Concept Corner #6

Concept Corner #6 - Outliers
This is a superhero story, but it's not like most you've likely heard of. In this world, everybody has some sort of power - most of them are negligible compared to others, but everybody has a power. Furthermore, this ubiquity of metahumanism has created a social structure where your role in society is determined by your power (it takes place on an Earth-like world, probably sometime in the fairly near future). 

At a certain age, you and your power are tested and analyzed, and you're stuck in whatever job the Powers That Be feel would suit you best. Then you do that until you die. There's an element of classism to the process as well; people from wealthy or powerful families can often choose what they'd like to do, and certain "lesser" roles such as menial labor are frequently discriminated against, even by similar castes. 

Or you can become a superhero, which allows you to defy the caste system regardless of what you're capable of - although the process is rightfully difficult and most who try fail. 

The story centers on a young man from an elite family who, prior to his test, sees someone from a "lesser" caste being discriminated. Interest piqued, he opts to join this caste, unaware that in doing so he may one day spark a revolution...

This started as some sort of poorly defined story idea about a group of people competing for the mantle of "hero." Some kind of fantasy or sci-fi story - like I said, poorly defined - that would have gone into what being a hero meant by digging into the motivations of each of these characters to become a hero. It eventually mutated into this, and I think this would make a much better story.

I was inspired pretty heavily by the present-day Transformers comics, and their use of the Functionist system which is similar to this, but with alt-modes instead of powers. I've also got another story idea in this same setting, about a newcomer to a  metahuman military unit.

Writing this series would require a lot of preparation - it's shaping up to be more political than my mind's used to handling - but I think I could do a lot with it. We'll see.

Shackles

I'm self-aware enough to know that I have my share of bad habits. I talk to myself a lot, I spend too much time in my room, I catastrophize, I expect magic fixes to my problems - it's a fair list. I could write posts on a lot of those, honestly, but I won't because A) that would bum me out, and B) there's only one that's been really bugging me as of late.

I have a strong sense of obligation to things. I suppose in some ways that's good, since it means I'm less likely to let things fall out of my life, but most of the time it's painful. I feel this way about so many things - the games and books I own, my hobbies, this very blog - that I feel guilty for neglecting them when I inevitably don't have time for them all. I know most of them aren't going anywhere, but I'm ignoring them now and that makes me feel like I'm doing wrong by them.

I bring this up now of all times because this sense of obligation is starting to affect how I feel about my blog. There's a second layer of obligation to this topic, I'll admit, in that I have to do this for school and I'm graded on it, but I simply don't always have the drive or inspiration to post or write a comment on anything. And that hurts, partly because it makes me worry about meeting my quota and partly because I feel like I'm being neglectful again.

I don't think running this blog is a bad idea - it gives me an available outlet for my feelings, and venting those feelings more often than not improves my mood. But I'm afraid this sense of obligation weighing on me is starting to make me feel burnt out on it. I don't want this to become something else that I drop because it's not making me feel good; I've already half-done it with my art, and I feel bad enough about that.

That fill up your angst quotas?

Everybody Knows

Is everybody finished eating? Excellent!
Today's the day! Go have fun!
Some of them jump off their blankets, off the benches.
They run down to the water, tearing their shirts off on the way.
As one, they leap in and start splashing.
A beach ball, colorful and innocent, gets punched about.
Their carefree cheers are a feeling that everybody knows.
Others stay, keep their clothes on.
They sit and talk, with old friends and possible new ones.
Perhaps by day's end, some of them will become something more.
Their silent hope is a feeling that everybody knows.
Still others don't stay, but they still keep their clothing on.
They depart, some in groups, some in pairs, some alone.
A big lake like this one has many sights.
Sights that they've never seen before.
And they're curious to witness them for themselves.
Their nostalgic excitement is a feeling that everybody knows.
And I?
I stay as well, fully clad.
I clutch my companion in my arms.
Running my hands over her neck and body.
And then I strum, sending vibrations through her strings.
The sound of my guitar ripples through the air.
Some take notice and look our way, others do not.
I begin to play a song, a song my father taught me.
One that I someday hope to teach my children.
A song that somehow everybody knows.

Free

A firm push, and then I am free.
From the pebbled shores scraping my stomach,
From the ground to which gravity binds me.
Now in the water, I float above.
Gravity pushes me down, but the lake keeps me up.
For that, I am grateful.
The water is cold and refreshing.
Green with white froth on top.
It lifts me, so I can drift along on its surface.
So I can carve through it like a spade in the dirt.
The wind blows along the lake, chilling my hull.
The fish swim beneath me, tickling my belly.
The plants tangle around me, but I never fail to pull free.
Birds fly over, paying me no attention.
I am too large and too brightly colored to be seen as food.
I am free to swim without fear of attack.
Somebody sits atop me. I cannot see their face.
They push me down, but not too hard.
I do not begrudge them. I am in no danger.
And I try to keep them from the danger as well.
This is what I do.
They are free to drift without worry, without fear.
Like me.

1,001 Eyes

It opens come nightfall.

The moon. The right eye of God.

The eye that shines against the black.

The eye that watches over us as we rest.

It blinks slowly. Full to half to crescent to nothing, and then back.

Then come the others.

The stars. 999 other eyes, circling the greatest right eye.

Decorating the right half of the face of God.

Together, they form one thousand.

One thousand right eyes in the darkness, watching over us all.

And then comes the dawn.

So close the right eyes of God.

And so opens the sun. The left eye of God.

The eye the illuminates the world.

The eye that gives life to the world.

Never blinking. Never closing before its time.

It watches over us as we rise from slumber and begin again our work.

One thousand eyes to watch in the night.

One eye to watch in the day.

1,001 eyes.

Watching over us without rest, without reward.

Through clouds and storms and strife.

They have watched, since our dawn.

They will watch, until our dusk.

Tall poppies

So a while ago I was reading On Writing by Stephen King, and I came across a quote that's really stuck with me since... and not in a good way.

"...while it is impossible to make a competent writer out of a bad writer, and while it is equally impossible to make a great writer out of a good one, it is possible, with lots of hard work, dedication, and timely help, to make a good writer out of a merely competent one."

I suppose this is meant to be encouraging - telling people they can, with an existing supply of talent, go from being merely competent at writing to being good. To me, though, it seems kind of suppressing. Feels like King is saying that hard work comes eternally second to natural talent. And what qualifies a writer as 'great?' I've always thought that title came from other people giving it to you, rather than being quantifiable.

I like reading books by great writers, and I dream of one day joining them on that level. But now this has me worried that I can never attain that dream, because I'm just not talented enough. It's disheartening.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just paranoid. What do you guys think?

Concept Corner #5

I just came up with this idea today. I've enjoyed Japanese mythology for a while, so hopefully I can do something good with this.

Concept Corner #5 - The Imperial Tales
A young man inherits a family shrine in Japan from his recently late grandfather. When he's forced to return, he discovers that his grandfather carried on extensive dealings with a number of Shinto gods and legendary figures... and they're all eager to collect on his debts. 

I've got a second premise, one I might be able to use for a sequel series, involving warlords caught fighting in a modern-day Sengoku period. Hopefully I can make them both work.

Gilded bubble

I spend a lot of time in my dorm room. It's a habit I've been trying to kick for a while, with mixed success. My counselor says being isolated leads to depression, which I can attest to personally, so you'd think I'd have plenty of motivation to stay out, but it's harder than I realized. I suppose it would be easier if I had more friends, or if there were more clubs around campus that I was interested in, but I don't have much luck in either of those places.

Honestly, I'm not happy here in general, not anymore. One of the reasons I was drawn to Trine when looking at colleges was that it was so small that I wouldn't be overwhelmed by all the people. I'm autistic, so socializing is difficult for me, although I think it has gotten a little easier. A smaller college seemed like a good pick, and I think it was at the time.

But ever since the start of my sophomore year, I've been growing unsatisfied. Maybe I'm just not looking in the right places, or maybe I need to expand my horizons (I probably do, actually), but it feels like I only occasionally have options besides hanging out in my room or hanging out around the LINK. I spend a lot of my time online, which eats up a lot of my all-too-plentiful free time but rarely leaves me feeling good. More than anything I feel isolated, and while hanging out with my friends helps, I can't keep them around for whenever I want them.

I guess in some ways, this is a good thing. It means that I've grown, mentally and as a person, to the point where I might be ready for something more. I just hope I can find a way to put that growth to use, because I think it's being wasted right now.

Ragged insomnia

Do any of you have a band or a song that makes you feel melancholy at the sound of it? Like, not necessarily in a bad way, but when it's on, you can't help but feel a little blue?

"The Fall" by Imagine Dragons is that song for me. Normally I don't like sad stuff - and to be fair I'm not sure this quite qualifies as sad - but every now and again it's kind of nice to put myself in a somber mood. Just as long as I can get myself back out when I'm done.

Angel of the morning

So, over the weekend I got to see Deadpool, which I've been awaiting for a real long time, and I'm pleased to say that it did not disappoint. It was funny, really vulgar (it earned that R-rating), and surprisingly touching as well. I hope to get it when it comes out on DVD.

My only real complaint is that now I'm worried the sequel won't live up to the original, but hopefully the presence of Cable can ensure that it at least comes very close. Honestly, I think it'd be best if Fox doesn't encroach too much on that one either. Keep the power with the production team, like they did with this one, and it'll likely be another winner.

Concept Corner #4

I've got a couple of different ideas for the premise of this next story idea. Whichever one I don't use, I'll probably try to cannibalize for another story someday. Recycling, right?

Concept Corner #4 - Chronicler

Premise 1
A down on his luck author gets involved in a war between alien civilizations. After being seemingly identified as a mythical figure in the aliens' lore, he decides to tag along to learn more about the aliens and use them as inspiration for his stories. 

Premise 2
A popular but worn-out YA author who's just finished a sci-fi series gets pulled into his own story, taking the place of the main character against the rest of the characters' knowledge. Armed with foresight as to the characters and plot that he's created, the author tries to survive and make sure that the story stays on track. 

Both of these could probably be written for young adults or adults. I kind of want to write them as adult stories, though, since so many of my other ideas are YA novels. Both were inspired heavily by Mass Effect, and there's a bit of the Transformers movies in the first premise.

Somnambulism

Do you ever have those times when you just feel disconnected? I do, sometimes.

I don't know what it's like for other people, but for me it's sort of a mix between an autopilot and a hazy filter over everything. I guess I could equate it to sleepwalking - which I say having never sleepwalked once in my entire life, so I could be wrong. It tends to happen mostly after a long session of me time.

I enjoy my me time. It gives me a chance to recharge and do what I want to do, and to let my mind wander to wherever it feels like going. But sometimes I think it takes longer than I realize to pull myself back into reality, and maybe that's what creates that disconnect. Perhaps I'm forcing myself to operate at a lower percentage of mind power than usual.

It's not a massive hindrance, but it feels so weird that when it happens it's hard to think of anything else. I figured I'd bring it up here, just to make sure I'm not neglecting this blog of mine. We couldn't have that, now could we?

A cozy song for winter nights

I've always loved the music from Kirby's Epic Yarn. It's a game that's getting up there in years now, but the music is still some of the most soothing I've heard from a video game. Can you just imagine snuggling up next to a fire with a song like this on the radio?

XOR

"One half of knowing what you want is knowing what you must give up before you get it." - Sidney Howard

There are times when I look at my dream of becoming an author and feel like it's more trouble than it's worth. Today has been one of those times, and it's turning out to be an extended episode. I suppose what's good for TV shows really isn't good for people with anxiety.

I listen to a podcast - Writing Excuses - where a small group of authors, including one of my favorites, gets together and discusses a certain part of the writing process. I make a point of listening to and taking notes on a few episodes a day. For example, today's episodes were about writing endings, using story formulas, and plotting along the three-act structure. The thing is, I really am learning some great stuff from this podcast, but from listening to it I'm starting to realize what a Herculean task becoming an author is going to be ("Herculean" - that's a fun word). There's a lot of aspects that have me troubled, but one in particular has been bothering me for an upsettingly long time.

In at least one episode, the writers were talking about how when you become an author, you will almost certainly have to give something else up, at least for a while. For me, it seems as though that something will be my fanfictions. I've been writing fanfics for the past three years or so, and reading them for even longer, and I'm working on a couple right now. The problem is that fanfictions, due to their non-mandatory nature, are frequently left unfinished by their authors - not all of them are, but a lot of them. It's always upset me when a story I really like is ended prematurely, or when a story I'd like to get into turns out to be abandoned; I don't like reading stories if I know they'll never reach a satisfying conclusion.

But as things are, I might wind up becoming one of those authors who has to turn his back on his fan stories to create his own original works. I don't want to be, and I'd like to avoid that if possible - and I know I can, I've met at least one author who's writing both fanfiction and original works simultaneously - but I'm not sure if that would work out for me.

I guess I'm just down, is all. Have any of you guys ever had to choose between two things you loved? It's a lot harder than I realized.

(Also, for those wondering, the title of this journal refers to a logic gate that's only true if one but not both of the inputs is true - in other words, one or the other but not both. It seemed fitting.)

Concept Corner #3

Concept Corner #3 - Daemonium
A delinquent stumbles upon a strange key that unlocks a mysterious, magical library underneath the one in town - a library frequented and staffed by monsters, demons, and other creatures from stories and mythologies. The main character, upon being discovered, is set to work at this strange library, making sure the books stay on their shelves and the characters inside don't get any bright ideas...

This would probably be a teen series. It would draw a lot of inspiration both from existing stories as well as from my imagination - a mix of familiar and not-so-familiar. I don't know yet what kind of existing stories I would focus on if I ever write this - they'd have to be public domain, and ideally something not done to death just yet (so with Rick Riordan's hold on the mythologies, for example, it'd be difficult to use those in an original and non-derivative manner). Arabian Nights, maybe...?

(Edit: Now that it's on my mind, the Arabian Nights would make an awesome theme. The main character could be related to Scheherazade or something. I don't think the idea's been overdone yet - or maybe even done at all - and I'd have plenty of characters and stories to draw from. Don't you just love the rush a good story idea gives you?)

Creative Writing - Short Story #2

Because I like the idea of posting my work in Creative Writing on here for all to see, I figured I'd throw this up next - another short non-fiction story in the same vein as my Notre Dame story from a while back. It's a little more personal than that one, but the subject matter is something I've been ruminating on for a while now and I couldn't resist the opportunity to get it down on paper. I hope it's to your satisfaction. 

_________________________________________________________________________________

Jacob Biggs

My Mind

            When I was young, my books taught me that time moved in a line – a timeline, as they say. You walk to the right, then look back to the left where everything that’s come before has been organized in a linear fashion. I never thought too hard about it, because it never seemed important. But recently I came to a realization – one that still isn't important but which is much more apt.

            My mind isn't a timeline. It's not a line in the ground that I can walk down, look back and see my life behind me in neat, reverse chronological order.

            Instead, I'm standing next to it, looking at its side. And it’s not a line but a brick wall.

            My memories are all graffiti drawings. They're painted on the side of the wall – the side I can see – in shapes and colors of varying size, vividness, and the like. Every new memory adds a new drawing. The basest drawings in this wall are of the important things I learned while I was young – like how to ride a bike, how to spell and talk and read, manners, and my name and the names of people in my family. These memories are me. Without all of these base memories (or core memories, to use a term from Inside Out), I wouldn't function properly, and all of the other memories painted over them would flake off without a base to keep them on the wall. Sometimes a more recent memory sinks into the back and joins these core memories, but this is uncommon; most of these painted memories remain on the front layer.

            But this wall has been a canvas for two decades now, and it’s gotten cluttered, and so the drawings all overlap and replace each other. As one drawing gets smothered by other, newer drawings, it becomes harder for me to recall it. Sometimes, however, a bit of the original drawing manages to show through the new – like an older coat of paint under a new, different hue. Annoyingly, these lingering drawings tend to be ones that I'd rather keep buried – particularly ones where I screw up and get into trouble. New memories are never not being painted, to the effect that what should be a static piece of art is more like a film – always in motion without a second of stillness.

            Also, like I mentioned earlier, these drawings are all very different, not just in design but in longevity. I have certain memories that start to fade almost as soon as they've happened, and some that are almost entirely gone, like most of what I've learned in Chinese class (dui bu qi, Yuan Lao Shi he Jiang Lao Shi. I did my best). Others tend to be much more long-lasting (such as jokes from various TV shows, that Backstreet Boys song I've had off and on in my head for the past two months or so, the names of every Cybertronian character in Transformers: Prime – I could keep going). I can never know, when I'm in the middle of gaining a memory, whether it will be longer-lasting or disappear sooner. Only by looking back later can I figure that out.

            Also, because I'm standing away from the wall, and it's going away from me in both directions, my perception of time is a little jumbled when it comes to the past – even the recent past. I can tell with relative ease when something happened, whether it came before or after something else, but that doesn't play a huge role in my thought process; it's more relevant that it did happen, rather than when. The details tend to be rather foggy upon recollection, as well. There are days when I can’t even remember what I had for lunch a few hours after the event.

            All of this adds up to a living and constantly evolving painting – arguably more an organism than a work of art – that somehow embodies me as a whole, the entirety of which I'm never allowed to see because it stretches on so far and because much of it is buried under other aspects of me that are always being added on.

            That's probably for the best, though. I have a feeling that I'd lose my mind if I ever saw the whole thing at once. I can be satisfied with only a partial snapshot, as long as I get some say in what comprises it. 

My arms feel like paper bags now

So I just got back from Tabata class, and I think the title of this post speaks for itself.

A quick bit of backstory: I haven't been getting as much exercise these days as I used to, because it's cold outside and my daily allotment of exercise usually consists of walks around campus. I've tried using machines - i.e. steppers or treadmills - but those have never done it for me. I don't feel right working out on them.

Around the start of this week, I saw an ad for Tabata classes every Thursday this month, and I figured it'd be a nice way to get in some working out for the month. I had no idea what I was getting into.

As it turns out - and I didn't realize this because I didn't bother looking it up - Tabata is a form of high-intensity interval training, consisting of 20 seconds of incredibly intense workouts alternated with 10-second rest periods for either a set time or number of cycles. It was far beyond anything I had expected, and judging by the comments by the other people there I wasn't alone.

Now I'm worried about when my muscles are going to give out - I heard somebody mention in two days, which would be nice because it'd mean I wouldn't miss classes tomorrow. Figured I might as well get my blog posts in while I can still lift my arms. I'll keep you all updated on how I'm feeling over the next few days.

For now, on a scale of one to ten of exhaustion, I'd say I'm about a three, but I've had time to relax a little. I might have been a four a little while ago.

It moves so quickly, doesn't it?

Can you believe it's February already? It feels like the school year started just yesterday. 

Time's a funny thing, isn't it? In the middle of things they feel so long, but looking back you really realize how short most of life is. They say life's really short, but when you think about it life's actually the longest thing you'll ever experience. It's just broken up into so many smaller things that all go by so quickly. 

It's like a school project - you get the whole thing at once, but broken down into chunks it goes by more easily. Life works the same way. 

Funny, I didn't expect to think about this before I sat down and started writing. Sometimes it's surprising where the mind goes when you let it wander, right?

Tortoise and hare

Last Saturday, as some people on campus know, I sprained my ankle real bad. It's been healing ever since - I can put weight on it now - but I've still got some ways to go. I went to the health center on campus yesterday, and thankfully there isn't a fracture or anything, but it's still a bit of a nuisance. You never really realize how much you use certain parts of your body until you injure them. I've heard that this is especially true with your ribs.

So I walk with a limp now, at least until my foot's better. I have to keep it turned outward when I walk or else it feels tight and I can only take small steps; I'm a little worried that's going to have a lasting effect. I can't run either, because that puts too much pressure onto my ankle. That's especially annoying because for whatever reason I really enjoy running. 

I'm not sure why that is, but I like to run everywhere. I have a hard time making myself walk to places, even if I'm not in a hurry. I guess I get bored somewhere along the way and want to move a little faster. It's good exercise if nothing else. 

But I can't do that anymore until my ankle's healed up. Boo. Hopefully it doesn't take too long.