2013

            Woohoo! I actually managed to make it through a whole year of blogging every week. I didn't think I could do it – just goes to show what you can accomplish when you try.

            It’s been a good year, too, on all fronts. In the writing world, I finished writing my fourth book (my best one yet) and, while I didn't break into the publishing industry I managed to do something (almost) better – I learned how the industry works. Now I can enter the new year armed with the tools and knowledge I gained this year and, with any luck, I’ll be landing an agent fairly early in the year.

            As for the chainmaille business, Ringcrafts, this was the year that was to determine if we should bother continuing with it – and the answer was yes! It’s supposed to take a new business five years to overcome their initial start-up expenses and start making a profit and we managed it in two. This means we can go into next year with far more confidence.

            In addition, we now know a lot more about shows – we know where our products sell the best, we’re better at finding shows to go to and we have a good idea of how well we can keep our products in stock. This means more shows and an even better year than this one was.

            I hope your year was as good as ours was and hope next year is even better! Thank you all for your support (be it of writing, chainmaille or both) and see you (well, type to you) in 2014. Happy New Year!

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

The Evolution of a Family Christmas

            Writing this, I've just gotten home from the most unique family Christmas gathering I've ever been to, so I thought I’d share my experience with you.

            This was a family Christmas for my mom's side of the family (plus a wonderful woman my mother’s family had adopted as a grandmother because she had no family in the country), where I am the second oldest grandson. Over the years, I've watched many traditions and seen many changes. At first, we got together every Christmas Eve at my grandparents’ house. After the Christmas dinner (which was always fantastic), we’d go to the church service. When we returned to the house, we’d have our Christmas Pie – this is made with gifts for each person, on ribbons with their names, all wrapped up in a bundle by my grandmother. Everyone takes their ribbon, we all pull at the same time and the first gifts of the year burst out of the Pie.

            With the children occupied by the toys they just received, the Christmas Story was then read from the Bible. After that, the grandchildren were called upon to perform various musical pieces we had prepared. Then presents would be handed out – my grandfather would pull the presents from under the tree and hand them to a grandchild to deliver. Then everyone would unwrap presents at once. My grandmother always sewed pyjamas for the grandchildren, and the younger ones changed into them before going home that night.

            It was always a fun time, and the family slowly grew every couple years as new grandchildren were born. At some point, we stopped going to the church service because there were too many fidgety children. As my cousins grew older, the job of delivering presents passed down to them. After many years, my adopted great-grandmother passed away (after a full, 100 year life), so was no longer there with us.

            Then my grandparents moved to a condo, so the celebration moved to the homes of my parents, aunts and uncles, rotating each year. Much was different, but still we had our Christmas Pie, followed by the reading of the Christmas Story, music from the grandchildren, then gifts delivered by the grandchildren.

            One year, a friend of my aunt’s family joined us. I actually don’t know her story, but I believe she has no local family. She has been with us every year since and has been accepted as part of the family – she even gets a present in the Christmas Pie!

The family started slowly growing again as we grandchildren started dating. When a significant other came to the gathering, they were always welcomed with open arms (and my grandmother always managed to fit a present for them into the Pie). Of course, with dating age comes a certain amount of self-consciousness and less free time, so, one by one, the grandchildren stopped preparing music to perform. An effort was still made, but it was getting weaker each year.

            The next big change was when we had to move the date from Christmas Eve. As the grandchildren started to work, it became harder and harder to get the whole family together - especially once my mom was ordained as a minister and had her own Christmas eve services to perform. Still, we managed it. It wasn't the same day anymore, but it stayed the same celebration.

            This year saw another big change, followed by many complications. My grandparents moved to a retirement home and, shortly afterwards my grandfather began having health issues that have had him in and out of hospitals for the past several months. As he became less mobile, we planned to have our family Christmas at the retirement home – unfortunately, last week my grandfather had to return to the hospital.

            Did my family let that stop us? No. We had our Christmas dinner at the retirement home as planned, with twenty of us there! My grandmother, six aunts and uncles, six grandchildren, four significant others and three family friends with no local family to have Christmas with (and a partridge in a pear tree).

            After the dinner, we all packed up and went to the hospital with a Christmas dinner plate for my grandfather. We were able to take over a section of a closed cafeteria – which was lucky, because there wouldn't have been enough room for all of us in any of our houses. A few decorations were put up, my grandfather was wheeled down to us (my cousin draped tinsel over his wheelchair) and we opened our Christmas Pie (it was very big this year!). Then the Christmas Story was read. None of the grandchildren had prepared music, so we went on to the gifts – delivered (mostly) by my youngest cousins. After presents were opened, one of the family friends looked up carols on his smart phone for one of my cousins to play on the electric keyboard my parents had brought along, bringing the family’s traditional music to the evening as everyone joined in with the singing.

            It was truly wonderful to see how everything came together. I know that, by the time grandchildren have jobs, a lot of families have given up on getting together every year. Not so with my family – we didn't let a little thing like my grandfather being in the hospital get in the way of our Christmas traditions. I think this year’s family gathering will be one I’ll always remember, because it shows what lengths people will go to for something they feel is important.

            So, I’d like to wish you a very [this space represents whatever seasonal greeting you find least offensive] and I hope that your holiday season will be as great as it can be.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Inspiration

Something that, at some point in time, always gets asked of an author is, “What are your sources of inspiration?” For some, it’s a simple answer. For me... well, it’s a rather long one.

            You see, for me, inspiration comes from all over the place – quite literally. For as long as I can remember, I've been an observer. Some of my most vivid childhood memories (I can place the one of the earliest at age four) are of standing apart from the other kids and watching. Just watching. I didn't want to join them; I wasn't lonely. I was perfectly content to stand aside and observe how they interacted with each other.

            I didn't know it at the time, but somewhere in the subconscious of my brain, a file was opened. I started to log away information and, I believe, from then on everything I've observed has gotten sorted in there, to be taken out when needed – completely on a subconscious level, of course. Nevertheless, when I read my own work, I'm fascinated to see how many bits and pieces have come out of things I've observed.

            Beyond that, there are, of course, other authors I've read. The most influential ones for me have been Terry Pratchett, J.K. Rowling, Margaret Weis, Brian Jacques, Anne McCaffrey, R.A. Salvatore, and, of course, J.R.R. Tolkien. There have been many others, some of which I've been re-reading recently and discovering similarities to my writing, and I look forwards to discovering more!

            There are also countless movies and TV shows that have bits that stick in my mind and show up in my books – sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. Games, too! The concept of my series’ overarching plot was inspired by a video game and, currently, I'm working on adding creatures to my encyclopedia of my world by looking through a D&D Monster Manual, cross-referencing the information with mythology and deciding what my version the creature will be like.

            As I said, inspiration comes from everywhere! I even have creatures and plots that came from dreams. Imagination is a wonderful and amazing thing. It’s almost as if it takes everything you've seen and experienced in your life, mashes it all together into dough and hands you something new.

            There, I've probably gone on long enough for this week. Now I get to hope that next week’s blog will be more inspired.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Words

            Have you ever taken a moment to stop and think about words. I mean, really think about them. Not the meanings of words, so much as the existence of them. They’re amazing!

            It’s so fascinating that we have this in-depth method of communication. Humans wouldn't have accomplished anything close to what they have without it. Yet, if you stop to think about it, words are downright weird. We make nonsensical sounds with our mouths and vocal cords and, somehow, when we hear them, they have meaning for us. How did this come to be?

            I've thought about this a lot, as I've worked on writing my own languages. Most (if not all) spoken languages these days are built on the blocks of previous languages. Words and grammar have evolved and become so natural to us that we take them for granted – at least until we find ourselves wandering in a foreign country where no one understands what we’re saying. How did it start, though? What was the very first word?

            My theory is that the first word would have been an order, such as “Go!” or “Get!”. That seems the most likely place for a primitive language to start. You want someone else to do something, so you create a word that, when accompanied by a gesture, can convey your meaning. A language has started.

            But, by telling someone else what to do, we recognise that we are different than them. We start calling them “You.” Then, since we have a way to address someone else, we come up with “Me” to refer to ourselves.

            From then, it snowballs onwards, with the language getting larger and larger. We come up with more commands and, for clarity, we come up with words for objects as well. That way, we can tell “you” to “get” a “tree”. Poor you will have a hard time of that, but at least he understands what we want.

            Then, of course, names for people come into existence, so we can distinguish all these “you”s from each other. Plus, if everyone is “me”, we feel like just another “you”, so we want a name to use for referring to ourselves.

            Armed with our new language, we charge into the future, teaching these odd sounds we've made up to our children, and they to theirs, until the vocalisations become second nature and no one even thinks about how remarkable words are. In fact, we even have squiggles to visually represent words.

            The squiggles are taught to us as sounds that string together into the words we know, but eventually they take on a life of their own. We see a word and, even if it’s spelled wrong, we know what it means just as well as if we heard it. It truns out taht as lnog as the frsit and lsat letetrs of a wrod are in the rhigt pacles, it deosn't eevn meattr waht odrer the rset are in! W3 c4n e3en r3pl4c3 c3r74in l3773r5 wi7h numb3r5 4nd 57ill b3 4ble t0 r34d. I wouldn't be surprised if I ardshfu tunboef slinwy guwisju and you still understood what I was talking about.

            Yet, all this time, it is still just random sounds we make or generate in our heads. Sounds that, more than likely, would sound incredibly stupid if we didn't know what they meant (some sound stupid even when we know what they mean). Somehow, there is a transition in our brain where the sounds and squiggles that represent a “tree” turn into a tree.

            Aren't words incredible?

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

The Editing Process

            I haven’t had a blog about my writing recently, so I thought I ought to change that. Since I finished writing my latest book last week (throw confetti!), I thought it would be appropriate to share what happens next.

            While I budget myself a year to write each of my books, that clock stops ticking when I write the last word of the book (usually with a couple months to spare). The process, however, does not stop there. That is when the editing starts.

            First, naturally, I read through the book myself, fixing all the typos I can find, smoothing out awkward sentences and such. Sometimes I need to rewrite sections that aren't good enough and occasionally there’s a minor plot hole to fix (for a while, in my second book, there was an object in two places at once). Once that’s done, I hand the book off to my wife, Colleen.

            Now, Colleen has a very special job while editing. Not only does she have to watch for the same flaws I did, but she also needs to fill in a few... blanks that I left for her. Blanks that tend to look like [INSERT DESCRIPTION], [DESCRIBE PRETTY SUNRISE] or [DESCRIBE DAY AT FAIR]. Plus she has to report back to me on her thoughts on the book (incidentally, two chapters into the latest one she has emphatically declared that this is my best book yet. Be excited).

            Then the book comes back to me to go through once again. I read the whole book again, making the same edits as before and making Colleen’s suggested changes, as well as editing her new parts (sometimes – although rarely – I send some back to her to be rewritten with, usually with specific requests). Oh, and I get to read her delightful comments, particularly on some of the references I made.

            Once I'm done that edit, the book goes off to my parents. I know this might seem cheesy to some people, but my parents (along with being awesome) are very talented and, while most parents will shower their children’s work with praise, mine have always been fantastic at providing wonderful feedback.

            My dad has done a fair amount of writing himself, and – back when he had more free time – he used to tell his great stories at schools and events. He is also a library technician and he reads a lot. Like me, he is the type of person who analyses a book while he’s reading it, picking up on the foreshadowing and guessing what’s going to happen next. He’s my best source of feedback on the book’s overall content. He’s stopped bothering with doing technical edits because my mom will catch all of those.

            My mom is one of those (despicable) people who are amazing at everything they do. She knows her grammar exceptionally well and, if she’s not sure on something, she takes the time to look it up. She also reads at a snail’s pace, making her an ideal line editor. By the time she’s done reading my book, I'm confident that there are next to no technical errors remaining. It’s definitely worth waiting the six (or more) months it takes her to read the whole book.

            With my feedback from my parents, I go through the book again, making even more changes. Then, it’s time to get down to business. I sit down with Colleen and we go through the book together, making it as perfect as we can. This is where the greatest conflicts in our marriage come from – we once spent over an hour arguing over the wording of a sentence. It was great.

            At long last, the book gets declared done and I get to work on getting it published, which will involve even more editing.

            Blogs, on the other hand, are much simpler. I usually skim through them once after writing them, then don’t bother with any editing until someone sends me a text of Facebook message to let me know I've got a bunch of typos. Thanks, editing types! All literature would be a lot messier without an outside eye to whip thins into shape.

            (P.S. I'm taking the liberty of not reading a single word I wrote in this blog. How did I do?)

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Respect: Given or Earned?

            I don’t know about the rest of you, but I grew up with this phrase (or variations of it) being said: Respect isn't given, it has to be earned. I believed it, too, for a while. It seemed only logical. How can respect be given to someone who hasn't earned it?

            There is one problem with that method, though. Often the lack of respecting someone prior to them earning respect leads to disrespecting them. The result is that some people are never even given the chance to earn respect.

            This is most common in large businesses. New employees are next to worthless, so it’s very hard for them to get anywhere, let alone move up. The same goes for social circles – the new person entering a group is likely to be looked down on until they earn the respect of others. There’s a good chance that they’ll leave the group before that happens because of the inherent disrespect towards those who have not earned respect yet.

            This is why I came up with my own way of handling respect – by “came up with” I really mean “I was thinking about it one day and realised that this is what I do”. Rather than give respect (which can lead to severe disappointment and other problems) or requiring it to be earned, I loan people my respect.

            How do I do that? Well, it’s really quite simple. When I meet someone new, I treat them with the utmost respect. I take it on faith that they have qualities worth respecting, so I give them the benefit of the doubt and allow them to earn their respect without having to fight upstream. It’s far easier on them and I get to skip over suspiciously eyeballing them, wondering if I really want them around or not.

            That may sound a bit like giving respect, more than loaning it, apart from the respect still needing to be earned. You may be wondering how the loan gets paid back, but the answer is quite simple. When you treat someone with respect, they are more likely to respect you. The end result is that we both skip over the judgemental part of meeting someone new and everything gets off to a great start.

            What if someone doesn't earn the respect I loaned them? Well, I should start by telling you it’s exceedingly rare. So far, just about everyone I've ever met has deserved my respect – never underestimate the number of remarkable people who are out there.

            What the few people who don’t earn my respect have done is more easily described as losing my respect. In fact, it takes so much to lose my respect that I don’t think anyone who’s lost it has ever earned it back. That’s the consequence of defaulting on the loan. Do I somehow cash in on the respect I loaned? No. That is made up for by all the good that comes out of all the people who deserved my respect and might not have gotten it if I hadn't given them a chance.

            In the end, there’s no harm (at least to you) that can come from loaning out your respect, rather than demanding it be earned. You get to respect people faster and earn their respect faster in turn. And, since one good turn deserves another, you could always pass on this philosophy and help our society become more respectful and respected.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

The Life and Times of Duel Love

            Today I shall share with you the tale of the only play I've ever written and how, after sitting dormant for seven years, it managed to find its way onto a stage.

            The story starts in 2006 when I was in my fifth and final year of high school, during my grade 11 drama class (I came to drama late in my school career, as my optional courses went to music classes first). It was at this point in time that we were assigned a play to write. I don’t remember all of the parameters we were required to follow, but the play had to be one act (30 minutes or shorter), have 3 scenes, 4 actors, take place in a realistic setting and convey some sort of message. We were also encouraged to not attempt to write a comedy because of how difficult humour is to write.

            Well, I've always been one for following the rules, but I've also always been one for bending said rules to suite my needs. Being told I needed a realistic setting was the first thing I needed to work with – after all, even then everything I wrote was fantasy. So, I got as close as I could and set it in medieval times.

            As for making the play a comedy, well, the plot that jumped into my mind required it. Thus, Duel Love, a play about two knights having a sword duel over a woman (the fairest in the land) was born, written with a very British style of humour.

            After all the plays were written, one scene from each of them was read to the class and we voted on four of them that were to be performed. Duel Love came out on top and, as a result, I ended up directing it for a summative assignment.

            The play came together wonderfully – even though I had at least one of my actors absent from all but two of the rehearsals. Then, on the day of the performance (which had been delayed by a couple snow days) one of my actresses didn't show up until a couple minutes before we had to go on stage. And, of course, the one time an actor forgot his line, I had managed to lose my copy of the script on the opposite side of the stage, and the two knights just stood there with their swords crossed, staring blankly at each other until I managed to remember the line and call it out.

            In spite of the hiccoughs, the performance was wonderful – everything I could have hoped for with my play, or so I thought. Then the play was put aside, only to be read periodically when someone in my house stumbled across the script.

            That might have been the end of Duel Love – I hadn't even read it in three or more years when, last summer, I received a message on Facebook from someone I’d never heard of before. It turned out to be the sister of one of my play’s actors, who happens to be the director at Maybles’ Productions – a small theatre company. She told me that she’s been fruitlessly searching for the playwright who went to school with her brother and had written Duel Love. The script had been accepted as part of a one act play festival, but now she needed permission to use it – if I was the playwright, of course.

            Well, how could I possibly say no to that? I informed her that she’d found the right person and she was welcome to use the scrip. I was thanked profusely and she told me that she’d loved the script from the day her brother brought it home and was excited to finally be able to perform it. She also asked if I’d be able to come to see the play – as if I’d miss it.

            In the months leading up to the play, I began to get a little nervous about a few things I was being told as the rehearsals progressed. First was that my script had been edited – something no writer likes to hear without having a say in it. Then the play started getting promoted as Monty Python and Princess Bride inspired – something that I took as a compliment, but didn't really see until I was told that the cast had workshopped the script and added a bunch of references.

            At this point, I only had one thought in my head: “What have they done to my play!?” I could have stepped up and said something – requested that they send me a copy of their improved script for approval – but I chose to hold my tongue. I knew there was a chance that they’d turned the play into something I wouldn't like, but I also knew that their changes could be fantastic. So, I waited until the performance (a week and a half ago) to find out.

            Now, one thing that is important to know about writing comedy is that, by the time you’re done, your jokes aren't very funny to you anymore because of how often you've "heard" them. An additional tidbit of information is that I'm not much of a laugh-out-loud person. Those, together, should tell you how well the play went when I say I was doubled over laughing for the entire performance.

            It was fantastic! The changes I was so worried about only made the play better, and the actors played their roles far beyond my expectations of how the characters had been written. It was truly incredible to see my words come to life as they did, and to hear the surrounding audience laughing along with me.

            When the awards were announced, I was thrilled to hear that Duel Love had earned Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor and Best Production. Congratulations, cast and crew, and thank you for taking my words and crafting a masterpiece.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Something to Remember

            Or at least something to think about. After all, I'm not here to tell you what to think. I'm here to tell you what I think. It’s entirely up to you to decide if you agree with me.

            Remembrance Day has been a bee in my bonnet since (I believe) 2007, when I discovered that the day no longer meant what I was brought up to believe.

            I'm not familiar with what November 11^th represents in other countries, but here in Canada we call it Remembrance Day. Regardless of the country, though, the day marks the end of the first World War in 1918. I was taught – by my parents, in school and in church – that this was the day where we paused to remember how terrible war is. Even though we had never seen the war, we were taught about all the death, pain and suffering caused by the world wars. We were taught to be thankful to those who fought and lost so much.

            The reason we were taught all of this was to pass on one message to us: Don’t let it happen again. Remember. Remember what happened and don’t make the same mistakes. Do not let it happen again.

            That’s what I was taught, or at least how I interpreted it, and it’s what I still believe. The whole point of Remembrance Day is to pass on the stories so that we know to avoid wars in the future. It’s especially important as, more and more, we’re able to destroy the planet with our weapons.

            So, in 2007, my mother (a minister) was doing a joint Remembrance Ray service with another church. Normally I wouldn't have been there, as I'm not a church regular, but this time I was singing a solo – “Last Night I Had the StrangestDream” by Simon and Garfunkle. It is a song that supports the view of November 11^th that I described above: celebrating and remembering the end of wars. That was also the theme of the entire service with the exception of one thing. A poem.

            Now, as it turned out, my mother was sick on the day of the service and unable to attend – otherwise she probably would have stopped this poem. She told me afterwards that no one had known the theme of this poem in advance; someone had just asked if they could read it. She also learned at her weekly ministers’ breakfast that this poem had been read at every other church in town, always presented in the same way without anyone knowing what it was about.

            This poem said the exact opposite of everything the service was about. It was about the glories of battle and how heroic and wonderful it is to fight in war. It was outright propaganda.

            The same year, a street not too far from my home was renamed to “Veterans’ Memorial Parkway” and I've heard that this also happened across the country.

            From that day on, just about everything I've heard about Remembrance Day has been about hero-worshipping veterans. Telling people how glorious it is to go to war. I've even read that the Canadian Legion, which holds a trademark on the poppy, have been pressing charges against people using it to support peace.

            Now I have to ask myself, how has this happened? This is Canada. We’re known throughout the world as being nice, polite and peace-loving. Yet, suddenly, our day for remembering the atrocities of war so we can promote peace has become a day about the glories or war.

            We’re told over and over again to be thankful to the people who fought for our peace and freedom. I’ve always felt that the best way to thank them is by not throwing away more lives. I also have to wonder, how many of the veterans who are still alive from the World Wars are in favour of this hero-worship? Because it seems to me that, by making the day about them, we belittle what they fought for.

            It’s such a great disappointment to me that this day has degraded so much. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Remembrance Day became entirely about promoting peace? Especially if that ideal spread world wide? It may not end all wars, but it would sure cut down on them.

            Oh yeah, I forgot that it won’t happen because war is good for the economy. And money is far more valuable than lives.

            There, my real-world issues ranting is done for a while. Next week, we shall return to the usual happy-go-lucky randomness.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Blog for Vendetta

            “Remember, remember, the fifth of November, the gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.”

            That’s right! Tomorrow is Guy Fawkes day, or as I like to call it, V for Vendetta day. Ever since I discovered the movie, I have watched it every year on the fifth of November. Why? Because it’s a great movie full of wonderful messages and the fact that the story takes place surrounding the fifth of November gives me the perfect excuse to watch it on the same day.

            Not that I need an excuse.

            What’s it about, then, this movie? Well, if you haven’t already, I’d suggest you watch it yourself. I will, however, try to give you the general idea as spoiler free as possible for those of you who haven’t seen it. For those of you who have, who knows? Maybe I’ll point out something you missed.

            The most obvious thing V for Vendetta is about is revenge (it may as well be in the title), but I hardly need to mention that. I doubt there are any revenge messages out there that we haven’t all heard in dozens of stories.

            What else is it about, then? Human nature, power, freedom, love, manipulation, fear, politics.... The list goes on. When I first watched the movie, I was largely drawn to it because I've always been particularly drawn to heroes (or anti-heroes, in most cases) who fight for ideals I believe in – Robin Hood, Zoro, the Dread Pirate Roberts – and V fit the bill perfectly.

            In recent years, however, the movie has had a new pull for me. It’s a warning. I can’t watch the movie without seeing the political system – one where the government rules by fear – as a very real potential future for our world. And that scares me.

            I know that, right now, it seems a little laughable that the world could be taken over by fear-driven tyranny, but look closely at the sort of political campaigns we have these days. They’re mostly based around telling us all the bad things about the opposition. It’s a war to see who can be made to look the worst – and it works. The result is that we vote based on who we’re afraid to have in control of our country, rather than who we think will do a good job running the country.

            That’s the first step into the world becoming that of the one in V for Vendetta.

            Enough of my political tirade and back to the movie, which, through writing this, I have discovered a new way to appreciate. It is a perfect example of something I believe is important in all fiction: the reflection of reality. It’s a story that is enjoyable simply as entertainment, but if you look deep enough you can apply it to our own world. That is artistic expertise right there.

            So, I invite you to do as I have done. Make the fifth of November a day to remember by sitting down and watching V for Vendetta. Perhaps if we spread the word, people will see how they're being manipulated and we’ll avoid the day when the world is controlled by fear. In the very least, you’ll get to see how incredibly expressive Hugo Weaving can be from behind a Guy Fawkes mask. It’s impressive.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Where Wild Brains Roam

            Have you ever looked down at your feet and realised just how far away they are? No, really. I mean, if your head were to fall off for some inexplicable reason, when it landed, it would hurt. Really hurt. Although, with your head falling off, I really have no idea why you’d be worried about a little pain. Seriously, get your priorities straight.

            Where was I? Oh, yes, feet! Way down there (perhaps closer for some of you than others *cough*mydad*cough*). How did they get there? Don’t you remember a time when they were much closer? No, not quite that close – yes, I know all infants go through that stage where they chew on their toes and some people never grow out of the phase of constantly putting their foot in their mouth, but I'm talking about when you’re standing straight as a board. As in a two-by-four (properly treated so it doesn't twist – if you have to twist to see your feet, I'm afraid I must tell you that you've gone and got your feet on backwards. You might want to have someone look into that) rather than a board of directors because those are rarely straight.

            So, yes. Closer feet. Back then, the drop wasn't nearly so far. We could fall flat on our faces and hardly notice it. Of course, we also had the energy to go whizzing around , so we were far more likely to fall flat on our faces. Or run straight into walls. Or trees. I did that once, I should tell you some time. My dad tells it better though. My version has me, my brother, a Batmobile Nerf gun and a tree. My dad’s version has pirates marauding on highway 403. Way better.

            Anyway, your feet were once much closer, then, suddenly, one day, you look down and discover just how far away they are. Has that ever happened to you? It happened to me today. I guess that just goes to show what kind of funny thoughts can spring into your mind sometimes.

            Now, pick your head up off the floor and put it back on your shoulders where it belongs. This isn't the Labyrinth, you know.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

I Want to Teach the World to Con

            This week’s blog is brought to you from the mind of Colleen.

There is a phenomenon that geek/anime/nerd convention goers sometimes experience known as the post-con blues. It's the feeling of emptiness that proceeds the day or weekend of non-stop fun and freedom that accompanies the events where nerds run wild. It can feel different for every person. I personally wake up every morning for a few days after and feel weird in normal clothing, having worn a costume or “cosplay” for most of the past 72 hours. I forget how to do simple tasks like work and dishes. I miss being surrounded by the people who all seem to know me inside and out without ever having met me before. I miss the all-consuming, no-questions-asked, friendly acceptance that pervades every single con I've ever been to or heard of.

It doesn't matter who or what you are, how you're dressed, what fandom you're in, your sexuality, your race, your religion. None of that matters except one thing: that you treat everyone around you with the same respect you are enjoying. No exceptions to that rule. The thing that everyone who comes into contact with us eventually realizes is we take care of our own. We're like a gigantic family.

I heard a story at a con I attended this past year. The fellow telling the story was recalling a time when he had been standing in line to register at a con. Behind him were a couple guys he described as “con tourists”; regular joes who just wanted to see what all the hype was about. They saw someone in a particularly noticeable cosplay and made some smart remark or other. Everyone in the hall went dead silent and turned to glare at the offender. He’s sure to keep his comments to himself next time.

In some cases, cons are the only place some people have to feel accepted and free. I am lucky enough to live in a group of people who are just as judgement-free as a con typically is, but I know most people do not have that luxury. Some people look forward to con all year and pour all their heart and soul into their cosplays. Cons are extremely important to a lot of people and the organizers know this. One of my favourite cons was started by a group of college friends over five years ago. Now most of them are married, some have moved out of the province, but they have continued to put their con on every year despite all the challenges – partially because they love it, but also because of how important events like theirs is to so many people.

One of my all time favourite things about cons are the instant friendships that are made. You sit next to someone at a panel, you start chatting over an epic piece of merchandise, you are wearing cosplay from the same fandom and BAM, suddenly you're talking to the other person like you've been best friends for life. I have learned so much from these kinds of friendships. I have had fundamental prejudices I didn't even know I held shaken and destroyed from a half-hour's acquaintance.

Con is a magical place where dreams come true, where you can find and be your true self, where you can find love and life-long friends. Con is also a state of mind that I try to carry with me into the “real world”. It's a feeling of wanting to live in harmony with everyone around you, even if it isn't always easy. Someone I met at a panel said it best when he explained the concept of non-judgement to the group. He said “There is no judgement. Internally you may be cringing, but externally you're giving a thumbs-up all around. That's the way it is. Period.” And every day I wake up determined to bring the con sensibility to the world. It won't happen in my lifetime. But maybe, just maybe, if I keep thinking nothing but good about my fellow human beings, maybe my kids will see that. Maybe they'll catch hold of that and tell a friend. Maybe that friend will tell a friend. And slowly, ever so slowly, we will change the world. One geek at a time.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

This Blog Clearly Doesn't Exist

            I'm very tired today, so I decided I wasn't going to bother writing a blog post. After all, I deserve a break, right? I still can’t figure out how people manage to write one of these every day. Maybe I just don’t have enough to talk about.

            Of course, by skipping writing my blog this week, I could be facing drastic consequences. For starters, I will basically be giving myself permission to skip writing my blog whenever I'm too tired – which is frequently because, as you know, I usually leave writing my blog until way too late at night.

            Then I have to think of you, my readers. How could you possibly fill the time you set aside every week to read my blog? I've been informed that some of you quite look forwards to my weekly rambles (although, I must admit I still can’t figure out why) and my lack of blog this week (and in subsequent weeks) would be very disappointing. Eventually, I might even become so unreliable that you don’t even bother checking for a post. What, then, would you do with the empty void left by my truant blog posts?

            This whole situation reminds me of a conundrum I encountered in my grade 10 English class. We were told to write an essay about a moral debate we’d had at some point in our lives. The problem was I’d never questioned any decision I’d made. I had such a strong moral compass that right and wrong wasn't even a question for me.

            I quickly came up with a solution. I would write an essay on whether or not I should write the essay. After all, my only option if I were to write the essay would be to make up a moral debate that I’d never had and that would be dishonest. I don’t remember much of the content of that essay, but I do remember my conclusion was that it was better to not write the essay.

            Once again, I find myself coming to a similar conclusion. If I can’t provide you with a blog worth reading, why should I bother to write it? So I apologise to my avid fans for my absentee blog post this week and I promise to do my best to not turn this into a habit.

            Happy Thanksgiving to all of my Canadian readers and happy Columbus Day to the American ones. To everyone else who doesn't have a holiday this weekend, happy Monday – although how a Monday can be happy without this blog post that clearly does not exist is beyond me.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Life as an Artist

            It is a common misconception that people who are selling things have money. It usually isn't even a conscious thought – it is just something that is assumed. The result is that shoppers are frequently looking for a better deal on things.

            This idea stems from the existence of huge companies that have CEOs spending millions on summer homes. Unfortunately, it is extended to include everyone who owns a business and, by extension, anyone selling something. This makes life much harder on everyone running a business who isn't a rich CEO – and even harder for an artist.

            So, I’d like to share with the world (at least the portion of it that reads my blog) a bit of what life is like for an artist sitting behind the wheel of a small business.

            The first thing I should mention is that my wife and I work seven days a week. To be fair, we don’t always work the typical eight hour days (sometimes it’s three hours and sometimes it’s fourteen), we set our own hours and we’re usually doing something we enjoy – but work is work and, no matter how much you love doing something, there are times when you just don’t want to do it.

            The last time we took time off and had a vacation was our honeymoon – a year and a half ago.

            If you go to an event we’re at (or our website), you can see some of what that work produces – our various products that we have for sale. You may even notice how much work we've put into displaying our work, or building and maintaining our website.

            As for the having money part, well... we've been officially in business for nearly two years and technically haven’t made a penny. I say technically because it depends on how you count the numbers – as in, if you don’t count all the materials we have to keep in stock so we can keep our products in stock, we've made a little money. If you do count them, we still have significantly less than we started with (this is normal – someone starting a business usually doesn't actually make money for the first five years).

            When we go to shows, we get a variety of responses to our products and prices. A very small handful of people tell us that our prices are far too low and we should raise them (we like those people). A lot of people comment on how reasonable our prices are (these are frequently people who have seen a lot of chainmaille, have made it themselves or truly understand the work that goes into something handmade). Most people seem happy with our prices. Many people think they’re a bit too high (though some of them like what they see so much that they buy it anyway). Others take one look at our prices and run away.

            Every once in a while, someone will ask me for a deal on something. Sometimes I’ll say yes – especially if they’re buying several items, they’re really nice and/or they’re coming to me with the last of their money and really want something that they don’t have quite enough for.

            On the other hand, there are people who make it perfectly clear that they think our prices are gouging them (thinking we are either deaf or blind), then ask for a discount. Needless to say, they don’t get it. At that point, I don’t care if I'm losing the sale – if they can’t see the value of an item, they shouldn't be buying it in the first place, let alone from an artist and/or small business owner.

            To these people, I want to say: Look at what you are holding. It is made by hand. When you buy that item, you are paying for the time spent making it and the materials it is made with. What you are not paying for is the time it took to design it or the years it took to learn the skills and become fast enough to get the price that low. You are not paying for the time we spend standing behind the table serving customers nor the time it takes to set up and take down the display at the beginning and end of the event – you’re not even paying for the space we’re renting to set up our display in. Do you have any idea how much has been invested in this display you aren't paying for? You’re also not paying for the time, gas or vehicle maintenance involved in getting to and from the event (you won’t be paying for our hotel room when the event is too far from home). You don’t pay for the time it takes to clean and polish our products. You don’t pay for the hours upon hours we spend taking pictures and editing them as professionally as we are able so we can keep an up-to-date website. You don’t pay for the web hosting that allows us to have a website. You don’t pay for our marketing. Not only do you not pay for the materials we keep on hand, you don’t even pay for them to be shipped to us.

            All we’re asking you to pay for are the materials in what you are holding and the time it took us to make it. Is that really too much to ask?

            Sadly, saying such things is a bad business practice and frequently a waste of breath. It won’t likely win a sale and it won’t make them understand how hard artists (the not-famous ones) struggle to make a living. I just wish more people knew and understood how much of a good deal they are already getting and complaining about.

            The worst part is that the example of my business is a fortunate one for artists. Most artists don’t even get paid for the time that goes into their art because there just aren't enough people who will pay what it’s worth.

            On the other hand, I would like to thank all of you wonderful people out there who do recognise what artwork is worth – especially the ones who insist on paying more than what we artists ask for our work. Thank you to everyone who supports a small business, even if it means paying a little more, because you are the people who keep us up and running, doing what we love.

            Above all, I’d like to thank you for taking the time to read this long and rantish blog post to better understand what it’s like to eke a living by chasing a dream. I hope it was enlightening to those of you who don’t know what it’s like and, for those of you who do, I hope it is encouraging to know that other people do know what you’re going through – and that we care.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Phones are Evil

            I’ve never liked phones – calling or answering them. I admit that they are a convenient method of communication, but other than that they’re a nuisance and downright rude.

            Not many people think about it – because we were brought up with them – but phones are an invasive force we allow into our lives. We string them throughout our homes and, these days, carry them with us everywhere we go. This wouldn't be a problem if they were only used for emergencies, but having a phone is so natural that people don’t even think before picking one up to call someone.

            So, let’s go over the basics. The average person works a 9-5 job, so calling them between those times is a bad idea. You might think you can call them before that, catch them before they go to work, but if you think that you truly haven’t thought it through. You see, what the average person is doing at that time is their morning routine – involving getting ready for work, eating breakfast and transporting themselves to work. Interrupting them during any of that is not only rude, but it could slow them down and make them late for work. Any earlier and they’re sleeping.

            Okay, so calling in the morning and during the day is out, what about in the evening? I’d like you to pause your reading for a moment and turn to the person beside you (be they imaginary or not) and ask them at what time they and/or their family eats dinner (or supper, or whatever you feel like calling your evening meal. Assuming you eat). The answer will most likely range from 5 to 7 (depending on how long it takes to get home from work). Now, if we allow for an hour to eat, that pushes us back to 8:00. 5-8 involves coming home from work (Don’t get me started on talking on the phone while driving. Admittedly not everyone drives, but do you really want to be talking on the phone in a public area where anyone and everyone can eavesdrop on you? You might think other people don’t listen, but they do), preparing food and eating it. Calling then is, once again, rude and can delay meals or other plans.

            Yes, yes, so from the time the alarm goes off in the morning (let’s say 6am) to the time people are certain to be done eating (8pm) people are too busy to be receiving a call. What about later than that? How about you turn to that (possibly invisible) person beside you and ask them what they do in the evening after dinner. Social plans? Movie? TV? Playing a video game to relax? Reading a book? Getting caught up on favourite blogs? The point is, the next two to three hours are the only time during the day that Mr or Ms Average has to spend on them self. How rude do you have to be to call them and interrupt them during that time?

            Now, depending on a few variables, that is 6am-10pm that is unavailable for calling if you don’t want to rudely interrupt something important. Any later (or earlier) than that and you’re messing with bedtimes and waking people up. Thus, there is no appropriate time to make a phone call, simply because you have no idea what you are interrupting.

            That’s just the calling side, though! As someone answering the phone, have you ever stopped to think about how often the call has interrupted something you were doing? The worst part is always that you don’t know who’s calling (well, okay, call display solves that for some people) or how long the call will take. Not that it matters, because you’re obligated to answer – it’s rude to ignore the phone when it rings.

            Have I missed anything? Probably, but that’ll have to do for now; I have to go answer my phone.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Introversion

            I’ve known since I learned the word that I was an introvert. Quiet, shy, reticent... if anyone who knows me were to try and describe me, one (if not all) of those words would be sure to come up – although customers who have met me while I was on the other side of a counter might argue.
            When I started taking drama in high school, I learned what I consider to be the best definition of introverts and extraverts. On the first day, we were going around the circle and introducing and sharing some information about ourselves. When it was my turn, the best piece of information I could think of was, “I’m an extreme introvert”.

            What I didn’t expect was that no one else in the class would know what an introvert was. So the teacher gave the following definition: At a party, both introverts and extraverts can have a great time – to a point where you can’t always tell them apart. When they leave the party, however, extraverts will be pumped with energy, maybe even ready for another party, while introverts will be completely exhausted and want nothing more than to go home and spend some time alone.

            After hearing that description, it confirmed for me that I was what I had said; an extreme introvert. I get exhausted just thinking of going to a party (consequently, I tend not to go).

            It really is as simple as that. An introvert is someone who needs to have some time alone to “recharge” their energy levels. They also tend to be people who spend a lot of time looking inwards, thinking and dreaming, which is why they come across as quiet and shy. Or antisocial, in extreme cases.

            That’s also why you’ll find that a lot of authors are introverts. When you live inside your head more than out in the world, your mind becomes full of ideas – eventually those ideas can be written down. There is also plenty of time to write them down during “recharging” times. With no one else around, there’s often nothing better to do.

            Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find a cave to hide in; my batteries need recharging.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Give and Tolerate

            I've been thinking lately that there are only two things causing all the problems in the world: greed and a lack of tolerance for people who are different. It seemed strange to me that, with so many issues in the world, there isn't one that couldn't be solved by eliminating these two things from our lives, but I've yet to find a problem that they aren't at the heart of.

            I think lack of tolerance speaks for itself. Whether it be out of fear of the different or some belief, there are far too many people in the world who want everyone to do what they do and believe what they believe. It causes wars, bullying, terrorism, political debates (as well as providing politicians with an ideal weapon for manipulation) and, more than anything, it breeds hate.

            What good does it do? I suppose, if the people who want everyone to be the same got what they wanted, it would provide security. It will never happen, of course, because the world is so diverse that the only solution would be to save the people with your ideals in a bomb shelter while you nuke the planet. Even if that happened, it wouldn't last – diversity is part of human nature; eventually those unwanted “different” qualities would bounce back.

            On the other hand, if everyone were to simply allow everyone else to believe what they want to believe and do what they want to do, where is the room for problems? Where does hate fit in? I admit that this sounds a bit like the opposite extreme – asking everyone to be the same by accepting those who are different – but all I'm asking is that everyone tolerate people different from themselves. I doesn't matter what you look like, do or believe, just so long as you allow everyone else look like, do or believe as they choose.

            Greed, on the other hand, is an even greater problem. People who crave vast amounts of power or money start wars and cause problems for everyone who just want to live their lives. Can you imagine a world without greed?

            For one thing, we’d be able to feed the world. We already can – we produce enough food, most of it just gets thrown away because those of us living in first world countries want our conveniences such as fast food and having just about anything we can imagine available for us in grocery stores.

            We’d also have less power struggles in the corporate world. Products would be made with quality as the goal rather than making as many as possible as cheaply as possible so they can be sold for as much as possible as many times as possible (because they break easily and need to be replaced). That, right there, just ended the majority of the world’s financial problems. Oh, you could argue that there would be less jobs available because not as many products would need producing, but my reply would be that the products being produced would be worth producing and as a result would take longer to make, giving more people jobs. The price of the individual item would go up, but you’d only have to buy it once. This is assuming, of course, money still exists in a greed-free world.

            Let’s not forget politics. Take the greed out of politics and what do you have? People who actually want the best for their country running the show. Think about all the possibilities! No more of these campaigns to slander the opponents, no more taxes paying for things that no one wants (such as government officials’ new summer retreats) – just people who want to do some good being in a position where they can do so.

            Obviously it is a dream to entirely eliminate greed and lack of tolerance from our world, but it would be nice if people would at least try. Let people who are different than you make you smile because you know they've found something they enjoy. Rather than focusing on making yourself happy, try to make others happy instead. I know it sounds counter-productive but here’s my math on this: if you try to make yourself happy, you have one person making you happy. If everyone tries to make everyone around them happy, then there are a lot more people trying to make you happy.

            Doesn't that sound like a happier world to live in? All you have to do is give and tolerate and teach those around you to give and tolerate. Who knows? Maybe someday all the world’s problems will go away.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Spider Assassins Want Me Dead

            The first spider that tried to kill me did so when I was around eight years old. I was about to leave the bathroom when I saw this large spider sitting on the doorframe. I quickly opened the door and found myself leaping back and screaming like a little girl (I can honestly say that it was the only time in my life when I’ve really screamed. I also dislike the term “scream like a little girl”, but it is really the only apt description). The diabolical spider had stung a thread across the door so that it would go flying straight at my unsuspecting face when the door was opened!

            Well, it didn’t get me and I recovered from the trauma. I was okay for about a week until I pulled a Kleenex out of a box and a different spider came out with it, lunging at me! It was at that point that I knew that the spiders had it in for me. The more I watched, the more I became convinced that my parents’ house had a division of specially trained, licensed to kill, secret agent spiders.

            I even considered writing a book about them. From the perspective of the spider agents, of course – a series of short stories about each spider’s attempt to kill a targeted human, all ending abruptly as the human’s protector (my mom) put an end to their attempts.

            I must say, though, that I have to admire the spiders for their skills. Why, this one spider was running along the top of a doorframe when, out of the blue, it fastened a web, dropped down into the doorway and let its weight and momentum carry it back up to the doorframe where it continued running as if nothing had happened.

            Incidentally, that ninja spider would have landed right on my head had I not noticed it and stopped walking through the door.

            What’s that? You’re a bit skeptical about all these spiders trying to kill me? Well, let me tell you... When I wasn’t living at my parents’ house, there were no spider problems. My wife and I even had a gigantic spider (we named it Peter) living outside our window and it never troubled us. Now that we’re back at my parents’ house, there have been a number of weak attempts – that is, weak compared to this really good one.

            This spider was very clever (past tense because my wife recently managed to dispatch it). It made its home between our mattress and the box-spring – the two piece box-spring. If we lifted the mattress to get it, it could just scurry down the crack and be lost before we could get at it.

            For months it lived there, coming out only at night to feed on me – or, perhaps to inject me with venom that would kill me once it reached a great enough concentration. I’m glad it was slain when it was, otherwise who knows what could have happened. I might have dropped dead at any moment and nev

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Reviewing Worlds Apart - Leah

            Worlds Apart - Leah is a difficult book for me to review, not because of the book’s quality, but because of my own aversion to books written in first person perspective. I couldn't tell you why it is – after all, when I was younger I both read and wrote in first person – but something about that perspective is difficult for me to focus on and read.

            Having said that, the fact that I finished it should tell you that this book is quite good. After all, had it not been, there was no way I would have made it to the end.

            Worlds Apart – Leah is a tale of Leah, a nineteen-year-old girl who has just relocated to a new city before going to school. Bad dreams have plagued her since her mother’s death five years earlier, but she and her father are managing to live their lives. Then Ben shows up. From then on, Leah’s world changes. She begins to question if the people she knows are really who she thinks they are and, eventually, she even ends up wondering if her past happened the way she remembered. Who is she to trust while her nightmares slowly become her reality?

            I can’t say that I liked this book from the beginning – in fact, I was a hairsbreadth from disliking it – but by the end of the book I loved it. My feeling towards the book probably stemmed from my difficulty with first person combined with the fact that the fantasy elements aren't entirely present in the beginning – it reads like a book about someone living in the real world and having bad dreams. Which if fine for some people, but not my cup of tea.

            Regardless of my initial impression, there was something about the story that caught my curiosity and dragged me forwards. The whole time I was reading, I knew there was much more happening than was apparent. I even managed to piece most of it together, but as the end of the book approached and all the pieces fell into place I was delighted to see just how much was hidden throughout the narrative.

            While there were sections that I wanted to know a bit more about – and other parts I wanted to know a bit less about – overall I consider this to be a fantastic book. All the little hidden details revealed in the end paint a very well built world that left me wanting to know just a little bit more.

            You can find Worlds Apart - Leah here and you can find out more about the author, Andrea Baker, here.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.