But I think I have a sense of the genre’s possibilities.

I’ve also never seen any dance films like those exemplified by the Step Up series.  But after seeing a number of movie trailers, reading various capsule reviews, and consulting learned scholars, I’ve realized something…

Urban fantasy fiction and dance films have a lot in common.

They both tend to depict a hidden world coexisting with our own, where rival factions battle each other for supremacy.  In one such world, ancient vampire clans wage war against tribes of shaggy werewolves, armed with guns, fangs, and angst.  In another, rival dance gangs prowl the streets in flashy shoes, their pounding boomboxes and “mad whack” moves leaving swaths of humiliation and ruin.

What could be more natural than to fuse these two familiar genres into something new?

Something like urban dance fantasy…

*     *     *

Ella Swain hesitated outside the alley.  The darkness within stretched like a chasm between her and the lonely light flickering over the battered metal door at the far end.

I guess it’s one of those underground dance clubs or something.

She shrugged and let the darkness of the alley devour her.  Her heels click-clacked on the pavement.  Her fingertips grazed the rough brick on either side, guiding her–reassuring her–as she drew near the light and the door.

image via Fangs For the Fantasy

The shadows swirled and shifted, and a man flowed out of the darkness to stand in the light before her, blocking the door.  He held a black cloak about him so that only his face was visible, impassive and pale, cold and beautiful and glowing like chiseled moonstone.

“W-who are you?” Ella asked.

“Ah…you are beautiful,”  he said, his voice as soft as the whisper of half-remembered dreams.  “Come closer, my dear.  Let me drink you.”

“Uh…excuse me?”

“Who better to slake the thirst of my loneliness?”

“Yeah, well…I don’t think so.”

Ella turned back the way she came.  The man chased after her in a rustle of cloth, a swift and hungering presence that threatened to quickly overtake her.

She sprinted toward the street, the click-clack of her heels echoing like machine gun fire.

When she emerged from the alley, something caught her ankle and tripped her.  Falling forward, scraping elbows and knees, she cast a frightened glance behind her.

Close now, the man in the black cloak grinned in wicked triumph.

She tried to push herself to her feet, but a firm hand held her down.  “Relax, lassie.  I’ll take care o’ him.”

“Did you just trip me?” Ella asked.

image via Sacramento Sidetracks

At first she thought the newcomer was a young boy because of his stature, but his thick red beard betrayed a wild and rugged manliness.  He wore a tailored green suit with wide lapels and a giant clover thrust through one of the button-holes.  Light from the streetlamp gleamed in the golden buckles adorning his green hat and black, polished shoes.

She blinked in disbelief.  “Did you know you’re a leprechaun or something?”

The leprechaun winked and turned to face her pursuer.

“You.”  The man halted, his cloak settling around him.  “You defy the ancient Vampire-Leprechaun compact?  For her?”

“Aye,” the leprechaun said.

The vampire sneered.  “Then you know this must be resolved in accordance with the old ways?”

“I do.”  The leprechaun’s grin sparkled like a mouthful of good luck charms.

“So be it.”

Sweeping his cloak behind him with pale, delicate hands, the vampire dropped into a crouch, fangs bared and a low growl in his throat.  The leprechaun folded his arms across his chest in disdain.

image via umnet

The vampire surged forward.  He leaped and spun around the impassive leprechaun, cape flapping like the wings of a great, angst-consumed bat, a whirlwind of intricate dance moves that mesmerized Ella with a fluttering magnificence the likes of which she had never seen.

When he finished, the vampire drew back behind his cloak.  “Do you despair before the ultimate power of my moves?”

“Och!  My buckled dancing shoes’ll speak for me, they will.”  The leprechaun erupted into a frenzy of traditional stepdancing, his feet moving in blurs of black and gold, scattering bits of newspaper like dried leaves blowing in a storm.

Cowering in the face of the leprechaun’s fury, the winds of the dance buffeting him, the vampire tried to shield himself with his hands.  The leprechaun’s feet began to glow.  A rainbow lashed outward in a tongue of multicolored fire, searing through his enemy’s flesh.

The vampire shrieked and dispersed in a cloud of mist and bats that flapped away in wide-eyed terror.

Ella had to force herself to start breathing again.  The leprechaun took her hand, his touch gentle and electric.

“And now, my dear, come with me,” he said.  “Fancy a bit o’ dancing?”

“I…think I’ve had enough of dancing for tonight,” Ella said.  “How about some dinner instead?”

“Fine, fine…I know a place that serves fantastic leprechaun food…”

image via Aquarian Bath

*     *     *

Is “urban dance fantasy” a vast new market waiting to be tapped?  Any other genre mash-ups out there waiting to be unleashed?  Perhaps romantic horror…

“Oh, no!  A creature from another dimension is stalking us one by one!  I think I love her…”

image via Laird Sapir

Last year, some of my writer friends banded together to fight crime take turns writing an epic saga, The Octopus Knows.  Each writer contributed a chapter on their blog, and together they discovered a harrowing drama replete with mystery and glittering pageantry.

My academic obligations prevented me from participating at the time, so I missed out on the fun.  Now everyone is collaborating on another story, and this time I’m able to contribute.

As the universe itself is a rather structured place, it follows certain rules.  This narrative effort is no different:

1) each writer must pick up the story where the last person left off and continue it on their own blog, and

2) provide a link back to the person who wrote the entry before theirs as well as a link at the end of their chapter directing readers to the next person on the list.

So stop by Tami Clayton’s blog to read Chapter One of Lather: The Twinkle Jackson Story and see how it all begins…

*     *     *

Lather: The Twinkle Jackson Story

Chapter Two

Meanwhile, in the vastness of interstellar space…

image via Wikimedia Commons

Lord Lobstar sat in the command center of his secret volcano base, stroking his goatee with a red, puffy claw.  As he often did after having his morning mollusc–as if morning were even possible in the vastness of interstellar space–he hatched a fiendish scheme.

His sinister eyestalks swiveled to focus on one of his Shrimperators.  “You, there…faceless minion.  Prostrate yourself before my awesome might.”

“At once, my lord.”  The Shrimperator prostrated himself before Lord Lobstar’s awesome might, the glass of his water-filled bubble helmet clinking against the deck like a toast to his master’s health.  “What is your command?”

“I have hatched a fiendish scheme,” Lord Lobstar said.

“Brilliant, my lord!”

“Take it below and put it with the others.”

“At once, my lord!”

Cradling the fiendish scheme in his claws and taking care not to damage it, the Shrimperator scuttled into the nearest crustachute, which whisked him away with a suction sound like one of those pneumatic tubes at the bank.

Lord Lobstar sighed, and his eyestalks drooped in sadness.

“Why are your eyestalks drooping in sadness, Your Diabolical Mastermindedness?”

image via Custom BIONICLE Wiki

Recognizing the voice of his new advisor, Lord Lobstar rotated his command chair to face Jupernia.  As always, she stood before him swathed in a black cloak, her cowl drawn close to shroud her face in deep shadow.

“I have just hatched yet another fiendish scheme,” Lord Lobstar said.  “Perhaps my most fiendish scheme ever.”

“Congratulations, my lord,” Jupernia said.  “I would think such a glorious occasion a cause for celebration, not sadness.”

“What use are fiendish schemes now?  Ever since an explosion destroyed my home planet of Crustacea and sent my secret volcano base hurtling through the vastness of interstellar space, I have no reason to act upon them.  No world to threaten.  No throne to usurp.  Not even a single doorbell to ring and then run away from while cackling maniacally.”

“For now, that may be true,” Jupernia said.  “But there are countless worlds out there with unsuspecting civilizations living upon them.  It is only a matter of time before our trajectory brings us within range of a suitable conquest.  We only need to–”

“We get signal,” a Shrimperator shouted from his console.

Lord Lobstar leaped to his feet.  “What?”

“Main screen turn on,” the Shrimperator said.

Lord Lobstar’s eyestalks blinked.  They blinked again.  “What is this?”

“Some sort of military transmission, my lord,” the Shrimperator said.  “From a planet called ‘Earth’ by its inhabitants.”

image via The National Post

“Earth?”  Lord Lobstar’s tongue recoiled from the word as if it were an alien and unsavory morsel he had just discovered in his morning mollusc.  “Earth?  What kind of name is that?”

“It is rather generic, and most certainly a place unworthy of my lord’s attention,” Jupernia said.  “No doubt the next inhabited world would make a far more suitable conquest.”

“No.”  Lord Lobstar leaned closer to the monitor, stroking his goatee in thought.  “I will scheme against this world…this…this Earth.”

“If I may counsel you otherwise–”

“You may not.”

A pause.  “As…as you command, my lord.”

“Send a squad of my best Shrimperators aboard a scout crustaship to assess Earth’s defenses.  And have my engineers accelerate the completion of my robotic exoskeleton.”

“Your r–robotic exoskeleton, my lord?”

“Of course,” Lord Lobstar said.  “When we arrive in Earth orbit, I intend to implement my most fiendish scheme ever.  Personally.”

A metallic object fell out of Jupernia’s robes to clatter upon the deck.

“Oh, look.”  Lord Lobstar retrieved the object in a puffy claw and handed it back to her.  “You dropped one of your climbing spurs again.”

After a long, silent moment, Jupernia took the climbing spur from him, her attention never wavering from the monitor and the fragile, blue-white world glowing on its display.

*     *     *

Well, that concludes my contribution.  Next up is Liv Rancourt, so keep an eye on her blog for the next installment in this thrilling tale of adventure, betrayal, and political intrigue…

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

Lao-Tzu

Since going back to college, I haven’t had as much time to write as I would like.  I take a notebook with me to school, and during idle moments before and between classes, I write what I can.  Over time, it’s added up to quite a bit of raw material that’s worth revising, including six short stories I want to release as a collection.

But finding the time to revise all this material has been another matter, since it’s not as easy as whipping out a notebook in whatever location I happen to be at the time.  I need, like, a desk and my computer and ceramic wizard and stuff.

When some time does open up that I can use for revising, it’s easy to think, “Oh, it’s just a half hour at most.  That’s not enough time to really get into anything serious, so why bother?”  But after spending some time this afternoon going over a story, a random thought infiltrated my brain…

Even a small, single step brings one closer to the end of a journey.

While it’s not an original thought, nor as eloquent and enduring as Lao-Tzu’s words, it’s enough to make me realize maybe I can get more done during those stolen moments than I thought.

And because people like pictures, pirates, and cats, I present this picture of a pirate cat.

image via Photography Match

*     *     *

How do you inspire yourself to see a long project through to the end?  Have any favorite quotes you’d like to share?  If you were to eat a single taco, would it be hard-shell or soft?

Earlier this month, the generally excellent Ellen Gregory tagged me in one of those blog things where people tag each other and stuff.  I had been searching through dusty tomes of arcane lore seeking powerful knowledge with which to resurrect my blog, but the tag thing promises to be much easier.

It’s called The Next Big Thing–a vehicle in which we are to answer ten questions regarding our current writing projects, such as…

1. What is the [working] title of your book?

A Place Cold and Far.

2. Where did the idea come from for the book?

It started with “The Valley of the Spring-Daughter”, a piece I wrote for a writing competition a couple years ago.  I later hatched a mad scheme to expand it as part of a collection of short stories set in the same world, which I originally intended to develop as a side-project while working on an eastern fantasy novel.

Recently I decided put the novel on the back-burner and focus on the story collection.  My novel is more ambitious than the collection, and I realized it would benefit from the experience I’d gain by revising several shorter pieces before returning to it.

3. What genre does your book fall under?

Mythic fantasy.

4. What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

I’ve never considered this question before.  I have no idea.  I’m going to go with my usual solution to every potential movie scenario, from the totally-should-exist Mecha-Rapunzel vs. The Earth to my long-standing idea for a disaster film in which a chunk of Antarctica breaks off and hurtles toward the East Coast of the United States…

Iceberg

starring Johnny Depp

directed by Tim Burton

image via The Iceberg Festival

5. What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

I actually don’t have one of those that covers the entire collection, so I’ll have to pick one up the next time there’s a sale.  I do have a synopsis for one of the stories, which I came up with when I first posted “The Valley of the Spring-Daughter” on my blog:

When a brutal and unnatural winter threatens his people, a lone warrior braves a forbidden valley to uncover the nature of their curse.

As part of the revision process, I’m sure I’ll come up with more, including one that covers the collection.

6. Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Barring any sort of unforeseen good fortune, I’m going to self-publish it.

7. How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

I’m still writing the first draft, although I’m most of the way through the sixth and final story.  I’ve mostly been writing it during idle moments at school in a paper notebook I’ve been carrying with me the last few months.

8. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I can’t think of any specific books off the top of my head, but it fits right alongside most anything inspired by Norse mythology.

9. Who or what inspired you to write this book?

In addition to the previously-mentioned Norse mythology, I’ve drawn inspiration from snowy winters, viking metal bands, Norwegian landscapes, and history, even though the stories are works of fantasy and not historical in any way.

The Wild Cards anthology series inspired the book’s structure with its use of the mosaic novel format.  The individual stories in A Place Cold and Far are connected and use recurring characters to form a sort of overall narrative spanning a couple generations.

10. What else about the book might pique the reader’s interest?

Well, I’ve been developing my current writing projects to fit as different pieces of a fictional universe that are informed by a consistent set of metaphysics.  A Place Cold and Far will be the first glimpse of that.

*     *     *

Thanks for the tag, Ellen

As part of The Next Big Thing, I’m to spread the meme zombie virus-like to other writers.  Most of my tribe has been infect–uhh…tagged already, but I know Judythe Morgan is available.  For good measure, I also tag Sheila Pierson.

*     *     *

Are you working on the Next Big Thing and haven’t been tagged yet?  Tell us about it.  If you’ve played already, contemplate this: if a zombie apocalypse were to break out tomorrow, what flavor of ice cream would you attempt to save?

image via SodaHead

Recently in my college English class, the instructor gave us an assignment: write an explanation of who Psyche is in mythology and turn it in for extra credit.  Since mythology and extra credit are like the chocolate and peanut butter of the academic world, I availed myself of the opportunity.

After surveying my handiwork, I realized the content would be a pretty good fit for this blog.  My current fiction projects draw inspiration from mythology in general–Chinese and Norse mythology in particular.  Exploring the timeless tales of heroes and gods seems like a good use of Writer Time™.

After all, what would these ancient stories be without the realms of perilous wonder in which they take place?

Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale from an ancient myth…

The Tale of Psyche and Cupid

In mythology, Psyche is a mortal girl of such tremendous beauty that the goddess, Venus, grows jealous of her. Venus turns to her son, Cupid, for aid.

“I need you to use your arrows so I can totally make Psyche fall in love with a vile creature or a monster or something,” she commands.

Cupid sighs.  “Aw, Mom…do I really have to?”

“You do unless you want to go to bed without any supper.”

image via Valentine Clipart Images

When night falls, Cupid sneaks into Psyche’s room like an invisible ninja of love. She awakens and startles him, causing him to poke himself with one of his own arrows.

“Ouch, that really smarts.” Cupid looks at Psyche. “Wow, what a babe! I love her and stuff.”

Cupid returns to Venus to report his failure.

“I am enraged,” Venus shouts, spittle flying from her lips. “I curse Psyche so that she will never meet a suitable husband, such is my rage.”

“Oh, yeah?”  Cupid stamps his foot. “Then I’m not going to shoot my arrows anymore.”

A few years later, Venus turns to Cupid again.

“No one is falling in love, and the world is failing to meet its annual quota of new mortals,” Venus complains. “Please shoot people with arrows again.”

“I will if Psyche and I can go to the prom,” Cupid says.

“Okay.”

And so, everyone resumes falling in love and rolling new mortals off the production line.

After the west wind, Zephyrus, carries Psyche to the prom a grand palace, she marries Cupid, who does not reveal his true nature to her.  She returns to her elder sisters.  They are jealous of the love she has found, so beautiful and pure, and decide to craft a vile deception.

image via Free Printable Coloring Pages

“Did you know your husband is really an awful serpent that is going to eat you and your unborn child?” they ask her. “You should stab him with a knife.”

“An awful serpent, you say?”  Psyche grimaces.  “Of course I will stab him.”

That night, Psyche waits until her husband is asleep. She accidentally pokes herself with one of his arrows.

“Ouch, that really smarts.” She realizes Cupid’s true nature at last. “What a hunk! I love him and stuff.”

Cupid, resentful of her attempt to stab him, flies away and leaves her in misery. Psyche tricks her sisters into jumping off a mountain–which does not go well for them–but even that fails to cheer her up.

Her search for Cupid leads her to a temple of Venus, who sets before her an array of impossible tasks. Psyche thwarts Venus’ plans with the help of an ant, a river-god, and an eagle.

So an ant, a river-god, and an eagle walk into a bar…

Venus becomes furious. “Go to the Underworld and bring back a box of some of Proserpina’s beauty,” she demands of Psyche.  “I require it for a new nightly regimen.”

image via Just Be Magazine

Psyche sighs.  “Can’t you just put cucumber slices on your eyes?”

“Dammit, Psyche…I’m a goddess, not a salad!”

As Psyche prepares to enter the Underworld by flinging herself to her doom, a talking tower gives her some useful advice that enables her to retrieve the box and escape. She opens the box, thinking to use some of that sweet Underworldly beauty for herself, but instead unleashes an infernal sleep that overcomes her.

Cupid appears at Psyche’s side in an explosion of little hearts and ribbons. “I forgive you for trying to stab me with a knife.”

After awakening her, he flies to Mount Olympus to seek an audience with the god, Jupiter.

“Help me, Obi-Wan Jupiter…you’re my only hope,” Cupid begs.

Jupiter convenes a council of the gods.

“Cupid and Psyche are to be married, for real this time,” Jupiter says. “Bring Psyche here.”

image via Wikipedia

And SHAZAM!…Psyche is there.

“Drink this.” Jupiter hands her a cup. “It has a full-bodied flavor, kinda fruity and not too mellow.  Oh, and it will make you immortal.”

After Psyche becomes a goddess, she and Venus reconcile their differences.

“I grudgingly forgive you,” Psyche says.

“I grudgingly forgive you, too.”

But Venus probably has her fingers crossed behind her back…

The End?

I have no idea what this story has to do with that deceptive sequence of events where someone offers to shake your hand, and when you reach out to accept, they quickly take their hand away to smooth back their hair and exclaim, “Psyche!”

But maybe that was simply the product of the time and place where I grew up.

*     *     *

So is this not a tale worthy of a movie starring Johnny Depp and directed by Tim Burton?  Do you have a favorite myth or fairy tale you’d like to share?  And what did you have for breakfast this morning?

When last we journeyed through realms of perilous wonder, I unveiled my mad scheme to go back to college and get a degree.  This summer I turned mad scheme into bold action, taking not just one, but x+5=7 algebra classes.

Each class condensed a semester’s worth of knowledge into a five-week period.  While I was able to keep up with some fiction writing beneath that workload, unfortunately the blog languished this summer.

It’s the 21st century.  Why can we not implant knowledge directly into our brains, Matrix-style?

Me:  Whoa…I know algebra!

Master Algebragician: Show me.

And show him I did.  I scored well in both classes–a great feeling after being out of school for so long–and put myself in good shape for College Algebra, which starts today.

I even made the surprising discovery that I like math.

Math and I are traditional enemies.  During both high school and my previous attempt at college, taking an algebra course was akin to locking myself in deadly combat with a clawed and tentacled flesh-eating math-beast, with a rage written in the very lightning that flickered across dark and boiling clouds.

Not only that, a lot of the homework seemed silly, with no utility in the real-world:

Algebra Word Problem:  Dirk Steele, renowned two-fisted pulp-action adventurer and philosopher, has uncovered a forbidden treasure hoard consisting of nickels and dimes and valued at $8.25.  If he has 7 more nickels than twice the number of dimes, how many of each type of coin will inflict an ancient curse upon him?

Me:  Uh…can’t Dirk Steele just sort the coins into two piles and count them?  I mean, really…

image via the Leicester City Council website

Now that I’m back in school, I’m considering a degree that requires lots of math.  I figured it would work out better if I could self-hypnotize myself into liking it more.

Self-Hypnotizing Me:  Math is just like sitting down and doing puzzles or something…you know, like Sudoku.  I like Sudoku.  Therefore, I like math.

Enemy of All That is Math Me:  Uhh…yeah…whatever feeds your zombie, dude.

It turns out that Self-Hypnotizing Me was right.  Doing algebra homework was a lot like solving puzzles, and I enjoyed it enough that I decided to pioneer a new realm of dark mathematics.

Behold the algebra of the damned…

A suave and sophisticated vampire who brushes his fangs regularly and has great check-ups can drain the blood from a victim in 10 minutes.  A wild and unkempt vampire with bad breath and a broken fang can drain the same victim in 15 minutes.  How many minutes would it take them to drain the same victim if they worked together?

Sometimes it’s amazing what a change in perspective can do for us.

*     *     *

Has a change in your perspective made it possible for you to achieve a goal that seemed insurmountable before?  And just how many minutes would it take the two vampires to drain the same victim if they worked together, anyway?

I is a College Student (image via zazzle.com)

…except by “was,” I mean “am.” Starting next week, I will become something I once was, for a brief time, and never thought I would be again.

A college student.

Sometimes our journey through life is a placid river voyage, with serene waters to guide us, and gentle changes in direction that are visible long before we approach.

Other times it is a blind rush through tangled undergrowth, thorns tearing at our flesh, while scavengers stalk us from the shadows, lured by the scent of blood dripping from wounded dreams.

It is ever a procession of opportunities and choices. We might not always act upon them or make the wisest decision, but what can we do but the best we can, and allow ourselves to learn from our experiences?

After graduating high school, I stumbled through some classes at my local community college, shifting directions like an exhausted octopus flailing against conflicting currents:

“I’m going to be an English major.  No!  A marine biologist.  No!  A Computer Science major.  No!  Oh, I don’t know…maybe I’ll just be a musician…”

…so I wound up in the video game industry instead.

For many years I had the same job and a comfortable niche, with work I loved and people I loved to work with.  The possibility of doing something else never occurred to me until I rediscovered fiction writing, something that seemed more a wild dream than a practical career shift.

When an involuntary sabbatical caused me to consider the future, I realized that as much as I loved working in the game industry, my skills and experience had little application outside of it.  Would it not be better to give myself more options, should the time come when I might need them?

So I decided to go back to school.

In the tradition of those full-circle ironies that Life (the universal experience, not the breakfast cereal) hands us on occasion, I’m attending classes in the same community college system where I was an English major (No!) a Biology major (No!) a Computer Science major a student years ago.

Whether out of choice or necessity, eventually we all must chart bold new directions, if not reinvent ourselves, to face new challenges and even greater opportunities for the future.  Often the way ahead lies through uncertainty and self-doubt, though sometimes it takes us through places both haunting and familiar.

But always we have our experiences to guide us.

*     *     *

Have you changed the direction of your life by going back to school, switching careers, and/or creating new life?  How have your experiences guided you in these new endeavors?

]]> http://mikeschulenberg.com/2012/06/03/i-was-a-middle-aged-college-student/feed/ 69 mikeschulenberg Just one of what I'm sure are many fine items for sale at zazzle.com! http://mikeschulenberg.com/2012/05/16/the-versatile-blogger-award-my-turn/ http://mikeschulenberg.com/2012/05/16/the-versatile-blogger-award-my-turn/#comments Wed, 16 May 2012 05:38:48 +0000 Mike Schulenberg http://mikeschulenberg.com/?p=1039 ]]> When the incomparable Tami Clayton tagged me for the game that spawned These Questions Three, she also nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award.  As with the Liebster Blog Award, rules must be followed so that interdimensional beings do not awaken and devour our world:

• Thank the person who nominated me.

Thanks, Tami!

• Include a link to his/her blog.

The astute blog visitor will notice I already linked to her blog when I thanked her.  I’m efficient like that.  You should see my sock drawer–there are also pants in there.  If I need socks, chances are I probably need pants, too.

• Nominate fifteen blogs I enjoy and follow.

This might be tough.  Although I follow and enjoy more than fifteen blogs, many of them have probably received this award already…

1. Sheila Pierson
2. Laird Sapir
3. Lara Schiffbauer
4. Elaine Smothers
5. Emmie Mears
6. Sara Walpert Foster
7. Ellen Gregory
8. Sonia G Medeiros
9. Catherine Johnson
10. Linda Adams
11. Jennifer L Oliver
12. Kirsten @ A Scenic Route
13. Gloria Richard
14. Rabia Gale
15. Nikki McCormack

I wish I could nominate more than fifteen, but like a virulent zombie virus, this list should be sufficient to spread the love

• Lastly, tell you seven things about myself.

This sort of thing probably isn’t what people come here for, but I’ll attempt to be both entertaining and fascinating

1.  I used to work in the video game industry.  I’ve recently returned to my ancestral homeland so I can go back to school and start a new career.  The reason I haven’t updated my blog in a few weeks is because I was preparing for the move.

2.  Ozric Tentacles is responsible for my very favorite music.

3.  I keep pants in my sock drawer because my efficient nature demands it.  (Actually I’ve never done that, but now I suppose I have to, lest I become shamed before the entire Internet.)

4.  I decided I wanted to be a novelist when I was nine years old.  I wrote a lot until my early twenties, and I still have part of the last novel I attempted before giving up on writing.  Many years later, I rediscovered writing and by finishing a first draft of a novel, I’ve already achieved more than I was able to before.

5.  I had a turkey sandwich for lunch, with some TOSTITOS® ARTISAN RECIPES® Fire-Roasted Chipotle Flavored Tortilla Chips on the side.  These chips are like titans striding victorious across a battlefield strewn with the weeping wreckage of lesser chips.

6.  I have an irrational fear of bees, wasps, and other insectoid life-forms that fly and sting.

7.  I do not much care for broccoli, for reasons encapsulated in this haiku: I hate broccoli • and think it totally sucks • Why is it not meat?

If broccoli could fly and sting, I would probably fear it more than bees.

*     *     *

Are you inclined to tell us something about yourself?  Maybe you’d like to mention a blog you enjoy and follow?  You might even wish to vilify a hated vegetable in a haiku.  These possibilities, and many more, await below…

image via The Cimmerian

One Saturday afternoon I sat in my office at work, toiling at my desk.  Out in the hallway, a thing darted through the air past my door.

I looked up.  What was that?  Some kind of flying organism?

But having work I wanted to finish before going home, I shoved my curiosity aside and began toiling once more.  And once more, the Thing in the Hallway™ darted past my door, this time in the other direction.

I looked up again.  Definitely an organism.  Oh, well…work to do…

…and I returned to my toiling.  Just as I was finishing, the Thing in the Hallway™ streaked past my door again.

I looked up a third time.  It must be a bird or a winged raptor or something.

Since I was ready to go home, I went to investigate.  The hallway ended in a glass door to the outer world.  Perhaps I could use it to release the bird to the freedom of the open sky.

In the shadows farther down the hallway, a brown bird waddled along the floor, its wings draped to either side.

As I drew closer to it, cosmic horror threatened to engulf me.  No mere bird had heaved its quivering mass from the obscenity of its dark dimension to encroach upon my sanity. 

Mother of All Things That Have Mothers!

It was a bat.

image via wildernessclassroom.com

Tentacles of soul-blasting horror reached for me and I fled, staggering into the vastness of the cubicle farm.  Few people toiled at their desks, but my relieved gaze fell upon John.

“Hey, man.  Did you know there’s a bat here?” I gibbered.

He blinked at me in confusion.  “Uh…what?”

“Yeah, there’s a bat in the hallway by my office.  Come check it out.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he followed me to witness the otherworldly horror for himself.

*     *     *

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the hallway…

The prey…I sense them.  They come.  A sacrifice of flesh and souls I will wash down with blood and pick from my teeth with splintered bones, as recommended by 4 out of 5 dentists of the Great Old Ones…

*flap flap flap flap*

*     *     *

John and I rounded the corner.

*flap flap flap flap*

The bat descended upon us, leathery wings beating the air, jaws wide and dripping in anticipation of juicy flesh and souls. Time collapsed into a slow-motion chaos of visible sound.  We bent backwards, mirror-shades gleaming, trench coats fluttering around us, and dodged the bat like we were in The Matrix…

…except with more frightened screaming and flailing of limbs.

When the horror receded into the darkness which spawned it, we turned toward the cube farm, pale and trembling.

image via NIFS For Fitness

“It’s still out there,” I said.

John nodded.  “We must find it.”

“What if it’s taken human form?”

A grim silence fell between us.

Stalking through the shadows, we found the bat in one of the cubes, clinging to a wall beneath the desk.  We decided to catch it and release it outside.

“How will we contain it?” I asked.  “All my bat traps are at home.”

“I know just the thing,” John said.

“What?”

“A shirt.”

image via coolspotters

From his cube, John retrieved a long-sleeved flannel shirt in a casually-stylish pattern that offered luxurious comfort for the bat.  He armed himself with the shirt and prepared to descend into the depths of the cube.

I positioned myself on the other side of the wall from which hung the bat.  Perhaps the creature would be more likely to embrace the shirt if I could trick it into thinking that vengeful spirits haunted its new domain.

When we were ready, I manipulated the cube wall and made spooky ghost sounds.  “OoOOoOOoOoOoOOoOoooOOOoOoOoo!”

“Got it.” John stood, carefully holding the shirt.  “I got the bat.”

“Excellent,” I said.  “Let’s set him free outside and name him Mister Flappy.”

So we set him free outside and named him Mister Flappy.

Though drops of rain began to fall around him, Mister Flappy did not rise from the earth right away.  John and I watched him through the door, concerned we had injured him and that the vengeful claws of his kind might drag us screaming into a realm of unrelenting madness and horror.

Then with a roar of wild, exultant joy, Mister Flappy hurled himself up to the stars…

*flap flap flap flap*

…and vanished in the darkness among them.

*     *     *

Have you ever helped out an animal when it needed a little boost?  Have you fed or adopted a stray, or simply shown the lost how to find their way back to the outer world?

Stop. Who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three, ere the other side he see.

-Bridgekeeper, Monty Python and the Holy Grail

image via tvtropes.org

Okay, so really it’s more like “these questions eleven” than “these questions three.”  And instead of a mystical bridgekeeper with wild hair and skin in desperate need of a soothing ointment, we have the delightful and always-pleasant Tami Clayton, who was kind enough to think of me when it was her turn to tag people for some sort of question-themed blog game.

But I couldn’t pass up a chance to deploy a Monty Python and the Holy Grail reference, now could I?

As the cosmos itself is governed by rules that orchestrate the spinning of worlds and the effects of time and gravity, so is the Game of Eleven Questions™:

• Post the rules.
• Answer the questions.
• Pass the questions on to eleven people by tagging and linking to them.
• Let them know you’ve tagged them.

Ask me the questions, bridgekeeper. I am not afraid.

-Lancelot, Monty Python and the Holy Grail

1.  If you could live in a fictional world, where would that be?

I would totally live in the fictional world where my work-in-progress is set.  Then I’d know more about what it’s like and what happens there, making it easier to finish my novel.  I’d be able to come back, right?  Maybe via an octopus-drawn chariot that travels between the worlds?

2.  Fiction or non-fiction?

I read mostly fiction, but lately I’ve been mixing in more non-fiction because learning more about Chinese history, mythology, and philosophy benefits my WIP.

3.  Do you read in noisy or quiet places?

Quiet places.  It’s hard to read where it’s noisy, such as inside an erupting Icelandic Volcano.  Apparently I should know because, according to Klout, I am somehow influential in the subject of Icelandic Volcano–perhaps because I might’ve once flown over one in a plane.

4.  Do reviews influence your choice of reads?

Not really, although when considering a new purchase, I like to skim reviews to see if a book is generally considered good.  Mostly the mood I’m in at the time influences what I read.

5.  Audio books or paperbacks?

If these are my only two choices, I’d have to choose paperbacks, but my preference is for ebooks.  Even better would be sitting in an oaken hall, warmed by flickering firelight while the northern winds howl outside, listening to the elder tell tales that were ancient even when he first heard them as a boy.  But ebooks are good too.

Frog and Toad Are Friends (image via Wikipedia)

6.  What was the first book you remember reading?

I suppose that would be Frog and Toad Are Friends, a collection of harrowing tales full of adventure and intrigue.

7.  Favorite author?

I actually don’t have a favorite–just different authors I enjoy reading at different times, for different reasons.  In recent months, I’ve enjoyed Jim Butcher and Lian Hearn.

8.  Classic or Modern Novels?

Modern novels, although I’ve been reading the Chinese classic, Journey to the West, because it feeds my WIP.

9.  Have you ever met your favorite author?

That would be the favorite author I don’t have, so no

10.  Book groups or solitary reading?

Solitary reading.  I’ve never been in book group, so I have no sense of what such an experience would be like.  Is it like a gladiatorial combat?

11.  If you could read only one book for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Tough one.  I suppose The Lord of the Rings.  In addition to being timeless, it’s dense reading material, so it should provide sufficient entertainment during a lengthy zombie apocalypse.

Bridgekeeper:  What… is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?

King Arthur:  What do you mean? An African or European swallow?

Bridgekeeper:  Huh? I… I don’t know that.  Ahhhhhhhh!

-Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Now I must choose those who will next confront the Bridge of Death and answer the questions three eleven, even though most everyone I know is probably tagged already:

1. Sheila Pierson
2. Lara Schiffbauer
3. Gloria Richard
4. Janice Heck
5. Ellen Gregory
6. Rabia Gale
7. Sonia G Medeiros
8. Kim Griffin
9. Kirsten at Write a Book with Me
10. Amber West
11. the bridgekeeper

Thanks for the tag, Tami!

*     *     *

Would you like to answer the bridgekeeper’s challenge and answer some of “these questions three?”  Do you have a favorite Monty Python quote you’d like to share?