Facts Matter as a Matter of Fact

So, three times in a week.  Three times in a single week I've seen some glaring examples, from people in my radius, of something very disturbing; confusing facts with opinions.

A customer came in and, as I usually do, we got to talking.  He asked how my business was going and it led to discussion about the economy.  During the course of our talk I'd point out things that were true about our country, things that can be measured, counted, observed, verified, and are in no way shape or form subject to interpretation, and he'd respond with; "Well, that's just your opinion.".  But... it's not.  Economic disparity is there, wage stagnation is there, illegal employment is there, and outsourcing is there.  It can all be shown.  Clearly.

So here's a neutral example; the fact that Forte' is surviving as a business despite a recession isn't an opinion.  It's a fact.  I can count how much money I need to make it.  I can count how much money I made.  I can see that one is larger than the other and make a declaration that is TRUE.  Now, will this always be the case?  Hopefully, but I didn't say Forte' would survive forever.  I said it's surviving, and there is no denying that.  To argue against truth is fundamentally idiotic.  It is to argue against reality itself.  If I put a box on a scale, and it says it weighs 10 pounds, you can't really argue it's not a 10 pound box.  Okay, maybe you can say the scale is wrong and we weigh it with another scale.  Again, 10 pounds.  Eventually, if it IS 10 pounds, you can't logically argue that it isn't.

Now, we could argue about why the fact exists.  He may believe Forte' does well as a result of divine blessing and I may believe it's a result of hard work.  We can argue that under different political leadership I'd be doing better or worse.  We can argue about how the box got to be so heavy.  But central to the argument is the fact.  Until there is agreement on reality, discussion about reality cannot exist.

Yesterday in Wisconsin the Governor repealed an Equal Pay law.  The Senator who sponsored/created it came out today and said that there is no such thing as gender discrimination, that it's a myth.  The problem is, that can be checked.  Women nationally make, on average, 20% less than men doing equivalent work.  This can be checked, verified, counted.  It is true.  Now, he could have come out saying he didn't care, or he didn't believe the reason they made less was sexism, or any other argument about why that fact shouldn't matter enough to create a law equalizing women, but what he can't do, logically, is deny that it's happening.  It's happening.

It's the same thing with climate change.  It's happening.  Why is up for some debate, but not the fact that it's happening.  The economic recovery.  It's happening.  Debate why, but you can't deny it.  Women's rights are being diminished.  It's happening.  Count the number of laws presented now compared to the past.  Easy to check.  The military budget is still the biggest expenditure of our country.  True.  Can't truthfully say it's something else.

There have been more instances of politicians calling facts opinions than any other time in recent American history (fact). This trend is infiltrating from out out of our politics and into our general culture (opinion).  I think the growing inability to recognize, accept, and deal with reality is a pretty big problem.  Massive even.

You can't make facts go away just by saying they're not true.  You have to face them, decide what you think about them, analyze how they came about, and set your future course based on your observations.  You can't play ostrich and put your head in a hole, cover your ears, and ignore it.  Well... you can, but you're not playing in reality any more.  You're off in your own little world based on things that aren't true.  And where are we going to wind up if we've all got blinders on, willfully seeing only what we want, not what is real?

So the question is, even if you don't like it; can you handle the truth?


Oh, and in case you were curious.

fact: [fakt] noun

1. something that actually exists; reality; truth: Your fears have no basis in fact.

2. something known to exist or to have happened: Space travel is now a fact.

3. a truth known by actual experience or observation; something known to be true: Scientists gather facts about plant growth.
opinion: [uh-pin-yuhn] noun

1. a belief or judgment that rests on grounds insufficient to produce complete certainty.

2. a personal view, attitude, or appraisal.

3.the formal expression of a professional judgment: to ask for a second medical opinion.

Lets Fight!

So I was talking to Eric about the fantasy story he's (still) working on and the topic comes up about fight scenes.  He tells me he's been having issues working through them because, in general, he finds fight scenes to be dull affairs.  At first, this would seem not to make sense.  After all, if you've ever been in a fight, or close proximity to one, they're anything but dull.  Fantasy, Sci-fi, Action, even Horror all have a pretty big dose of fighting to add drama and excitement to a story.  But that's just the first impression.

When I actually stop to think about it, most of the fight scenes I'm recalling were things I've seen on a screen, not read in a book.  A blow by blow martial arts fight, with details, is incredibly tedious and, at the end of the day, it's much more exciting to watch someone do a back-flip face kick than to read about one.  I frequently hear this complaint from people that they don't like particular action movies because "it was just a bunch of fighting".  So if a fight scene on screen, where it only takes moments and you actually get to see the physicality, is boring, how do you make writing one interesting?  I've got a couple of ideas.

First of all, I think its important to only actually describe a fight when it matters.  Fighting guard #6 on your way to the top of the evil wizard tower?  Perhaps you gloss over that as quickly as possible.  There is no significant difference between guard #1 and guard #10.  They all have equivalent meaning.  Now, when your protag gets to the top of the tower and meets up with the wizard, we expect a fight.  Why?  Well, there's the assumption that the wizard and the hero are proportionately matched so the outcome might be in doubt.  Unlike the guards.  There is little chance guard #8 will luck out and defeat the hero.  Sorry guards, you are just there as an example of the hero's proficiency.  Generally, we know what the villain can do.  Somebody's gotta be a punching bag to show that the hero also has chops.  This is why guard is a bad career choice.

Now, I'm aware that I'm talking in very simplistic hero vs. villain terms and good stories aren't that simple.  But that's up to plot, character development, etc... to solve.  I'm just talking about the straight up fighting side of things.  For that, all you really need is two people (or groups) in opposition.

We also expect a fight when the hero comes into conflict with the main villain because that's where plot turns happen.  If the hero wins, the villain has to alter their course.  If the villain does, the hero must change plans.  Moments when these main characters come into conflict divert the story direction.  Guards are speedbumps.  They might slow a hero down, but they're not going to alter the course of the story.  We don't care about serious details on speedbumps, but when we change direction, the whole thing moves somewhere else, well, that's worth some detail.

So, rule one of writing fighting; Only bother with serious detail when it's significant characters involved and the results move the story into a new direction.

So that's when to detail, but it still doesn't tell us how to make a bunch of traded blows exciting.  I've gotten several compliments on my fight scenes so it seems I'm doing something right, intentionally or not.  So went back and looked at every fight scene I've ever written to see how I've handled them.  I discovered something really interesting.  I have, never, ever, written a fight scene under normal conditions.  I have land bound guys fighting opponents who can fly.  I have people fighting someone invisible.  I have someone fighting someone poisonous, super fast, invulnerable, blind, or multi-limbed.  I have fights in knee deep mud, on cliffs, or ice.  In every single scene I've ever done, the protagonist has to deal with something else in addition to the opponent.  Something that makes it more than just two guys hitting each other.  Something that makes them think or have to behave differently.  I immediately started looking for examples of this in movies and other writing and, lo and behold, this happens a lot.  From Errol Flynn fighting the Sheriff of Nottingham on a staircase all the way up to a ridiculously outnumbered guy fighting with only a hammer in Oldboy, it generally improves a fight scene. 

So, rule two of writing fighting; Add something else to the fight to make it abnormal.

I'm sure there are plenty of other things that can jazz up a fight scene, but these two should be sufficient to, at very least, keep your reader from nodding off or skipping past your fight scenes.  I leave you with the best fight scene ever made.  In this example it follows rule #1 by being the climax of the story and follows rule #2 by being absolutely freaking ridiculous, over the top, cheesy.

Happy fighting!

My Bottles

I love bottles.  Mostly glass bottles, although others types can win my fancy.  I like them tall, short, round, or fluted.  I particularly enjoy them in colored glass or with unusual lips or shapes.  Handles and stoppers are a bonus. 

I have an unreasonable love of bottles.  Just ask my wife, she'll tell you.  I have several boxes I refuse to part with in the basement.  I'm building a wall of bottles in the Forte' workshop.  I feel a real pang of loss when I see even so simple a thing as a bottle of Two Buck Chuck in the trash.  It is not unusual for me to find myself in a resale shop, trolling the kitchen areas, picking out rectangular bottles of blue glass, or little round clear oil and vinegar bottles, or perhaps, something with a fat bottom in smokey grey.    My fish tank has colored glass bottles in it, under-lit through the filter plate and gravel.

I may be a bottle addict.  I've come to terms with this.  I'm in recovery, of sorts.  I still want to bring the empty bottles of wine home from restaurants Jill and I go to, but I don't ask for them anymore.  I may not be able to carry them to the trash myself, but I can allow it to happen without too much fuss.  I no longer... well... I don't often buy alcohol based solely on the attractiveness of the bottle anymore.  Recovery!  I'm getting better.

But what is it about the whole bottle thing anyway?  Why on earth am I such a freak about it?  I think I can tell you.

Bottles are mysterious.  Especially bottles with no labels.  They've got this feeling about them that they could contain... anything.  Something delicious, smooth, sweet.  Or perhaps poisonous.  They might have something old, strong enough to make your chest burn and your eyes water.  It might be fizzy.  All these, flavors, tastes, and sensations, are modified, the moment you first taste them, by the container they're poured from.  If I pour you a tiny glass of something from a jug with an xxx on the side, you'd expect it to taste like turpentine and pack a whallop.  If I pour something from a long slender green bottle into a glass flute, you'd expect crisp, light, airy. 

The bottle is the expectation.  And, like so much of life, expectation is often better than reality.  An empty bottle captures this sensation of hopeful excitement almost perfectly.

When I was about fifteen I was out in the woods.  Hours from anywhere, not lost, but just wandering, no idea where I was.  When the time came to go home I'd head East and eventually hit the highway, take it North, and make it back.  But at the moment, I could not tell you where I was.  I'd been following a dry creek bed for over an hour, all rocks and overhanging bushes.  It was quiet, the tree canopy was split by the dry waterway and light kept pouring down from the left leaving crisp bright spots on the stones, and cool shadows on what would have been the banks.  I saw this weird greenish-white reflection slithering on the bank, about fifteen feet from any light.  Using my hand to make my own shadow, I was able to track it back to a cleft between two of the creek stones and there, at the bottom, was a bottle, catching the sunlight and throwing it around.  I took it out.  The thing was tiny, about five inches long, body shaped like a coffin.  It was actually white but dried algae had given the reflection a green tinge.  It had clots of dirt inside it, and looked like it was, impossibly, full of marbles.  It looked old.

As it had caused me to stop, I looked around, wondering where it might have come from, and noticed something odd.  A bunch of the rocks on the bank were straight.  Too straight.  Leaving the bed I discovered the foundations of an old mill.  I found a hand dug well and several other old building foundations.  It was all so overgrown I could have walked right through and never noticed it.  I spent about an hour, poking around.  Trying to determine what building was what.  Imagining what life there must have been like.  A tiny American ruin, discovered on a reflection.

I still have that bottle.  I don't know what it originally had in it.  There's no way I'll ever know.  I don't know who owned it.  Or who threw it into a creek by the mill, a creek long since dried and dead.  I can't even say how old it is.  I'll never know these answers.  But I do know what it has in it now.  It's the same thing as all my bottles.

My bottles hold daydreams.

Image Inspired Mini Story #15

"He's sleeping with my wife, Tom, I know it."

Tom scratched his blonde hair and scrunched up his face. "Oh... I dunno, Mikey. I don't think Rick would do that to ya."

Mikey pulled on one of his galoshes. "Oh yeah? Why's that? It's not like we're best pals or something. We just work on the same slice is all. Doesn't exactly make us brothers."

Tom picked up his pickaxe and passed Mikey his pry-bar. "Sure, but that don't mean he's gettin' with your lady."

Mikey stood up. "Well, she's getting with someone. I can tell. All these errands, visits to friends I never met, more perfume than usual. It's happening. And that bastard Rick is rubbing it in my face."

"How so?"

The two men headed up to the plate, tools on their shoulders. "You've heard him, going on about his 'hammer'. How nothing can resist it. He gives me looks when he says it, does this thing with his eyebrows."

They climbed the ladder, slipped down the rim, and splashed into the juice. "He's got a power tool and we don't. He's just showing off."

"No." said Mikey, "It's more than that. I swear, one time I could smell his cologne on my pillow. Not the case, but in the pillow. And Sue had just changed the sheets the day before, but there they were, changed again. You know what that means!"

"She likes laundry?"

Mikey stopped at the rind and looked at his friend. "I don't even know why I talk to you sometimes."

Tom shrugged. Sinking his feet into the soft side of the slice he climbed up to his work station. Mikey followed, using the same hand and footholds. They got to the top and walked along the ridge. Rick was there waiting, leaning on his yellow jackhammer.

"Mornin' fellas!"

Tom smiled. "Mornin' Rick."

Mikey didn't say anything.

"You guys ready for some hot and heavy pounding today? Get ourselves a little pro-duck-tivity bonus?" Mikey grit his teeth and climbed up past him. Tom pulled on gloves, hefted his pickaxe.

"You just break it up, we'll pull em out."

"Good, good. I really need the cash. I've got something special planned. I already loosened those three so you can start there." He pointed at three of the big dark oval shapes. Mikey didn't say anything, just kept climbing toward the top one and got to work.

One good thing about the job; it was great for getting out frustrations. Mikey smashed and poked the red pulpy ground with all the anger he could manage. Over and over, he drove his long metal bar along the edge of the seed, until it was deep enough for him to pull on, leveraging it out, where it would topple down the slice to the recovery crews. It was hard work, laborers work, but there was good money in seeding.

He'd almost managed to forget about his problems by early afternoon, caught up in the task, when he heard the sound of a jackhammer almost directly below him. Peering around the smooth seed, he could see Rick, not paying attention to where he was. He should know better. Anyone beneath one of these babies when they went would be crushed instantly. He opened his mouth to call out, to warn him, and stopped.

The memory of cologne on his pillow blotted out the overwhelming watermelon stink. He knew that chances like this didn't come often.  He dug the pry-bar in, his mind made up.  He heard Tom call his name. 

Mikey ignored it and pulled hard.

Creatures I've been attacked by...

For anyone who was ever interested (and I know you all are) here is a list of creatures that have attacked, tried to inflict damage, bitten, clawed, swatted, or poisoned me.

Dog (domestic and wild, small and large, bites, blood)
Cat (domestic, venomous scratch, bite, blood. ~yes people, cat claws are venomous, look it up)
Hamster (bites, blood)
Wild Rat (attempted bite, multiple times, different rats)
Rabbit (bite, blood)
Turkey (female-multiple, pecked, a lot...)
Dogface Pufferfish (bite, blood)
Iguana (bite, whipped with tail)
African Monitor Lizard (attempted bite)
Squirrel (threw nuts and sticks at me, may have been playful)
Anole Lizard (bite, no damage, they're tiny)
Lionfish (spines, poisoned, and bite, bastard.)
Cow (chased, more than once, different cows.)
Bull (attacked a bus I was riding, touched his horn waving my arm out the window to annoy him)
Goose (chased and pecked)
Crows (multiple, dive bombed, pecked)
Macaw (bitten, blood, she started it)
Pincer Crab (clawed)
Tiger (knocked me down, jumped on me, rubbed sharp tiger teeth on my neck)
Bullfrog (bite, unusually cranky)
Sea Anemone (stung, poisoned)
Wasps (stung, many species, many times)
Spiders (bitten, many species, many times)
Bees (stung, many species, many times)
Cottonmouth (attacked, chased, didn't like being poked with stick)
Polecat (bitten, blood)
Undetermined snakes (attacked, chased)
Goat (rammed, also cranky)
Freshwater Stingray (stung, poisoned)
Zebra Moray Eel, Picasso Triggerfish, and other various fish (bite, no damage)

Lovebird (bite, blood, misunderstanding)
Women (bite, claw, scratch, punch, kick, tear out heart, etc... very dangerous, approach with caution)

I think that's everything.  I'll amend the list if more things come to mind, or if more things attack me. 

It is also important to note that despite several VERY close encounters I am, evidently, not offensive to skunks.

Skunks: They dig me.

Back Around

So I've managed to get out from under work long enough to re-tool this here blog so it's a bit less ominous, write a few things so I'm ahead of the game, and figure it's time to get this ball rolling again.

Where have I been?  Well, that frame shop thing I was working on has turned out quite well and has been kicking my ass with orders since November.  It's finally slowing down a bit so I can get back to some of the life I used to have.  You know, doing actual creative things once in a while.

I can't guarantee this blog won't fall off the face of the earth next November when the orders for the holiday start pouring in again, but with any luck I'll be able to keep it on life support.  Cross your fingers.  Here we go again.

This is Halloween?

Happy Halloween!  Trick or Treat!  Sometimes I can't decide what I'd like more.

So here we sit on All Hallows and I have to admit that my only emotion is confusion.  What?  Halloween?  When the fuck did that happen?  It pounced on me, unprepared, costume-less, and, instead of tearing me to bits and chewing on my soul like it usually does, simply ran past me, and left me bewildered and un-mauled.  I feel a bit like you might after waking up on December 26th and realizing you'd been skipped by Santa the day before and not even noticed.  Shit.  How did this happen?

My blog tells me I've been incommunicado for three and a half months.  Strange because I could swear that my friend Bill was in town just a few weeks ago.  Evidently I'm experiencing some sort of X-files style time loss.  No, wait, maybe I can backtrack and figure this out.

The frame shop, maybe it's the shops fault.  Lets look at the numbers... Hmmm... yep, I think this might have something to do with it.  August, September, and October have all been at least 300% more busy than last year!  That explains something!  Clearly, I'm buried with lots of work framing art for people and keeping the new business alive.  This is a good thing.  Even so, it seems like that wouldn't have been enough to derail me from seeing my favorite holiday coming.

Oh hey, what's this?

Oh yeah!  Princess Thirza!  This little gigglebucket has been taking up a bit of my time and attention.  When Gale's not busy getting tickled by yours truly she spends her time bouncing on my belly and trying to choke me with my own necklace.  It's great fun.  But not enough fun to distract me from Samhain!  Surely there must be something else?

Could it be TaleTown?  Absolutely responsible for some of it.  Taletown is coming along slowly but surely.  I say slowly, but really, considering the scope of the project, and taking into account that it wasn't even conceived of 10 months ago, it's actually moving along ridiculously quickly.  I'd say we're about 35-40% of the way to full playability.  We've got dozens of bits of artwork, the ability to upload it into the game, interior house art is done, database being filled out, and, and, and.... it's all moving along.  Too much to cover. Gimmie six weeks, ask nicely, and you might get to come in, look around, kick the tires, and see how this thing works.  We're hoping for launch in May, realistically July, but who knows.  I'm not much for realistically or else I wouldn't be doing all this stuff simultaneously.  In any case, it's looking awesome.  Here's an interior screenshot if you want to set the inside of your house to fully "creepy" genre for Halloween.

Was is my writing?  No way.  I haven't managed to write any actual prose since July.  I did complete an entire map and world for the TaleTown Multiverse and outline and write the first portion of the comic book I'll be doing with Jiba Molei Anderson; Taletown: The Chrom.  That took up a chunk of my time/creativity in August and September mostly.

Surely all that's enough to keep me from noticing Halloween, right?  Nope.  I'm a Halloween fanatic!  It would have to take a lot more than that!  How about uprooting everything you own and having to move in three weeks?  Would that push it over the top?  *sighs heavily*  Well... I think it just might.

Less than a month ago we discovered that the home we're renting went into foreclosure.  There were several options on the table but the best one involved the bank basically paying us a lump of cash to avoid continuing the lease.  Lumps of cash are good.  But it meant finding a place to live, packing, and moving, in three weeks.  This is, of course, on top of all the other stuff I've already listed. 

We pulled it off.  We found a place, packed it all up, and we've moved.  We're surrounded by boxes.  I opened one and that's when Halloween jumped out and rushed past me.  Damn it.

Next year I'm starting to clear my schedule on October first and painting a great big pumpkin shaped bulls-eye on my chest!

Lord of the Boobs!

Went to see the Lord of the Boobs Burlesque show last week with my buddy Bill at the Gorilla Tango theater.  It's a small place, right down from the bar I hang out at.  It's tiny, but nice.  Lots of brick and, well, as stage, not much else.

The show was more like a comedy play, with interspersed burlesque acts, than your average dancing girl show.  I could tell that whoever wrote it had learned their lessons in "geek-speak" well and had a +1 Girdle of Humor on.  Four heroes set out to kill the evil "DragonBitch".  They meet with werewolves, witches, life stealing dryads, spiders, and malicious pixies along the way.  The whole thing was ripe with D&D jokes (Tit Point for Hit Points, etc), LotR and Harry Potter jokes, and... of course, booty jokes (dwarf underwear reading "Sweet Loot").  The attitude was more silly and fun than sexy, but in a good way.  And there was no lack of sexy too.  It all culminated in a fight between two dragon chicks, a big dance number, and a hell of a lot of applause.  Totally worth seeing!

The four heroines get their quest from the Dungeon Master of Ceremonies

Some fairy girls steal the dwarfs clothing.

The birch dryad's dance.

The big finale!

Top 5 Sounds That Can Never Be Loud Enough

So, any of you who know me are probably aware of my occasional love of excess.  Whole packs of cookies tremble before me, entire TV series absorbed in mere days, entire bodies of works by a particular author read in weeks (chronologically).  Some good things I just can't get enough of.  With that spirit in mind I'd like to give you the Top 5 Sounds That Can Never Be Loud Enough!  In my life, so far, I've never heard any of the following things at a volume that truly satisfies me.  Hopefully, someday I'll be able to fill a canyon with speakers, crank them up, and crack the Earth's crust.

#5.) Swordfights.
There's just something awesome about the clashing of two swords.  Razor sharp steel, swinging at full speed, hammering into another equally deadly instrument of dismemberment is, arguably, the most magnificent sound of collision matter can make.  Hammer to wall, head-on auto collisions, meteors crashing into planets, all pale in comparison to the metallic song two swords can produce.  But they could always hit harder, ring louder!  Although, they do a pretty good job in this clip.  Please note: these are not typical wussy katana swords.  These are some beef-tastic, smasherific, awesome swords.

#4.) Fireworks
I've been to a lot of fireworks shows.  I've also done a fair amount of cutting up fireworks, pouring the powder out, mixing it into one giant firework, sticking a wick in it, and seeing what happens.  But of all the things to like about fireworks (the colors, the patterns, that gunpowder smell), there's nothing I like more than the sound.  My favorite are those tiny white ones that are so loud you feel them in your chest.  Someday, when I'm rich and famous, I'll pay someone to do a fireworks show with ONLY those, all around me, in 360, until I turn into pudding.  Delicious pudding.

#3) Thunder
When I was in Jr High and High School I lived on the first floor while my parents and the rest of my family all lived upstairs.  As a result, I could sneak out of my bedroom window without much trouble at all.  Whenever there was one of those great middle-of-the-night-thunderstorms I'd sneak out, meet up with my friend Gary, and we'd high-tail it off to the forest preserve.  There was a group of trees we called Five Pines.  We'd each pick a tree and climb as high as we could.  Yes, in the pouring rain, thunder, and lightening.  There were times when the trees had an 8-10 foot sway and the thunder sounded like we were right inside it.  Still, I don't think it was loud enough.  I'm going to need a bigger tree or a bigger storm.

#2) Can't Stop by the Red Hot Chili Peppers
There are a lot of songs that I like to listen to loud.  Some songs, in my mind, only work when they're knocking on your rib cage, trying to push the very soul out of your meat.  It's a long list.  Can't Stop by the Chili Peppers is on the top of the list simply because EVERY time I hear it I want it louder.  Cranking up the headphones helps, but I don't get that "full body vibration" feeling that I'm looking for.  I want to be rattled.  Here's the video.  Crank it.

#1) Godzilla's Roar
There is nothing like Godzilla's roar and I can only dream what it would sound like actually emerging from the lungs of the forty story radioactive beast himself.  Puny movie theater and television speakers don't do it justice.  How could they?  Godzilla's roar, that semi-metallic squeal combined with a deep organic rumble, is a sound meant to terrify monsters that gobble up cities.  It's a cry that, most often, is followed by a face melting blast of atomic energy.  It pours out past teeth twice the height of a man with the force of a hurricane.  I sure hope some crazy Godzilla fan with a genetic engineering degree is working hard in some basement in Tokyo right now or else I'll never get to hear the big guy live!

My Interview with Bad Grammar

 

I've had the distinct privilege of being interviewed 

by Brendan Detzner at Bad Grammar!

It's a good half hour of me having my brain picked on all sorts of intriguing topics. 

We discuss Cult Fiction, TaleTown, the state of writing and publishing in general, and then we finish up with me reading my strange magical horror-esque story "The Drunkards Quartet". 

Listen to it here at Bad Grammar #10!