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.