I've spent a great deal of time in my life, making characters.
Whether for stories, games, or just sheer boredom, I love building a character from the ground up. I've written back stories for characters that will never be revealed, they just exist in a different world that will be referenced on occasion. It's how I roll.
I play WoW, and I write long, detailed backstories to every character I play. Every. One. Through this they have a sense of self, and a motivation that many never understand, but to drive it home, I never spout it out at the first chance given.
For some, a backstory is a platform to leap from, for others; it's a secret without being a magical twist later on.
One of them, has a long history of pain and suffering, brought on mostly by their own bitterness. It's not a redemption story, and he never "finds peace". He simply finds a measure of contentment and goes on with his life, when asked why he does things, he simply replies "because."
I've met people who spill their life story like a toddler with a cup at the slightest provocation. Which is at the same time strange, and sort of realistic. But not this guy, he refuses. Even to people who know him, who understand him, he just doesn't talk about it. He has a friend, who does however, so his story is out there, but you'll never get it out of him.
That is depth, that is how one creates a character that isn't two dimensional, by giving them a motive for life beyond plot development.
From the "Iron Rose", a few of the characters follow this mentality, the way of having their own story that's bursting at the seams, but never is quite spelled out.
No one knows why Izo so willingly quits his job and signs up with Rose.
No one knows why Hafwen lives alone, and has no other friends, despite all her positive qualities.
No one even knows Rose's parents names.
The beginning of this thought train came from a video game I recently bought; Prototype. Its' narrative is... confusing at best, it gives literally less motive for anything your character does than anything I've seen since the first Mario Bros.
You wake up in a morgue, two guys say your name and run away. The military kills them, and then sees you, a walking corpse, and shoots you. You don't die, because you're fucking Zeus. No really, their codename for you is Zeus.
While all that would cause a game to be terrible, this game gets one thing right above all others: you feel like everything they say about you is spot on. You move through the city with an ease that makes Spider-man jealous, while you're not invincible, you may as well be if you're clever.
You can lift a truck, and freerun with it up the side of a building, and throw it two blocks.
It all fits, you're amazing, you're god-like, and it just fits the story (what little you get to know about) so very finely that you forgive it's shortcomings.
It's like the Doctor Who of super violent games.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Writers and Magicians
When you say "I'm a writer" people tend to nod their heads, and ask what you've written.
When you say "I'm an aspiring writer", most people tend to take a second, to figure out what aspiring means, before asking what sort of stories you write.
There's a difference in there, that there's a measure of respect that comes with the first one, that makes all the difference. In the second, they ask it out of politese, and pray you don't actually answer. A simple "oh this and that..." is what the vast majority want to hear.
When you're a full fledged author, it's different. There's a respect in their question, even if you wrote a children's book about "not poopin' in the tub!" it's an achievement they respect.
And they're right to.
Writing is easy, it just sort of happens when you think with your hands. If you've ever spoken in your life, you've written something in words. It's that simple. The various degrees of difficulty come in when you actually expect the rest of the world to give a shit.
Because they don't have to.
John-boy was told "it's an arrogant thing to be a writer, to assume that the world wants to read what you write" and it's very true. I was bored at work, so I wrote a story while wandering around an art museum. Years later, I'm working on publishing that very story. Imagine that.
I actually will require people to give me money, to be given the privelage to read 580 pages born out of my boredom. Good Gravy, that's some ballsy balls right there.
I was bored, threw this together when I couldn't sleep, you should pay me for it. Damn...
While it's not that bad, it's in a sense very much that bad. But it's also that good. The difference between a writer and a aspiring writer is that the former's bored, inscesent ramblings actually entertained someone.
Or enriched their lives, with is the point of writing when you get down to it. Writing shouldn't be about making you smile for twenty minutes, it should be about giving you a moral, or a hopeful story that one can hold in their heart for years to come. It should shape you as a child, and temper you as an adult. Writing shouldn't be about a worthless halftime show crammed some where between eating and sleeping.
It should be a magic show; where something is pulled from nothing, and amazes the world. The audience should feel a part of the show itself, because they very much are. Every person knows magicians are just performing elaborate tricks, but while you're sitting there, watching them do impossible things, you believe.
That's what writing is about, it's about believing in the impossible, the mundane, or simply the weird for a time. Because everyone knows that the realm of magic isn't really there... but in this book it is, and if it can be there in this book, maybe it can be outside of it as well.
It's reasonable doubt for imagination, not because the writer said so, but because the audience said so.
That's what the audience do for the magic trick, without them reading the story, living the story, there's no trick if there's no one to show it to.
They make the difference by reading, the difference between an aspiring writer, and an author.
When you say "I'm an aspiring writer", most people tend to take a second, to figure out what aspiring means, before asking what sort of stories you write.
There's a difference in there, that there's a measure of respect that comes with the first one, that makes all the difference. In the second, they ask it out of politese, and pray you don't actually answer. A simple "oh this and that..." is what the vast majority want to hear.
When you're a full fledged author, it's different. There's a respect in their question, even if you wrote a children's book about "not poopin' in the tub!" it's an achievement they respect.
And they're right to.
Writing is easy, it just sort of happens when you think with your hands. If you've ever spoken in your life, you've written something in words. It's that simple. The various degrees of difficulty come in when you actually expect the rest of the world to give a shit.
Because they don't have to.
John-boy was told "it's an arrogant thing to be a writer, to assume that the world wants to read what you write" and it's very true. I was bored at work, so I wrote a story while wandering around an art museum. Years later, I'm working on publishing that very story. Imagine that.
I actually will require people to give me money, to be given the privelage to read 580 pages born out of my boredom. Good Gravy, that's some ballsy balls right there.
I was bored, threw this together when I couldn't sleep, you should pay me for it. Damn...
While it's not that bad, it's in a sense very much that bad. But it's also that good. The difference between a writer and a aspiring writer is that the former's bored, inscesent ramblings actually entertained someone.
Or enriched their lives, with is the point of writing when you get down to it. Writing shouldn't be about making you smile for twenty minutes, it should be about giving you a moral, or a hopeful story that one can hold in their heart for years to come. It should shape you as a child, and temper you as an adult. Writing shouldn't be about a worthless halftime show crammed some where between eating and sleeping.
It should be a magic show; where something is pulled from nothing, and amazes the world. The audience should feel a part of the show itself, because they very much are. Every person knows magicians are just performing elaborate tricks, but while you're sitting there, watching them do impossible things, you believe.
That's what writing is about, it's about believing in the impossible, the mundane, or simply the weird for a time. Because everyone knows that the realm of magic isn't really there... but in this book it is, and if it can be there in this book, maybe it can be outside of it as well.
It's reasonable doubt for imagination, not because the writer said so, but because the audience said so.
That's what the audience do for the magic trick, without them reading the story, living the story, there's no trick if there's no one to show it to.
They make the difference by reading, the difference between an aspiring writer, and an author.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Sex, Drugs, and Lack Thereof.
Read an article today about children, and one of the points that stood out to me, was about how to talk to them about drugs. I had to comment on this, and I never comment on forums.
My father won this part of my childhood, with a simple short speech.
No matter where I was, what I had done/taken/broken, one call and he could come get me. My own personal extraction team in a beat up two-door. If I was drunk, high, bare-assed naked and running from the cops, one call was all it took to get me home.
My father was a Hearthstone.
He told me that he wouldn't yell, punish, or even question what I was doing... until the morning, but by then I'd of had time to think of a decent excuse... and it better have been decent. This is also the man who accepted: "they were damn hot" as an excuse.
Here's the weird part; it worked. I was never big into drugs or alcohol. Hell I was a full fledged adult before I even tried a drug, or smoked (it was at the same time as well).
Somehow, having the support and trust of my father, made it really easy to just brush off peer pressure. I didn't even have the fear of "if I do this, I ruin that trust..." because you always think "by even coming here I've broken it..." you're a teen, you're angsty, it's a tailspin.
But not me, I knew that all I had to do to secure and prove that trust was well kept, was to simple call him, and let him bail me out. In one small paragraph of dialogue, my father out witted an entire generation of shit-headed teens who tried to get me to be shit headed with them. He basically said he'd be an accomplice, to whatever I did, a getaway driver.
As to the Drug incident, I was out of college by that time, I was with two hot girls who said "hey, you should try this" and I did. I did it for really two reasons, number One being that I wanted to know what it was like, before I told my kids whether or not to avoid it. Then Pot failed me. Here are the top three reasons:
3: It tasted like trying to deepthroat a car muffler. Hot, smokey, and sharp. Three things that should never go down your throat.
2: It didn't really "enhance colors and sound", because the movie I can't remember, is not remembered as "enhanced."
1: with a bullet: it didn't lead to a threesome. We watched a forgettable movie instead. Seriously, a recreational substance cannot fail you this much, and still be fun.
I've had a better time with gummy worms: They tasted like candy, because they were. They were brightly colored. And my girlfriend at the time like to use them as weird making out accessories.
So you see, future spawn of mine, Gummy Worms completely pwn Pot. They're also cheaper, and you don't have to talk to a sketchy dumbass to get them.
My father won this part of my childhood, with a simple short speech.
No matter where I was, what I had done/taken/broken, one call and he could come get me. My own personal extraction team in a beat up two-door. If I was drunk, high, bare-assed naked and running from the cops, one call was all it took to get me home.
My father was a Hearthstone.
He told me that he wouldn't yell, punish, or even question what I was doing... until the morning, but by then I'd of had time to think of a decent excuse... and it better have been decent. This is also the man who accepted: "they were damn hot" as an excuse.
Here's the weird part; it worked. I was never big into drugs or alcohol. Hell I was a full fledged adult before I even tried a drug, or smoked (it was at the same time as well).
Somehow, having the support and trust of my father, made it really easy to just brush off peer pressure. I didn't even have the fear of "if I do this, I ruin that trust..." because you always think "by even coming here I've broken it..." you're a teen, you're angsty, it's a tailspin.
But not me, I knew that all I had to do to secure and prove that trust was well kept, was to simple call him, and let him bail me out. In one small paragraph of dialogue, my father out witted an entire generation of shit-headed teens who tried to get me to be shit headed with them. He basically said he'd be an accomplice, to whatever I did, a getaway driver.
As to the Drug incident, I was out of college by that time, I was with two hot girls who said "hey, you should try this" and I did. I did it for really two reasons, number One being that I wanted to know what it was like, before I told my kids whether or not to avoid it. Then Pot failed me. Here are the top three reasons:
3: It tasted like trying to deepthroat a car muffler. Hot, smokey, and sharp. Three things that should never go down your throat.
2: It didn't really "enhance colors and sound", because the movie I can't remember, is not remembered as "enhanced."
1: with a bullet: it didn't lead to a threesome. We watched a forgettable movie instead. Seriously, a recreational substance cannot fail you this much, and still be fun.
I've had a better time with gummy worms: They tasted like candy, because they were. They were brightly colored. And my girlfriend at the time like to use them as weird making out accessories.
So you see, future spawn of mine, Gummy Worms completely pwn Pot. They're also cheaper, and you don't have to talk to a sketchy dumbass to get them.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
The myth of Originality
I thought about writing about "writers block" today, but my mind got swept up into this topic, as it is wont to do.
I don't believe in originality, and right now, thousands of writers across the globe hate me.
I just don't believe with all the Jungian archtypes in the world, that an Original concept is possible, especially with the numbers that humankind have risen to.
My first thought into this came from the realization, that I have a few stories with heavily common threads between them:
Man finds a violent women tied to something in a desolate area, frees her, and they travel.
In one story, it's a romance novel following a wild pict, and a displaced farmer, trying to get home. In another, she's a ghoulish creature in a post apocalyptic wasteland, and he's basically a henchman sent to find her. In another, he's a mercenary, and she's an imprisoned goddess.
Wildly different stories, but similar concepts. To make matters worse, if you replace "woman" with "Male" you get a Conan story. It's a simple thing really, I read Conan as a child and loved it, it inspired me in ways I'll never fully comprehend. It rears its head in nearly everything I write, just like everything else I've seen, heard, tasted and felt.
Probably one of the least Original artists of all time, is van Goph. Again, thousands of people hate me.
But it's true, he drew what he saw. Not special things, not events that would never happen again, he simply looked at things, and painted them. Why is he considered possibly the greatest painter of all time? Because of one word:
Presentation.
That's the difference between everything in the world, how it is presented. In all the thousands of years of human history, presentation is the only thing that changes.
We love certain things, we have fetishes and weird ways of looking at the world. That's the point of writing, to show the world how we stand where they stand, but we see something else.
"What's the difference between a villain and a Super villain? Presentation!" Megamind.
I don't believe in originality, and right now, thousands of writers across the globe hate me.
I just don't believe with all the Jungian archtypes in the world, that an Original concept is possible, especially with the numbers that humankind have risen to.
My first thought into this came from the realization, that I have a few stories with heavily common threads between them:
Man finds a violent women tied to something in a desolate area, frees her, and they travel.
In one story, it's a romance novel following a wild pict, and a displaced farmer, trying to get home. In another, she's a ghoulish creature in a post apocalyptic wasteland, and he's basically a henchman sent to find her. In another, he's a mercenary, and she's an imprisoned goddess.
Wildly different stories, but similar concepts. To make matters worse, if you replace "woman" with "Male" you get a Conan story. It's a simple thing really, I read Conan as a child and loved it, it inspired me in ways I'll never fully comprehend. It rears its head in nearly everything I write, just like everything else I've seen, heard, tasted and felt.
Probably one of the least Original artists of all time, is van Goph. Again, thousands of people hate me.
But it's true, he drew what he saw. Not special things, not events that would never happen again, he simply looked at things, and painted them. Why is he considered possibly the greatest painter of all time? Because of one word:
Presentation.
That's the difference between everything in the world, how it is presented. In all the thousands of years of human history, presentation is the only thing that changes.
We love certain things, we have fetishes and weird ways of looking at the world. That's the point of writing, to show the world how we stand where they stand, but we see something else.
"What's the difference between a villain and a Super villain? Presentation!" Megamind.
Friday, December 2, 2011
The Irish is Strong in this One.
(Two posts in one day? Don't get used to it.)
I'm Irish, and when I say that, I don't mean I was born in Ireland. I don't wave the green, orange and white around, I don't pretend to have an accent to get laid. I'm married now, she knows.
But, I come from a very Irish family, with Irish traits. Dear God... we practically bleed green. To drill this home;
Fathers side: I'm the fourth Gen from Ireland, so yeah...
Mothers side: South Boston Irish Catholic mother, recovering Alcoholic.
Yep, if Irish was a job, there's a winning resume.
Someone brought up the whole dumbass controversy of "Merry Christmas" as opposed to "Happy Holidays", which I will sum up in this next sentence.
December has Twelve Holidays, it's not sacriligious, it's efficient.
Anyway, this is about the Irish way of greeting people, or seeing them off. Because I've noticed, we do it sort of differently than most. When I worked at the Chinese place, my boss used to stare at me for how I replied to him. I would head out on a delivery, he'd say "bye" or "hurry back", someone else would go, I'd say "good luck". As if it was some sort of challenge.
Part of me wonders if this is because of that most Irish mentality of telling things to fuck the hell off. I've noticed that my family, and my Irish friends, tend to look at weather, problems, or daily tasks, as a bold face challenge from whatever we have to do. It's personal now.
Like the drive itself is out to get you, we're wishing you luck on kicking that drives ass with your car and appropriate sense of direction.
Another common one was the "have fun" and its' like. While it's not so much a parting farewell to someone who's going to an arcade, it's sort of us telling them that they should enjoy what they're about to go do. It's not even sarcasitic, but a bit sadistic. We're telling them to find some sort of enjoyment in what they have to do.
Remember every stereotypical Irishman in every movie you've seen one in, they always have the same response to things; "Fuck'n hell man, that was an intense gun fight! I've only been shot twice, God I hope there's more of 'em!"
I wonder if this preinclination to challenging inanimate objects and desire to find enjoyment in everything, leads to our bred-in violence. I remember talking to a guy I work with about my nephew Kalen's first fight.
Kalen was on the slide, big kid was being a dick, pushing the other kids off, including Kalen. Finally, he "done goofed" and pushed the girl Kalen decided was cute enough for his attention, and this angered him. So Kalen went back up the slide, threw the kid off, and beat him on the ground.
To every Irishman out there, Kalen just got a salute, and possibly an offer of a beer. To the guy I work with (Louisianna French... didn't know that was a thing), this was horrible, he actually vilified Kalen, praying he'd never see the kid in school because he "obviously over reacted". To me that just seemed stupid, the kid obviously hit first, and Kalen did what ever PSA ever said "just walked away" and WHOA! The big kid did it again! It was almost as if he was rewarded for being violent, and it made him do it again! I'd go further into this subject, but I don't have the time for a ground breaking thesis in the field of psychology.
Basically, this post really doesn't have any meaning behind it... it's my day off and I'm bored, read me rant.
I'm Irish, and when I say that, I don't mean I was born in Ireland. I don't wave the green, orange and white around, I don't pretend to have an accent to get laid. I'm married now, she knows.
But, I come from a very Irish family, with Irish traits. Dear God... we practically bleed green. To drill this home;
Fathers side: I'm the fourth Gen from Ireland, so yeah...
Mothers side: South Boston Irish Catholic mother, recovering Alcoholic.
Yep, if Irish was a job, there's a winning resume.
Someone brought up the whole dumbass controversy of "Merry Christmas" as opposed to "Happy Holidays", which I will sum up in this next sentence.
December has Twelve Holidays, it's not sacriligious, it's efficient.
Anyway, this is about the Irish way of greeting people, or seeing them off. Because I've noticed, we do it sort of differently than most. When I worked at the Chinese place, my boss used to stare at me for how I replied to him. I would head out on a delivery, he'd say "bye" or "hurry back", someone else would go, I'd say "good luck". As if it was some sort of challenge.
Part of me wonders if this is because of that most Irish mentality of telling things to fuck the hell off. I've noticed that my family, and my Irish friends, tend to look at weather, problems, or daily tasks, as a bold face challenge from whatever we have to do. It's personal now.
Like the drive itself is out to get you, we're wishing you luck on kicking that drives ass with your car and appropriate sense of direction.
Another common one was the "have fun" and its' like. While it's not so much a parting farewell to someone who's going to an arcade, it's sort of us telling them that they should enjoy what they're about to go do. It's not even sarcasitic, but a bit sadistic. We're telling them to find some sort of enjoyment in what they have to do.
Remember every stereotypical Irishman in every movie you've seen one in, they always have the same response to things; "Fuck'n hell man, that was an intense gun fight! I've only been shot twice, God I hope there's more of 'em!"
I wonder if this preinclination to challenging inanimate objects and desire to find enjoyment in everything, leads to our bred-in violence. I remember talking to a guy I work with about my nephew Kalen's first fight.
Kalen was on the slide, big kid was being a dick, pushing the other kids off, including Kalen. Finally, he "done goofed" and pushed the girl Kalen decided was cute enough for his attention, and this angered him. So Kalen went back up the slide, threw the kid off, and beat him on the ground.
To every Irishman out there, Kalen just got a salute, and possibly an offer of a beer. To the guy I work with (Louisianna French... didn't know that was a thing), this was horrible, he actually vilified Kalen, praying he'd never see the kid in school because he "obviously over reacted". To me that just seemed stupid, the kid obviously hit first, and Kalen did what ever PSA ever said "just walked away" and WHOA! The big kid did it again! It was almost as if he was rewarded for being violent, and it made him do it again! I'd go further into this subject, but I don't have the time for a ground breaking thesis in the field of psychology.
Basically, this post really doesn't have any meaning behind it... it's my day off and I'm bored, read me rant.
Ponderin' the Normies
So, it's early, and I'm wondering something: what's it like for normal people?
Now, I'm not saying I'm not normal, I'm not a guy, and I don't do guy things. Whole other concept here. Because I noticed something a day or so ago; people listen to music for the music.
Mind was blown.
I don't think I've ever listened to music because it was, in fact, music. Usually when I hear music, I immediately start creating a scene in my mind that fits the music. Some of my favorite things have been written this way.
Now, this got me thinking... what do they think about all the time? If you look at me, at any given moment, I'm most certainly thinking of a story. Be it a new one, or one I'm working on, or just going over an older one in my head. If you see me, I'm daydreaming about a brand new story. Whether I'll save it, write it, or just store it away in my brain.
No matter when, where, or what I'm doing. It's probably why I tend to forget things, I'm never really fully focused on anything. I remember playing Zelda, and making up my own lines for Link, his own reasons for why he did anything. Everything was being written in my own head as I played. When I played games like Elder Scrolls, or really any RPG that you make your own character, I didn't just play along with the story; I made the story.
So, it's weird is all I'm saying. Thinking about how people might think... are they thinking of what they'll do today? What they did yesterday? What about laundry? I can't be bothered to focus on that, I've got this great idea in my head that's bursting at the seems about a sniper...
... who hunts vampires...
... after the apocalypse...
Now, I'm not saying I'm not normal, I'm not a guy, and I don't do guy things. Whole other concept here. Because I noticed something a day or so ago; people listen to music for the music.
Mind was blown.
I don't think I've ever listened to music because it was, in fact, music. Usually when I hear music, I immediately start creating a scene in my mind that fits the music. Some of my favorite things have been written this way.
Now, this got me thinking... what do they think about all the time? If you look at me, at any given moment, I'm most certainly thinking of a story. Be it a new one, or one I'm working on, or just going over an older one in my head. If you see me, I'm daydreaming about a brand new story. Whether I'll save it, write it, or just store it away in my brain.
No matter when, where, or what I'm doing. It's probably why I tend to forget things, I'm never really fully focused on anything. I remember playing Zelda, and making up my own lines for Link, his own reasons for why he did anything. Everything was being written in my own head as I played. When I played games like Elder Scrolls, or really any RPG that you make your own character, I didn't just play along with the story; I made the story.
So, it's weird is all I'm saying. Thinking about how people might think... are they thinking of what they'll do today? What they did yesterday? What about laundry? I can't be bothered to focus on that, I've got this great idea in my head that's bursting at the seems about a sniper...
... who hunts vampires...
... after the apocalypse...
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