they were easily able to entrap Kore, the monk was much faster than he anticipated, and the next thing he knew the elf was on top of him, spear and fists flying. He was fast and strong, Ash could tell, and it took nearly all of his concentration to dodge and deflect the blows. In the meantime, as Zilgra approached, he could do little to stop her strikes, though the damage they did was minimal. He heard blasts of magic going off around him, and the wall of rubble behind them slowly began to crack. If it weren't for the monk, he would be able to prevent that from happening, but his blows simply wouldn't stop.

But time was drawing slim for the group. He could feel the air beginning to change as the full moon was rising. They had chosen the wrong night to attack. The battlefield changed in an instant as bodies began to grow and transform. Even some among them had been affected by his curse, taken in to become one with the beasts.

But he had underestimated them. There was one in their group, the halfling, who became an enormous bear. That wasn't the strange part, however. The strange part was that she seemed to retain her sanity. And she seemed to know that, for she quickly turned to him.

The confusion distracted him long enough for the monk to land two quick blows to his gut, making him double over. And then, in an instant, the bear was on top of him, claws swinging wildly, tearing his armor to shreds. How had this happened? And then a claw was crossing his chest, opening a wound, and he lost consciousness.