Low Self-Esteem and How to Conquer It

You’d think that reading good books often is inadvisable to young writers because their self-esteem will be crushed, palpitated, then thrown off a cliff for good measure.  For some odd reason, this is not the case.

For young people particularly I can’t think of any better aid to developing your writing skills than by studying how others have done it.  – Chris D’Lacey

Read a lot.  – Christopher Paolini

The best writers are voracious readers.  – Rick Riordan

There are a few quotes from three of my favorite authors.  Notice anything about them?  Yeah, they all say the same basic thing:  Read if you want to write well.  Why do they say this?  Because people get better at what they do if they watch the experts do it first.  Perhaps this is only a bit of self-promotion by these authors, but I think it’s genuine advice.  All of the writers we love, all the writers we admire, they all began simply: they read stuff they liked.  Eventually they began to write, and what we see in bookstores today is what they wished they could have had to read as kids.  I’m serious.  If you don’t write what you’d like to read, you will neither like writing it nor will anyone like reading it.  If you’re enthusiastic, it shows.

But I digress so massively I’m surprised the floor hasn’t begun to slope.

A month ago, whenever I read a good book, part of me would be thrilled (the reader part) and part would be depressed (the writer part).  The trouble was that I recognized good writing.  With a jolt, I’d realize all of a sudden that I wasn’t as good a writer as, say, Alexander Dumas, Rick Riordan, Cornelia Funke, Chris D’Lacey, Leo Tolstoy, or any other you’d care to mention.  Especially with Riordan’s writing, I’d have a bad case of inferiority complex just after finishing one of his books.  I remember finishing the Son of Neptune and writing to one of my friends on how “reading Rick Riordan makes you feel inferior.”  I was just in utter awe of the writer’s prowess.  Now, however, I’m quite happy to note that I’ve gotten over this feeling quite completely.

Unfortunately, I’m slightly ashamed of the reason for this.

You see, I had seen Rick Riordan as a perfect writer who had no flaws.  Though people dock points on reviews for his books having too many typos, I always overlooked that since, well, they weren’t his fault.  It was the typist, after all, who was falling asleep on his typewriter.  It wasn’t the author’s fault that there were gross misspellings and errors in the text.  But at last I found a flaw.

You know the best way to boost your self-esteem?  Find fault in someone else.  I say this half jokingly, since of course no one likes having their mistakes pointed out in a brutal manner.  Politeness and tact is called for, but that doesn’t mean you can’t laugh maniacally in your bedroom as you realize– “Rick Riordan isn’t perfect!”  Just don’t crow it to the world with too big a smile on your face.

Many amazing authors used to make me feel very very inferior.  But do you realize that you learn more from finding the flawed and realizing what could have been done better than from admiring the good stuff?  Most of the time it’s a combination of the two, but usually it’s learning from the mistakes of others that can make you great.  Everyone says learn from your own mistakes– why not learn from everyone else’s, too?

Admiration does not come from just standing and watching a perfect person from afar.  True admiration begins when you see the fault of another, recognize it, and still like the person for what they are.  Isn’t that the lesson countless fairy tales have tried to pound into our heads with a sledgehammer?  Though finding fault with someone may mean the person isn’t as perfect as they first appeared, if you still think the person is great, even though you’ve found that fault, it means they are great indeed.  If you find fault and they no longer have the same appeal to you, they probably aren’t worth your admiration.

In my mind, it is beneficial to find fault.  In moderation.  If you can find fault with someone you admire, it means that you aren’t following them blindly.  If you live to find fault with someone, you’ll soon find yourself not admiring them anymore.  It’s the difference between giving constructive criticism and insulting.

I have finally found Rick Riordan’s fatal flaw, but I admire him nonetheless.  I found fault with Christopher Paolini and admire him much less (but still a lot), since his flaws were more serious.  I found flaws in Obert Skye’s writing, and yet he remains one of the most creative writers I have the pleasure of knowing.  You find flaws with something and you remove the film from your eyes.  You see the person in a new light.  But if the person still seems admirable in that new light, they’re worth the admiration.

Otherwise, they aren’t worth it.  The rubbish bin awaits.

Joint Book Review: Airman and Airborn

It’s bucketloads of fun to find two books that are so alike, you think they ought to have been written by the same author into the same series.

Two such books are Airman, by Eoin Colfer, and Airborn, by Kenneth Oppel.  Both have remarkable parallels.  It’s rather obvious that these two books are alike by just looking at the titles.  Here I will offer a spoiler-free review for both books in turn.  But first, a word about both.

I’ve always been fascinated by the air, just as with the sea.  Both are seemingly untamed and vast.  Travel in either is always a fun topic for me to think about.  Space travel, of course, is fun for all.  But I digress.  Let me just say that for me, both of these are terribly appealing to read about.  There’s just something cool about falling to your possible death through thousands of feet of atmosphere, and the best thing is that you’re still stuck firmly to the ground, since you’re only reading about it.  Just like there’s something cool about fighting your way around Cape Horn against the roaring forties, though you’re still in that relatively airless cubicle you call your room.  Extreme sports are so much fun when the only person who could possibly die is fictional.  On with the double review, shall we?

Airman, Eoin Colfer:  This book is my favorite of all Colfer’s works.  It is set mostly on two fictional islands: the Saltees, sometime prior to the invention of the first airplane.  Conor Broekhart is the son of the security official for the King of the Saltees.  Conor was born in a hot-air balloon, so he’s obviously destined for aerial greatness.  After being framed for the death of his tutor and King, Conor is incarcerated by his own father.  He eventually escapes and uses his ideas to become the mysterious Airman.

This is, as I have said, a great book.  The plot is excellent, the humor is superb and the characters are expertly handled.  Plot twists appear from nowhere like ants just after I’ve dropped my baklava.  Good rule of thumb for books like this is this: whatever you think, you’re wrong.

Airborn, Kenneth Oppel:  I just finished the third book in this trilogy two days ago, so I’ll review them all equally, though only naming the first.  These three books– Airborn, Skybreaker and Starclimber– are on par with Airman.  The books immerse you completely in the character’s many plights with a sense of suspense not found in many books I’ve been reading recently.  The humor level is perfect.  The characters are remarkably vivid, and such that you fall in love with the meanest of them.  The scenes are literally breathtaking.  (I don’t know why, but there are parts of this trilogy that I found myself holding my breath.)  The feels are real as if the reader was one of the characters.  The writing, in short, is brilliant.  Though Airman is good for young and old alike, Airborn is more for young adult.  I won’t go into details for that would render my blog unfit for younger readers.

But a summary is called for (the first book only).  In a world in the midst of the Industrial Revolution, where airships– not airplanes– rule the skies, Matt Cruse is a cabin boy aboard the Aurora, the airship his father worked on until his untimely death.  Matt also felt led to the skies because of his singular birth; he was born halfway over the Atlanticus (equivalent of the Atlantic) in an airship.  (Here you first see the parallels between these books.)  After a rather inadvisable bump with air pirates (literally), the Aurora crash-lands on an uncharted island in the Pacificus (equivalent of the– oh, you get it).  Pulled along by a young heiress who thinks the island houses an unidentified species of flying cat, Cruse finds more than he bargained for.

Wow, I didn’t know I could write reviews with that much suspense stuffed in them.  Think I did all right?  I probably won’t do it again.

Anyway, I’m glad I read both of these books.  They were arrived at through different methods (Airman was found when I followed Colfer’s works, but Airborn was found when I was looking for a slightly interesting book anywhere I could find it) and at different times, but I enjoyed both equally.  For those who haven’t read either, go read them.  For those who have read other things of Oppel’s, tell me if I should read them.  For those who have read both but not more, I don’t want to talk to you.

Severe Trauma (Oodles of Awards)

I’m still recovering from Mrs. Sparkly* and what do these people do?  They slap a few more awards on me.  I sigh and accept them philisophically.

AAH, MY EYES! GET IT OFF!

This is the first one.  Absolutely hideous, don’t you agree?  It’s pink, it has a floral pattern, and the spelling…  Horrid!  Absolutely horrid!  Lashings of apologies for anyone severely traumatised by this.  Thanks– I think– to Lily at Lily’s Notes in the margins.

The ever-present rules:  I must answer ten questions (Urg!).  I must give ten random facts (Blechh!).  I must pass it on to seven doomed recipients (Gladly!).

What is your favorite song?  Beethoven’s fifth symphony.  Hands down.

What is your favorite dessert?  I dunno…  Probably Banana Chocolate Surprise– sold at a restaurant near… me.  Not you.

What ticks you off?  Bad spelling, bad grammar, boring music, and bad assumptions.  Who couldn’t be distressed with bad spelling when faced with the title of this award?  “Kreativ?”  Really?  You could have gotten a better-named– and a better-spelled– award if a preschooler had invented it.  If I find the guy who invented this thing, he’s going to regret it.  Unless he pays me off with a hefty bribe.  (Corruptibility– gotta love it.)

When you’re upset, what do you do?  I usually go read.  Or sulk.  I spend time with myself.

What is your favorite pet?  The kind where you go from the front of the animal to the back. It goes with the fur, scale, or feather direction.

Which do you prefer: black or white?  Exactly in-between.  Grey.  Black at a pinch.

What is your attitude?  What, right now?  I’m pretty miffed at the stupidity of this award.  But generally I’m lighthearted.  Mr. Sunshine, that’s me.

What is perfection?  The absence of this award from my life.  Silence.  A month ago, I would have said the three R’s: Rick Riordan’s ‘Riting.  Now I’m not so sure.  Post on that coming up.  Maybe.

What is your guilty pleasure?  Finding fault.  I’m good at it.  But it makes me feel guilty.

Now for some facts:

  1. I like the idea of learning a new language, but not to the point of actually learning it.
  2. I don’t like putting pictures on my blog.  (I blame Mrs. Sparkly.)
  3. I count the numbers of letters in words, the number of characters in sentences, and occasionally (when reading Shakespeare) the number of syllables in sentences.  Iambic pentameter, you understand.
  4. I like spaghetti.  Everyone likes spaghetti.  Those who don’t become models for my antagonists.
  5. I like stories about writing.  Inkheart, The Fire Within, Stranger than Fiction, Finding Neverland, to name a few.
  6. I’m a hypocrite when it comes to romance.  I say I don’t like it, then use it while writing.  Especially ironic when I wrote romance into the Phil Phorce episode… in which Liam is a subject.  I’ll let you see for yourself, however.  And yes, I’m working on it.
  7. I really have better things to do, but I’m stuck writing these stupid facts for this stupid award because if I don’t I’ll forget.
  8. I’d rather be writing Phil Phorce.
  9. I’d rather be writing Wise.
  10. I will be writing either– or both– just after this.

Tsk, tsk.  Another award.

At least this one is spelled right….

And look: this one has rules too.  I said ever-present before, right?

Rules:

  1. This award is for book bloggers only. To receive this award the blog must be at least 50% about books (reading or writing is okay)
  2. Along with receiving this award, you must also share your top five favorite books you have ever read. (More than five is okay)
  3. You must give this award to 5-10 other lucky book blogs you adore.

“Lucky book blogs [I] adore…”  No accounting for choice of words.  So I must only list five favorite books for this.  Oh, joy.  I live for these awards, did you know that?  (Oh, sarcasm…)

  1. The Count of Monte Cristo, Alexander Dumas
  2. The Serpent’s Shadow, Rick Riordan
  3. The Lost Stories (Ranger’s Apprentice series), John Flanagan
  4. The Fire Ascending, Chris D’Lacey
  5. Inkdeath, Cornelia Funke

There are probably more, but as I’ve mentioned once or twice I’m not too keen on drawing these award ceremonies out any longer than necessary.  I’m kind of over my time limit as it is.

So.  Joint nominations for both awards here:

The Leaning Tower of Plot.

All I Need Is A Keyboard.

The Land of Man-Eating Pixies.

Musings from Neville’s Navel.

Seana J. Vixen.

Further Up and Further In.

A Farewell To Sanity.

I suppose I must notify them now…  And I suppose you’ve noticed by now that I’m not the most enthusiastic recipient of these awards.  Don’t be scared off, though.  They’re welcome diversions in the never-ending months of sanity.

*Mrs Sparkly: an award I got a while back with the most hideous picture I ever did see.  Butterflies, roses, and a large sparkly necklace.  Horrible.  I shudder to think of it.

Guest Post: Lights! Camera! Actually…

Here is a guest post from an absolute genius.  She was the lucky author of the 1500th comment on this blog, and wrote a brilliant guest post for the occasion.  All rise for the honorable Charley R.

When I say the word “adaption”, what immediately springs to mind?

If you’re a scientist – genealogical mutation?

If you’re in junior school – a word on your spelling test?

If you’re dyslexic – the Pope’s favourite family planning method?

If you’re me – the strong wish to strangle several directors for mangling my favourite stories.

I don’t mean to sound like an awful canon hound – though, admittedly, I am one – but some film adaptions of books really get my goat (if they’re lucky. It’s the platypus if they don’t). Cutting scenes, rewriting dialogue, mangling setting and events until I wonder whether I fell over the threshold of the wrong screen at the cinema when my popcorn launched an attack on my face.

Sometimes I wish I was right. Percy Jackson, anyone?

But (luckily for all within a fifty mile radius) I’m not here to talk about that sort of adaption. I’m here to talk about another, but perhaps less well-known, place where the stories from ink and paper can end up.

The stage.

I’m sure I’m not alone here when I say I love acting. I always have and, though I never took Drama as a subject, I take yearly exams from the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Arts, which involve acting and general knowledge of method and a few famous types. However wonderful and gripping a book is, there’s nothing like seeing the character literally walking, breathing and tripping over things before your eyes to make you love a story more.

Personally, I think stage adaptions should be used more than they are. While we are able to feel involved with characters on a screen, the stage brings us closer still. Rather than stewing with supressed common sense as Rose hogs the whole piano top in Titanic, we can actually stand up in our seat and throw things at her!

Okay, okay, I joke. No one likes throwing things at actors. Especially not the actors.

But, seriously, why not use the stage? There are hundreds of talented stage actors about, all positively begging for the gorgeous parts of our favourite characters. No longer must we suffer the immovable features and emotion-of-a-tree-stump face of Tom Cruise, we could have someone who actually plays the part. Because that’s what you have to do in the theatre. If you don’t act it, no one is going to believe it, because you don’t have fancy sets and CGI to hide your shoddy acting behind. You have to work hard. You have to please the audience. You have to make it real.

For example, while I merely sighed sadly and rolled my eyes at Mufasa’s death in Disney’s The Lion King, when I went to see the stage adaption in London, I had to put my head into my bag of pick-and-mix to keep from making a sniffly, sobby mess on the seat. The difference was astounding. The event was no longer a comforting distance away behind a screen, it was there, happening right in front of me, and no matter how far I plunged into that paper bag, I could not escape. There was no remote to get me away from the emotion.

All the feels. They had me.

However, I am willing to admit that the stage does have its drawbacks. The lack of special effects, mentioned above, could render the flying dragon-beasties of Avatar’s Pandora a little sketchily, and I doubt Sauron’s eye would be quite as scary if it were made out of cardboard and the fruits of hours of finger-painting. But, to me, that’s not the point. To anyone who’s seen any sort of film – I might name Eragon – that has so badly maimed the plot that they have to cover it up with non-canon explosions, fight scenes and events, no amount of eye-popping shizzlery is going to make up for the fact that it was a BAD adaption.

For most of us, it’s the story that matters. And, with all the power, emotion and gut-busting work that happens in every theatrical performance, I honestly believe that some books would be better off there than on the silver screen.

Also … would anyone else kill for a pantomime parody of Game of Thrones and its sequels?

~Charley R

P.S. I would like to add, here at the bottom, a load of big fat grovelling thank-yous to our lovely host, Liam the Head Phil, for allowing me to pollute the epicness of his blog with my endless blitherings.

Wanted: Constructive Criticism

Unscheduled post today, but what the hey.  One of my friends needs a piece of her poetry constructively critiqued, constructively here meaning in a way that gives her more to go on than just “Great!” or “Brilliant!”  Not that she wouldn’t like hearing that too, but it isn’t that helpful.  Anyway, bear in mind that this wasn’t mine.  I won’t reply to any comments because of that, unless you’re complimenting me on my choice of friends.  Here it is:

A bird
Wings black as pitch…
Flies across the night sky
A blur of feathers.

It is invisible to those who don’t look,
A speck of black
Against the sky
Full of stars.

It swoops,
Glides,
Soars,
Alone.

No one is with the bird.
No one will ever be with the bird.
It is alone…
Forever.

Only one sees the bird.
Me.
It whispers secrets in my ear.
I’ve sworn not to tell them.

But it’s very tempting…

Wasting [Your] Time

Hilarious video here from a group called the Piano Guys.  In this video, for some reason, there are only two celli, no pianos, and one guy plays both celli.  Not at the same time, of course, but they’re overlayed.  And yet the group is called the piano guys.

For the music nerds:  Notice how the dark side cellist always plays minor.  Yup, all of his themes are minor, even the ones originally written in major.  If you can’t tell that easily, skip ahead to two minutes and thirty seconds into the video and listen carefully.  Very carefully.

I hope that’s enough for today.  I’m off to write a lot.  Don’t bother me.

Warning: This movie not suitable for very young musicians. Contains accordion-related material. View with discretion.

Yet Another Phil Conference

He aimed…  He drew back his arm…  He threw.  His aim was perfect.

“OW!” Quirk screamed as the pencil entered his ear, eraser first.  He pulled it out and lobbed it back at the thrower.

His aim was terrible.  The pencil speared Feiron through the midriff, emerging on the other side.  The fairy stumbled backward in shock and collapsed, a brown fluid leaking from his stomach.

“I think you killed him, Quirk,” said the original thrower of the pencil.

“I swear, Sebase, I will rip your ears off,” said Quirk angrily.

“Hey, no swearing,” said Sebase.  “It was prohibited by the Head Phil.”

Steve, hearing that something was unallowable, promptly let loose a long string of swear words.

“Perfect example, Steve,” said Sebase.  “That’s the sort of thing I’m talking about.  He said no.”

“Why are you talking about me as if I’m not present?” asked the Head Phil, bending over Feiron with a First Aid kit.  He used tweezers to pull the pencil out, then wrapped Feiron up in so much gauze he looked like a principal’s toilet-papered car.  “And yes, Quirk, I prohibited swearing.  Steve, that goes for you too.”

Steve was about to swear again in response, but Phume clapped a hand over his miniscule mouth.

“Why are we here?” asked the old lady.  She sounded very bored, the Castle Under the Cloud’s library having burned down the day before when Feiron had suggested they all sample the benefits of flaming acupuncture.

“Good question,” said Liam.  “I brought you all here to ooh and aah over the new official notices and business cards I’ve made.  Readers of the blog can look to the right of the main text, under all of the widgets.”

All the Phils promptly turned to their right.

“I meant readers of the blog, not parts of the blog itself,” sighed Liam.  “You Phils can look at the said notices and cards on the table.”  He gestured with his free hand to the pile of colored papers and business cards that had been lying, unnoticed, on the conference table.  His other hand busily traced lines on Feiron’s face to make him look a little more like the little weirdo he was.

Sebase was the first to pick up a notice.  “Oh, how did you know, Liam?  My dearest wish is for my very own halberd.  And you say all I have to do is kill someone?  I’m on it.”

“Not just anyone,” said Liam quickly as Sebase put a knife to Quirk’s throat.  “The Aardvark.  And that’s only part of the Phil Phorce episode.”

“Speaking of which, when will that come out?” asked Phoenix.

“When I’ve finished writing it.  As it is, I’m still working on Wise.”  Sebase gave Phume a high five.  “That could take any amount of time, but I will try to find time for the your mission as well.”

“No hurry,” said Sebase.  “I’d rather see Wise finished than the Phil Phorce.”

“Sorry, but you might be the only one,” said Sam.

“No, I’m not, actually,” said Sebase cheerfully.  “Phume likes Wise better too.”

“Anyway,” said Liam, ”I’m running out of time here.  You’ll notice that Percival isn’t here with us because he’s tied up in the past.  Not literally, of course, though that does give me an idea…  Okay, yes he is literally tied up in the past.”

“Goodie!” said Quirk.  “Does he get killed?”

“Well, technically he isn’t living, so in a way, yes.”

“Double goodie!”

Steve launched himself at Quirk, biting at his nose.

The old lady, ignoring the screams, picked up a business card.  “Interesting…” she said slowly.  “Is this supposed to represent the Castle Under the Cloud?”

Liam nodded.

“But it’s upside down,” said Sebase, looking over her shoulder.

“Our Castle is upside down,” said Liam.

“No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it isn’t; the rest of the world is upside down.  We’re right side up.”

Steve launched himself from Quirks face to Sebase’s.

“Thanks, Steve,” said Liam.  “We should make you our official torture officer.”

“Oh, he’d like that,” said Sam.

“I would not like that!” Steve yelled, still gripping Sebase’s upper lip.  “I would love it!  Get it right, you traitorous ping pong ball!”

Sam implied an amiable shrug.

“We’ll get you started on that right away, I think,” said Liam.  “Once we have someone to torture.”

“I’ve already got a few ideas,” said Steve.  He blew into Sebase’s nose, then let go of the lip when the jester sneezed, neatly catapulting him onto the table, barely missing the wet blob that came with him.

“Euch,” said Phoenix, looking at the wet spot on the table.  “Sebase, wipe that off.”

“Your hair is long enough; you do it.”

Phoenix lobbed a fireball at his head.

“Quite a tame meeting,” said Liam to Isaac.

Isaac nodded.  He couldn’t see anything of what was happening.

Liam slapped Feiron’s face a few times to rouse him.

Feiron snorted and woke up.  “Sorry, did I miss anything?”

“Only you dying,” said Liam.

“Oh, yeah, I remember that…  I’m glad I slept through it,” said Feiron, and went back to sleep.

“Creativity is Abnormal”– Rewrite

“Creativity is abnormal.”  You’ve seen this around my blog, surely.  Look up.  No, not up, as in above your head, but up, like up toward the top of the screen.  Yes, you’ve seen it: it’s right below the big, bold misnomer of ”THIS PAGE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK”.  Creativity is abnormal.  I’ve spoken on this before.  To sum up my first post on this topic, the only way to think outside of the box is to think abnormally.  Nothing creative is normal.  It’s all about originality.  My friend the doctor said this morning, “It’s easy to be someone else and be successful, but don’t do that.  You might seem weird, but you have to be yourself.”  It’s all about originality.

Now I want to take it a step further.  One of the things I said in the post linked to above is that as kids we’re encouraged to be creative, but abnormality is quashed.  To quote myself:

Kids are praised for their creativity in drawing a small house with three or four people outside.  But the kid who draws a mutant doggy with fire coming out of its ears and a small pocket for hamburgers on the go?  He’s shunned for life, and the rest of art class.

You see what I’m getting at.  (Perhaps.  I haven’t actually gotten at what I’m getting at yet.)  This disgust for abnormal (aka, creative) thought drives things like peer pressure, most government, bullying, and Apple’s product designs.  Peer pressure is basically one person shaming another into restricted (aka, unoriginal) thinking.  Bullying: when someone beats someone else up for being weird (creative).  Most government: when someone exersises power over other individuals, usually trying to keep them from rebelling, doing so by restricting free thinking (creativity); if people are creative, they begin to realize what morons their governers are.  This makes modern government different from ancient monarchies.  Now we get to blab all we want about our rulers and never to rebel; in the old days, you get killed for speaking out, and rebel all you want.  Something twisted about that…  Now, instead of wanting to bend people’s wills to our own, we instead try to keep our originality. There’s a great quote that says “Brains are like parachutes; just because you forgot yours doesn’t mean you can borrow mine.” Here it’s perfectly illustrated: we have become possessive about our ideas. That’s what the free-thinking ability has done to us.

But though on a large scale, thinking is no longer restricted, it’s still that way for younger people, as shown in two of the examples above: peer pressure and bullying.  Bullying is just dictatorship on a smaller scale, peer pressure is just the same.  So many horrible things in the world are based on the suppression of free thinking, even though we supposedly are encouraged to think freely.  We’re supposed to be original, but not… abnormal.  And since creativity is abnormal, we’re supposed to be creative… in moderation.  (Shangri-La thinking, there.)  Anything original or creative is new, something that hasn’t been seen before.  (This automatically disqualifies half of popular music.)  But you can’t be too new, or else you’re labeled as abnormal.  As I said in my first post on this: it’s as twisted as a Twizzler that got its bottom end stuck to a blender and its top glued to the ceiling.

Anyway, I wasn’t trying to do a remake of my earlier post, which is what happened– though with a better vocabulary and a few more examples.  And this isn’t just a speech for young people to ignore those of their elders who think they’re too silly or weird.  Well, yes, it is.  But since I’m still young too, it’s a little bit hypocritical until I get older.

My main point here is, if you aren’t weird, you aren’t thinking for yourself.  So many people have apologized to me for being “weird”.  Every time, I explain that there is no such thing as normality.  Normality is what everyone thinks people should do.  Originality is the opposite: thinking outside the box.  No, that isn’t an invitation to head out to Taco Bell– that would be thinking outside the bun, which is an apt description of their food after being dumped into the flimsy taco shells.  (Bad joke, especially since I’ve never actually eaten at Taco Bell.)  Anyway, somehow we manage to think we’re being unique, while all the time those of us who are really unique are “weird”.  Now, I’ve never been one to use weird as a bad description, but the world does often.  But the world also encourages weirdness at the same time.  And it also thinks that owning an electric guitar makes you a musician.  But we, the weird ones, know better.

As much of an effort I made to the contrary, I still ended up with a rewrite of that early post.  Oh, well.  If I made any sense, I succeeded, to a point.

Phil Phorce: The Aardvark (Trailer)

Here’s a trailer I thought up for the Phil Phorce.  It’s in the style of any movie trailer you’d care to mention, but in script form.  Most things will be left to the reader’s imagination, as I can’t put together an epic soundtrack on such short notice.  And though it may seem so, I haven’t actually finished more than two parts of the real thing.  Thus, this is slightly obscure and erratic.  Here goes.  Enjoy!

Shot of a man falling through the air toward the ground.  Loud “thud”.  A body on the ground, dressed in Victorian-era clothing.

Woman’s voice:  “Is he dead?”

Man’s voice:  “Not breathing…  Does anyone have a shovel?  We can bury him here.”

Man turns body over, revealing Percival’s face.  Cut to a Phil conference.

Liam:  “As most of you know, our Castle is surrounded by an army as medieval as castles themselves.”

Scene changes to show an army pounding on the sliding doors of the Castle Under the Cloud.

Liam (voice-over):  “Headed by a man calling himself The Aardvark, this army is seeking possession of this Castle, namely the time machine upstairs and certain objects in a vault downstairs.”

Scene shows the Phils again.

Isaac:  “How do you know all this?”

Liam (after a pause):  “They told me.”

Cut to blackness.  A door opens, light shining from beyond past the silhouette of a man.  Another very fat man sits on a throne, steadily feeding himself peanuts.

Silhouette:  “Who are you?”

Fat man:  “King Thoris, Head Phil.  *offers the bowl*  Peanut?”

Cut to the Phil conference.

Liam:  “To defeat the Aardvark, we will have to do the unthinkable.”

Sam:  ”Snorkel in molasses taffy?”

Liam:  ”No.”

Sebase:  ”Stand on our heads for over three days in a row?”

Liam:  ”No.”

Quirk:  ”We all commit suicide at the same time, one of us somehow getting in touch with Percival, who’s in the past, to inject our forebears with suicide-stopping fluid, keeping us alive even after the enemy thinks us dead, when we rise up and give that guillotine in the basement some use!”

Liam:  ”What?!”

Quirk:  ”I didn’t think it was that bad of an idea.”

Cut to the Castle Under the Cloud, outside.  A large dragon flies over the Castle Under the Cloud and picks up members of the attacking army, dropping them into their comrades.  A catapults throws a rock into the dragon’s wing and it goes down with a roar.
Cut to King Thoris and man with back to camera looking up at a sign: five crooked lines under a wavy line.

Thoris:  “I know the man you speak of.  He lives nearby.”

Man:  “Convenient.”

Thoris:  “Very.  He sells us hedgehogs.”

Cut to the Phil conference room.  Phoenix and Sebase sit next to each other in swivel chairs.

Phoenix (to Sebase):  “He isn’t dead, you know.”

Sebase (looking down):  “If he wasn’t, he’d be back here by now.”

Cut to a closed tent outside the Castle.

Man’s voice:  “Presenting… the Aardvark!”

The tent flap opens, revealing a man with a shadowed face.

The Aardvark: “Hello, Liam.”

Cut to blackness.

Quickly speaking voice:  “Phil Phorce: The Aardvark.  Rated A for awesome.  Coming soon to a blog near you.”

In Which I Shatter The Status Quo

My life hasn’t featured on this blog for a while now, has it?  Well, passably good reason for that: writing about writing is much more interesting.  A couple things have changed since I last did anything pertaining to my situation.

  • I have reached 55k words in Wise, after cutting a chunk.  I have now struggled my way back, and expect to keep going.  This new posting schedule has allowed for a lot more time for writing.
  • I have acquired Inkdeath, by Cornelia Funke, the third book in the fabulous Inkheart Trilogy.  I now have completed that set.  I have also found that Funke has published a new book: Ghost Knight, of which there was no rumor anywhere on the internet or in my local bookstore.  I blame Google.
  • I have finished the orchestral season with a concert just last Sunday.  We played movements from Dvorak’s Symphony for the New World and Beethoven’s 7th Symphony.  It was quite fun.
  • I have finished Spiral, by Roderick Gordon and Brian Williams.  Not as good as the first few, but it was still good.  This one had elements that would put you off your crumpet.  But as I have said many times, these authors are masters at plot twists.  (In this one, they even got a love quadrangle going, something I thought I would never see.)  Now I finally know what the Armagi are.
  • I have changed my computer account picture three times in the last week.  I don’t like posting pictures, but these are pretty funny.
My primary one.
Second one…
My current one.

All struck me as funny, and all were conveniently square.  In a couple days I’ll probably change it to something like this:

I like this one.

So what’s new?  Basically, life is good at the moment.  You say, ”Hey, that ain’t new!”  Well, after persuading you to revise your grammar with a large club, I’d reply that no, it isn’t.  But it’s true.  Have a nice day.

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