I’m actually doing one of these BEFORE midnight! Which means I might actually get it done and not fall asleep in a lump!
I definitely say that climate has some kind of effect on people’s moods. I mean, ba-dur. It doesn’t have to make any kind of consistent sense, though. Like how some people love hot summer days and I think that just outside of the window is the world slowly being baked to death beneath the unflinching fire of the sun. So to heck with that, time to completely steer myself away from this original point!
So I prefer to think about how weather can affect your thought processes and imaginations. Like how storms for me charge up something deeper and more brutally natural about the world. So, I’m further developing a philosophical trend of thought for a novel/novel pair of mine that involves the trinity of Machine, Sentience, and Nature and Nature certainly isn’t the way we like to think about it on our padded modern world. Nature, as we like to think of it now, can be easily corralled and persuaded to move or be removed so it can fit neatly into our little gardens or groves out behind our homes and other nice stuff like that. When in reality, if nature had its way, it would tear off our faces and wear them as trophies after sucking all the nutrients from our brains, of course. So when I see stuff like thunderstorms and droughts and snowstorms and hurricanes, I can’t help but be reminded just what the ruling of the world’s natural order is:
Humanity likes to think it’s at the top because of its creation of machines that allow it to survive the natural world. And yet, without that assistance, humanity would be consumed in an afternoon by a system that doesn’t care if it lives or die. Nature doesn’t care for art or culture or great legacies because it created all of those things in its earthy, pulsing womb. All that has been created or ever will be created is the product of the natural forces around us that provided all of the atoms and materials and the laws of physics and energy that makes every one of our human creations (from the material to the imaginative and existential). Again, when I see storms blasting bolts of sky-splitting energy or a rainstorm turning a desert into an ocean of flowers (Have you seen those Atacama Desert pictures? That’s what I’m talking about!), it makes me realize just how tiny we humans still are, even with all of our machines. Everything that we make seems to have an edge of disdain for it- disdain for the natural world that seeks to disempower and unmake us at every turn. I suppose that’s something that we humans can be thanked for, the feeling of scorn that drives us to pursue progress at an almost homicidal rate just to ensure that we aren’t subsumed by a force that can crack the freaking sky open with a flick of its finger.
I think I had an ultimate point I was going to try to get at with all of this but now I’m afraid I’ve lost it. Oh well, that’s part of the fun of doing these- the point arises from the process. It also helps that this is usually how I make my little diatribes. I usually just make noise and say things until I realize there was a point there all along that I just wasn’t able to see.
I suppose I could say here that it’s not just weather that affects our moods but our moods affect how weather appears in our eyes- from something to be afraid of or annoyed back to something from which all awe and self-reflection as a person and as a species springs.
If that was all a bit too high-brow of you, here’s a stupid thing I made up recently:
Being killed by Satan should now is called (by me and nobody else ever), “brimstoning.”
WordPress seems to think that by having 199 published posts and 1 private one, I’ve actually published 200 posts. Well, it’s wrong. And to prove that its wrong, I’m going to give it something it never expected to see- a Dark Souls Lorequest. As you’ll read in the actual entry, Dark Souls and I have an awkward past, to say the least, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go completely nonsensical with how I try to dig lore out of it!
If anything, it means the exact opposite.
So, this was something that I’ve been wanting to talk about for a long, long time. See, Dark Souls and I have a relatively brief but storied past. I should really just make a blog post on that game to try to explain exactly why I have the mass of confused and tangled feelings that I have for the game but that… well, it would be a huge pain in my rear. Like, a colossal one. It would be much more natural to just record the whole thing vocally and not worry about transcribing down every word. Plus, my friend Alec (who helped to develop this Gwyn’s Wife theory with me) would probably love to contribute too, since he’s of a similar mindset. That mindset being that Dark Souls is… good. Not great, not amazing. Good. Alec didn’t find too much enjoyment out of it and stopped before he completed the game. Meanwhile I found the game, of all things, easy. Easy enough to bore me midway through NG+. So I stopped and now when I play the game, I just do it to wander around and dress up in ridiculous outfits.
And let’s the honest, Shadow of the Colossus is better for that, amirite? Yaimrite.
So, onto the theory!
Alright, so pretty much everybody realizes that Solaire is the fabled Firstborn of Gwyn. It’s pretty much a universally-accepted fact amongst the community (although, there are still a few defenders for Andre of Astora). We’re going to be referencing that ‘fact’ throughout this. For those of you unfamiliar, the Firstborn of Gwyn is an enigmatic character who wielded the power of sunlight and was a god of war in Anor Londo. However, “acting foolishly,” (Ring of the Sun’s Firstborn), he was banished and wiped from history. Because his dad is a huge donkey.
Additionally, I’m going to be fusing all of this with another theory of mine— that Dark Sun Gwyndolin’s snakes are signs of corruption by the Primordial Serpent. Hence his connection to Frampt even though, as we see with the Dark Lord ending, the Primordial Serpents are all shown to be raging lunatics and servants of evil. This would also explain why he was so shunned, to some degree. Or just, and again this is my own interpretation here, his dad was just a massive jerk.
So, I propose that Anastasia of Astora is the disgraced wife of Gwyn. Yes, the one underneath Firelink Shrine who can’t say anything.
To start off, it’s shown that gods are indeed born in Dark Soul’s world. Gwyndolin’s robe says, “The power of the moon was strong in Gwyndolin, and thus he was raised as a daughter. (also, what does moon power have to do with being a daughter? Gwynevere has an affinity for sunlight and is a daughter.) In other words, yes, the divine are born rather than simply being omnipresent (it’s debatable if the Lords are even omnipresent. I’m trying my best to not have a meltdown about the infamous Allfather Lloyd right now and it’s barely working!). Oh and Gwynevere was married off to “Flame God Flann (whoever the heck that is),” in accordance with the Ring of the Sun Princess’ item description.
But hey, where IS Anastasia in Anor Londo then? Gwynevere’s cathedral shows Gwyn, herself, and a space where the Firstborn used to be.
OR IS IT? I would like to put forward that the Firstborn actually was not supposed to be in that location on that empty plinth. Instead, I think that Gwyndolin was supposed to be there and all mention of the Firstborn was removed from Anor Londo. For, if the Firstborn was indeed first-born, he would be the elder of both Gwynevere and Gwyndolin. And if we presume that gods aren’t just born mature adults then the statue of Gwnivere in her cathedral wouldn’t have been built until she was a fully-grown adult. Oh and she would preferably have to be an adult because she had an entire freaking cathedral built to herself. So, this may mean that Solaire was exiled from Anor Londo before said cathedral was built. As such, the open plinth was left open for Gwyndolin.
However, as we all know, Gwyndolin was raised away from the public eye. Probably because of the whole ‘snakes’ situation. And his dad was a massive wad. So, the plinth was left open.
A little bit more background information before we go on with the actual theory (presented in a truncated narrative format!) The statues that have puzzled players to no end, those that show a large robed woman holding a child that is, in turn, holding a sword, can only be representing the Firstborn and his mother. Their close proximity to Firelink Shrine, the Undead Parish, and the Warriors of Sunlight Shrine make it pretty clear that, despite this still just being a theory, it makes a tremendous amount of sense. The robed appearance of the mother holding the child is… an interesting one, however. And I think this can be explained in two different ways.
A: Gwynevere got her fashion sense from her mother and chose to wear hooded robes (albeit with significant cleavage enhancements). Meaning, Anastasia always dressed that way and the statues of her holding a baby Solaire were made in honour of the birth of a new god of the Great Lord. Or:
B: The statue was made post-exile of both Anastasia and Solaire by those who remember them. A narrative theme (if there’s any at all in Dark Souls [any narrative, I mean— zing]) in Dark Souls is the deconstruction of legends. Such as making the Lords the easiest damn fights in the whole game and making Seath, the Lord’s trump card in the war against the dragons an utter raving lunatic (which may pr may not be a Moonlight Greatsword stealth pun). So, if somebody constructed the statues after both Anastasia and the Firstborn’s fall from grace, the craftsmen were probably working off of a legend and not concrete fact. Which is a huge roundabout way to say: The statue’s placements make sense relative to Anastasia’s resting place and her traveling clothes.
Traveling clothes, you say? Why yes! By presenting the meat of this theory in a semi-narrative format, I hope to explain such mysteries! So here we go already.
Anastasia, the Lady of Dawn, was very close to her firstborn child. Creatively named the Firstborn, he was both of his parent’s favourites. However, after the birth of Gwynevere but before the birth of Gwyndolin, an incident now lost to history disgraced the Firstborn. Gwyn made the difficult decision to exile his firstborn son, casting him down into the mortal world. Anastasia was distraught over this decision and her resentment for her husband began to grow.
This was only made worse when her second son, Gwyndolin, was born. Being frail of body and feminine in constitution, Anastasia knew he could never replace her dear Firstborn. The snakes growing from his body was also a bad omen that Anastasia couldn’t ignore. As time passed, she grew more hateful of her child being raised in secret. Eventually, she saw that the snakes were not a simple sign of defect, but of a much darker corruption. She became aware that the opening to the Abyss caused by Manus over in Ooacle was instigated by a Primordial Serpent. Fearing Anor Londo’s corruption and Gwyn’s inaction towards his clearly-doomed child (when he had early banished the Firstborn so easily), Anastasia plotted to reveal her son to the world. This was made all the worse for her when her daughter was married off to the aloof Flame God Flann and Gwyn left, without even a farewell to his wife, to rekindle the First Flame. Her own resentment for Gwyndolin being unable to replace her Firstborn and her hate for her own husband fueled her in no small part in her decision. Indeed, she could almost be seen to act out of spite against the memory of Gwyn.
Anastasia was able to determine that a man fitting the description of her Firstborn had been seen wandering throughout Astora in the mortal world. So, stealing away into the night (figuratively since Anor Londo doesn’t seem to like the nighttime too much), Anastasia donned the robes of a simple cleric and began to search Astora for her beloved child. Her goal was to find the Firstborn first and ensure he was protected when agents of divine vengeance eventually came for her head once she exposed her son to the mortals, an act of the highest blasphemy. Although, it’s interesting to remember that by this point, many of the gods would have fled from Anor Londo and the world was being ravaged by the undead, so it’s a mystery as to who exactly would listen to the incognito Anastasia when she told them about Gwyndolin.
However, Velka and her Blades of the Darkmoon caught wind of her plans before they could be put into effect. Anastasia managed to evade the agents for a time and even escaped to Lordran, where she heard that her son was attempting to fulfill the Undead Prophecy.
As a quick aside: I personally think that Velka is the main guiding force in Dark Souls, appearing as the huge raven that takes you to Lordran, being the narrating voice throughout the game, creating the Prophecy of the Undead to take vengeance on the mad Lords, and placing the doll in your cell for you to retrieve and visit Priscilla with. I might do a shorter Lorequest on that later.
Confronted in what later be called Firelink Shrine, Anastasia was finally corned by the Blades of the Darkmoon. Velka, understanding her need to be in the shadows to orchestra coming events, left the Blades in Gwyndolin’s hands. As such, it was his task, as a show of loyalty and power as the last god in Anor Londo, to punish his mother for her blasphemy. And so, the agents of the Blades of the Darkmoon defeated Anastasia in combat and silenced her godly powers.
To add insult to injury, Anastasia had her divine soul infused with humanity and had her legs slashed. Her white robes were singed black and covered with ash as the Lady of Dawn became the Ash Maiden. Bound beneath the earth and kept close to the spot where her husband sacrificed himself (probably a move by Gwyndolin to reinforce to his mother just how important Gwyn was and how much he tried to save the world, if not himself and his family), Anastasia was doomed to become a guardian of the bonfires that represented the sparks of a much greater fire that her husband burned for and with.
That’s the theory, anyway. Of course, I have no way to prove that any of this happened (like most of what happens in Dark Souls lore- zing) but if Anastasia was traveling under an assumed identity and/or in disguise, it’s possible that history just never chose to remember her on her mortal adventures. Though I can’t really explain why a couple of the statues of her and Solaire, two disgraced gods, would still be standing. I’m just going to mulligan that one, I think. But, there’s also a handful of smaller details that can be gleaned from the story above.
The Velka-themed miracle called Vow of Silence is used to disable all magic casting in an area. Not only would that declaw a divine being by removing their ability to use miracles and the like but the word “silence” alongside Anastasia’s muteness is worth nothing. Interesting, even after having her voice restored, she says, “…Forgive me…I am impure, my tongue never intended for restoration…Please, if you have any heart…Leave me be…I wish not to speak…” Not like I can blame her, with the huge crow standing near her at all times.
1.5. Interesting though, Anastasia remarks that she wishes to, “die human,” and be free of the curse of the undead. I take this to mean that she wants to die without turning hollow so she can be closer to her beloved Firstborn after death since he too is just a mere human now.
After Anastasia’s soul is returned to her from Lautrec and the first Lord Soul is deposited into Firelink Altar, she instantly kindles the Firelink Shrine bonfire to maximum strength. Since (as far as I know) bonfires are indeed tiny First Flames, given that they revert the time stream back to normal and allow you to channel souls to empower yourself, Anastasia’s power over them in conjunction with a Lord Soul makes sense. Given that she’s Gwyn’s wife, she has a connection the Lord Souls, even if she isn’t a Lord herself. By returning a familiar power to a familiar location (the place where her husband descended down into the Kiln), Anastasia’s power would have also increased.
Anastasia’s soul makes mention of her imprisonment, “Was the Ash Maiden locked in this dark prison for some transgression, or by her own will?” I think the former is true. She was crippled so she couldn’t leave her cave but also crippled so she couldn’t bring havoc to the world and exposing her son as a snake-wearing bastard. Her attempt to find her disgraced now-mortal son also probably gets tallied against her. Her robes also make mention of her maiming: “Perhaps its former wearer (referring to Anastasia’s death at the hands of Lautrec) was maimed to prevent escape?”
I can’t entirely place this idea of mine, but I think it’s worth nothing that Lautrec takes Anastasia’s sole to Anor Londo, inside of Gwynevere’s cathedral.
Anastasia being known as “from Astora” shows a connection with Solaire’s own relationship with the place. It provides evidence for them both spending lots of time there before eventually moving on to Lordran.
The crow’s (thus, Velka’s) constant vigil over the Shrine shows that even now Anastasia is being watched. Her muteness at the game’s beginning is so she could not spread her blasphemy to your ears. Additionally, she still barely even talks once given the ability to again. That’s because mama Velka’s watching! Then again, you can just kill Gwyndolin and his stupid snakes anyway, regardless if you hear it from Anastasia or not. Anarchy wins again.
Interestingly, if Anastasia is better off dead for the good for everybody, I always thought that Gwyndolin’s Darkmoon bounty on Lautrec could be a hint that he still cares for his mother. Or he’s just really into his job and doesn’t care who needs avenging. OR he just wants her to live out eternity while being miserable.
Here’s another funny note. Lord’s Blade Ciaran expresses disdain for humans, saying, “Hmph, you humans… Always taking what you please. Then, I shall do the same,” if you choose to attack her while she mourns over Artorias’ grave. Which is totally metal, by the way. And her armour is totally worth it. Anyway, it shows that there is a feeling of distaste amongst the more godly folk of Lordran. A theory was kicked around a while back citing that people like Ornstein and Artorias are so much larger than the player character because they’re A: Not human and B: In a state of being that gives them much more power than a human. In other words, even the servants of the divine are notably separate from humans. Now, if we look at Oswald and what he says about humanity, namely, “Tis only human to commit a sin *freakish laughter,” we see that humanity not only has a reputation for weakness but also for sin.
My, how fitting for a disgraced god! Condemned into a human form like her dearest son and meant to bear a soul of “swarms of humanity” in her chest.
I think that’s all I got for this theory. If I remember anything else later, I’ll add it as a footnote at the bottom. For right now, though, I’ll just let this almost-totally groundless and baseless theory based off of a botched text conversation between Alec and I (where I accidentally insinuated that Anastasia was Gwyn’s wife and we realized it might not be that insane after all [we were probably wrong in thinking that, though]) stew on the internet for a bit.
Oh and as a sidenote, Seath didn’t make Priscilla by having sex (consensual or otherwise) with Gwynevere. Because that theory reeks of grimderp and 2edgy4me ballyhoo.
Untilwe meet again, Questers!
I feel like I should do at least one more section on Dark Souls but, like Majora’s Mask, I really don’t have much to say beyond what I already have. Everything else is either pretty well-known (Solaire being the Firstborn) or something I’ve already kind of talked about (Velka’s involvement in the story). So we’ll see. You know what I really need to do, though? Update the freaking Lorequest page so its at least somewhat relevant!
But that takes woooooork.
Good luck, you brave writer (and gamer) folk!
Pictures courtesy of ME. Since I got my game capture up and running for an afternoon.
I got nothing. Not even two thought-nickles to rub together.
Title: The Power of Touch
Prompt: “Textures are everywhere: The rough edges of a stone wall. The smooth innocence of a baby’s cheek. The sense of touch brings back memories for us. What texture is particularly evocative to you?”
So, I’m gonna be a rascally little scamp and totally avoid the question.
I’m going to come right out, in some semblance of answering the question anyway, and say that I think that marble, the stone kind, has a very pleasing texture to me. But never in the way that I think it will. To try to explain and sound less insane as a result, whenever I see a marble statue or floor, it always looks and feels, in my mind, smoother than it actually is. I expect it to be the apex of smoothness and the slickest thing since the Fonz. Hey, that’s not registered as a typo- that’s pop culture for you (D’oh, on the other hand, is still seen as a typo).
In other words, what I think I’m going to feel is not what it really feels like. Isn’t that a little bit odd? I mean, to have your brain just manufacture a better feeling of a stone you maybe see once every couple of days and in very small quantities compared to everything else you could possibly touch? I can’t imagine it’s a very survival/evolutionary-based trait.
Oh, and here’s a bizarre side-note: I sometimes have the urge to bite into really smooth surfaces, such as marble and smooth wood. Seriously, it’s true! As a kid I used to try to sink my teeth into the smoothest parts of my bedpost. The teeth marks are still there. I’m looking at them right now! I was a strange kid but no less strange as an adult a physically-larger child.
The feeling extends to wanting to sink my nails or various sharp objects into such surfaces.
I mean, isn’t that just kinda freaking weird? Like, to really put it to paper like this makes it sound even more out of its mind. Not like I mind, this since this stuff really turns heads. Quick, now that everyone’s looking at how much of a freak you are, insert some kind of deep philosophical and humanitarian message into the post!
Later, child, later.
For now, I’m tired and frayed at the edges like paper passed through a tumble drier. I think most people call this phenomenon, ‘Thursday.’ I call it a rallying cry, waking me up to realize that I don’t belong in this nine-to-five, two-day-weekend, world. It’s burdensome enough just living with this council of idiot geniuses (or is it genius idiots?) stuck inside of my head, so all of their stupidly brilliant (or brilliantly stupid) words reflect off the unflinching walls and, with each echo, they gain momentum like a hail of reaping arrows falling down upon the heads of marching knights at Agincourt.
I usually don’t write during the daytime but doing blog stuff then instead of at night when I’m doing my novel-writing really seems to help me get out of bed and start making the most of my time.
Oh hey, it’s a Daily Prompt about why we do blog writing! How fortuitous!
Title: Million Dollar Question
Prompt: “Why do you blog?”
Interesting question, Paranoid Guy, whoever that is! In an attempt to be more candid and outwardly honest in my life, I’m going to be as frank as possible.
I blog is that I can hopefully drive more traffic to my books and other, much larger, creative works. There, I said/typed it and now it’s been breathed into the world. I think I actually started this blog to talk about NaNoWriMo, which I’m fittingly about to start doing again. Since then and since I started to write more books and get out there in the literary world, I wanted to turn my blog into some kind of useful marketing tool.
Now, that’s how it all started. And it still remains as part of the reason why I do what I do here on the blog, but I think I’ve come to realize that having people who look at blog posts doesn’t really equate to sales or even publicity. I remember talking to an alum from my school, Illinois Wesleyan University, and he said that even though he has a blog that gets thousands of hits, a minuscule percent (no exact numbers given) of those who visit actually buy this books.
So that dream, like many others, is heavily sleeping or hovering somewhere near death.
Anyway, onto slightly more cheery things!
Such as how my blog gives me a place to stretch my literary legs. I find doing flash fiction and short stories to be relatively cathartic and a kind of writing challenge that I wouldn’t normally partake in. I’m a novel-centric kind of person who also dabbles in video games and screenplay writing, but flash fiction and short stories never quite appealed to me. So giving myself a challenge in this way, especially when I also have a deadline (sometimes very aggressive ones such as with Flash! Friday), can be quite refreshing. There is something to be said about getting writerly fatigue when you’re working with a 100,000 word novel. Writing something short, easily digestible, but still creative can really free up the muscles of the mind and help you see things i new and imaginative ways.
I honestly do think that doing all of this flash fiction has helped me with having better control of my pacing in my stories, something that I oftentimes struggle with since I like spending so much time showing how my characters view the world, even if its stopping them from going out and seeing said world. Besides, if I can turn my writing skills to new avenues and reach more people, even if it doesn’t get me any more sales or publicity, there’s certainly no harm in that. I’m actually working on my grad school applications to become an assistant teacher as I type this and I think what I mention in there, such as how writing can not only be very liberating and illuminating for the writer but when ideas transcend the pages and start to influence other people’s lives, it can really show just how much power a collection of scribbled shapes on paper can really have.
Do I think that my flash fiction, so easily and quickly consumed and forgotten, can really change people’s lives in the same way that a novel can? Nah, not really.
I decided to accidentally make my most (by a huge margin) viewed section of content almost entirely out of mass speculation and guessing at the inner workings of fictional worlds. How ironic that I decided to start Lorequest completely for fun and just for my own enjoyment and for the enjoyment of the passing enthusiast of whichever game I happen to be talking about and then it went on to become a huge percentage (over 1,000 views in this year alone) of the amount of activity I get on my blog. Even stranger is that its totally unrelated to any of my own fiction writing since I’m more of an archaeologist when I do Lorequest than any kind of storyteller.
But hey, I like it and people seem to like it so why stop? So long as I don’t get the pants sued off of me for talking about the vidjagames, I shall keep on questing for the lore!
And I might as well keep doing the other stuff too since it always does my heart good to hear people enjoying my stuff. Literature can bring people together, even from across our social-media-maze of a world. And that’s really kind of awesome.
I’m starting to re-discover my love for TV Tropes.com. Someone please send help.
Setting: The Middle of the Ocean
Theme: Power of Nature
Word Count: 125
My father told me that there used to be an ocean here, beneath our feet. But I don’t believe him. Oceans just seem so impossible. All that water and all that life taking up so much space. Where did all the people live before the salt-soaked Endless Land formed in its stead?
I ask if oceans ever existed. This makes my father sad for a reason I can’t figure out. He bends down and picks up one tiny bone. A fish bone, he tells me.
“There’s still more?” I say. “I thought I got them all.”
My father pats the huge ribs of the whale’s skeleton that’s become our house.
“That’s what we thought when the oceans were still around. That there’d always be more.”
I really am starting to think that TV Tropes is so brilliant because it’s like Confirmation Bias, the website. It makes you realize how not-insane you are for thinking that something was just soul-crushingly sad on TV when none of your friends think so.
Well this feels odd. I’m trying to write this post using the big button on the taskbar that says “Create a New Post.” I’m not used to this bright white landscape that I can carve my words into. It’s too… stark. And accepting. And kind of bright since I always write in darkness.
My sister claimed that habit was “creepy.”
Anyway, so I’m going to be starting on this The Daily Post thing called Daily Prompts. I might do more of the Daily Post things since they’ll force me to come onto WordPress more than once a week and since Five Sentence Fiction is out until 2016, I need something else to flood my servers since I still refuse to do more Lorequests because of reasons that are numerous and stupid.
Anyway, have fun~
Title: Express Yourself!
Question: “Do you love to dance, sing, write, sculpt, paint, or debate? What’s your favorite way to express yourself, creatively?”
I think the answer to this one is rather obvious, don’t you? I mean, clearly I’m an interpretive dancer at heart.
But really, I’m a writer. Dur. But since that answer’s so obvious, I figure I should now dive into a diatribe about why I love it so.
And why that is is a bit of a complicated answer. Because i suppose I could say that as somebody with a hugely overactive imagination, sometimes going so far as to have lucid day/dreams that writing allows me to put my imagination down onto paper. But that’s actually wrong, for the most part. I mostly imagine things that I would consider to be either (oftentimes) poor reading or poor things to write about. That is, high fantasy with a sword-and-sorcery focus. Because I listen to a huge variety of music that must meet very strict “vibe” guidelines, meaning they need to be high-energy and charged with emotions through the lyrics beyond simply saying words. So a lot of thoughts cross my path that would follow that trend of high energy and even a kind of glorious violence.
Meanwhile my favourite thing to write about is the life of a person in a world that could really use a hero. But instead of using heroes as my protagonists, I turn to those regular people. I’d like to think that, beyond just toying with expectations, I can also speak to something greater and more universal to all of humanity. We all wish, at some points, that we were heroes with real power. Unfortunately though, none of us are or ever will be in the ways that we’d probably hope. Technology will help us fight our enemies but our “enemies” are merely other human beings trying to make their own ways in the world. There’s no “easy” enemies to fight that would free us from moral qualms like the Orcs, hordes of the undead, or other horrible beasts and hostile aliens of fantasy and science fiction. We are a species defined by our togetherness and strength when united, so a charismatic leader is the closest thing we’ll ever get to being a true hero. But will that help us when a loved one is in danger of falling off a cliff or stuck in the middle of some other cinematic-charged life-or-death situation? Eh, not really.
So while that might seem rather pessimistic of me to say, “none of us can be heroes,” there has been a lot of instances throughout history where people thought they were truly heroes and got themselves or others into a lot of trouble/pain. Haven’t those people heard of the phrase “don’t be a hero!”
This, of course, runs off of the entire idea that “heroics” are as dividing-ly subjective as good and evil. One person’s hero is another’s butcher. The world has never quite learned that lesson, elsewise we’d stop glorifying the things we as a species have done and will continue to do that bring destruction, oftentimes irreparable destruction, on the world and on others.
Follow that up with the idea that everybody who has ever been a hero in the eyes of anyone always has A: flaws, B: dark secrets, C: a laundry list of stupid decisions that run out the door.
Again, nobody’s quite figured out that we as human beings are human. One wrong can destroy a person forever and we expect a lifetime of perfection.
We all want to live in a world of heroes when none of us can be.
This got a lot more existential than I had expected to be.
And THAT is why I love writing.
It’s also why boring people can’t write.
Well, there you have it. My first entry into this new daily (? [probably not]) writing prompt. I don’t even know if I’m linking this correctly. Time will tell!
I wanted to do something with a huge spinning clock and having to do with time but once the Doctor Who episode I was watching ended, I reconsidered. The Doctor does that to me, making the insane sound like a good plan. Fitting, I know.
Title: Anima Memoria
Genre: Fantasy (?)
Word Count: 100
Ah, the sky. I once had ten thousand fingers to reach towards it. Leafy and rough, I could almost touch the clouds. Then they came, in hordes, little pale conquerors. They pulled my fingers from the ground and crafted homes and plundered my depths to forge factories and bombs.
I felt the fire of their wars turn my soil into bloody swamps. Then the regret… So much unfettered sky stretched above, they must have felt truly small.
So they planted new fingers for me. Will I always hold their hands in harmony as I do now? The land will tell.
I actually always really liked the swings rides down in Chicago. I just never thought of the pictures spinning above people’s heads as anything more than eye candy for the unlucky doofuses on the ground to gawk at. So now I might just be seeing that from now on. Joy!