Monday, November 30, 2015

The Journey of the Outsider

            Something I’ve noticed is that a lot of stories – especially in fantasy – are about outsiders. The main characters tend to come from places where they’ve been cloistered off from the rest of the world, if not from an entirely different world all together.

            I’ve realized that at least part of the reason the reason these outsiders make such good main characters is because of how much it helps the author display the world. It limits the character’s knowledge and, as a result, allows the reader to learn about the world as the character does. That farmer living in a secluded village has a lot more to learn than a well educated scholar who is already immersed in the world.

            As readers, we are more forgiving to be told about a world if we’re learning along with the character. We don’t like the story being interrupted so we can be lectured about the world. If it’s the character who is learning, it’s then part of the story. We’re also more willing to accept mistakes the character may make out of ignorance, because we know everything that they know. It doesn’t matter if it’s common knowledge in the world – we didn’t learn it, so it is acceptable that the character also lacks this knowledge.

            Imagine how different the story would have been if Harry Potter had been raised within the wizarding world instead of with muggles. Or if Ron or any other wizard born character had the lead role. All the things that had our imaginations staring around in wonder and delight would have been every hay hum-drum to the main character. Instead of rubbernecking his way along Diagon Alley, pointing out all the wondrous shops, it would have been like a stroll in the shopping mall. We would have been lucky to have our attention drawn to the Nimbus 2000. All the magic would have been sapped out of the world because it was so normal to the character.

            Would Narnia had been so fantastic to someone who grew up there? Would a journey across Middle Earth have been so incredible if hobbits weren’t so reclusive?

            The reader is an adventurer, traipsing into an unknown world. Were we going there ourselves, we would want an experienced guide who knew the place. We aren’t, though. We are following along the experiences of our guide. If we want to experience the new world for ourselves, we need our guide to look upon it with the same wide-eyed wonder as we would.


            The journey of the outsider brings a new level of depth to a story. It’s no wonder we see so much of it.



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.

Monday, November 23, 2015

Pizza and Brains

            It’s interesting, what sticks with you over time. It isn’t always what you expect.

            This week, for the first time in over three years, I returned to the pizza store where my wife and I used to work. Colleen had just been cured of lactose intolerance and we were celebrating with lots of cheese.

            We were both uncertain as to what would be dredged up in our memories as we returned. While it makes the best pizza we know of, that store was a source of great stress for both of us – so much so that it led us to quit, in spite of the fact that we generally enjoyed the work itself and were very attached to the place.

            Entering the store as a customer (for the first time), I expected to be flooded with reminders of all the negativity that led to me quitting. Instead, I was surprised to find that, instead, I was remembering all the good times I’d had there. A few of the more entertaining bad memories surfaced, but my mind just glazed over them. Colleen reported much the same. That’s nostalgia for you.

            It’s nice to get flooded with positive when you’re expecting negative. I wonder if that’s just how our brains work – with it being easier to remember the good than the bad, as long as it was from long enough ago. Hmm... Now I must do some research into that.


            Oh, and the pizza was excellent. Coming from someone who spent five years treating making pizzas as an art, that’s saying something.





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.

Monday, November 16, 2015

What is it all for?

            With all these terror attacks this past week, it got me to thinking – what is actually the benefit of such attacks? Who stands to gain? What is the point of it all?

            In terror attacks, almost nothing can be achieved. Are you trying to prove a point? Okay, you got the attention of the world, but you don’t seem to have anything to say. If you did, we’re not exactly receptive after so many people have died. Are you trying to kill people who don’t believe the same as you? Hardly. In a world of billions, won’t make a difference to your war.

            The truth is, there are only two ways to benefit from a terror attack. The first (which is not the case with these attacks) is by being a government – if the people are afraid enough, they will object less to the government taking more power to protect them, or of giving up civil liberties. This is also an extremely stupid thing for a government to do because eventually it will be uncovered.

            The second is a manipulative mind-game with the world. By creating fear of a specific religion or culture, people are convinced to exclude, hate, oppress, and even attack people of that religion or culture. This reason is overlooked by most people because it doesn’t make sense for the attackers to turn people against themselves. Or does it?

            I actually missed seeing it at first – and I was specifically trying to figure out what was gained. Then I read an article that made it seem obvious. By encouraging people to oppress their primary pool for recruitment, the terrorist organisation has a better chance to draw people into their cause. After all, it takes two to fight – if the enemy is accepting your refugees, where will you find more soldiers to fight your war?

            Once we realize that, of course, it becomes simple to fight against. We mourn the tragic loss, but we do not allow ourselves to be filled with fear or hate. We pay attention to the truth that just because someone has something in common with a radical extremist, that doesn’t make them one. We stay open and welcoming to those different than ourselves.

            When we have done all that, terrorism will cease to have an effect. Once that become apparent, the attacks will become less common, then fade away. After all, why throw away soldiers on something that doesn’t work?

            But as long as people react with fear and hate, the terror attacks will continue. Because the true brilliance of this form of warfare is that it turns the victims into tools. Act with hate and you have unwittingly joined the terrorist army.


            All it takes is compassion. Welcome in those that the terrorists want you to drive into their arms. Then, and only then, will they truly be defeated.




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.

Monday, November 09, 2015

Treasure!

Of Dice and Glen is a story being written following D&D 5th Edition rules and using Minecraft as the battle mat (and to set the scene). Each of the two writers control their own characters and share the job of Dungeon Master (controlling the environment, story, monsters and background characters). As a result, neither of us has any clue of what's going on or where this is going. So, let's have fun!

This story is split between episodes being posted on the second Monday of every month. You can find the first episode here and the previous episode here.


Of Dice and Glen Episode 7: Treasure!


“Look out!” Luna yelped and dodged around the dragonborn to get a clear shot at the new foe. Holding up a hand that was suddenly brimming with fire, she hurled the molten missile at the goblin.

The flaming ball hit the suspicious goblin and it shrieked as the fire spread from his chest to his arms and even licked at its disgusting, stringy hair.

As Luna pushed past, Shaddar caught sight of the goblin he hadn’t noticed before. He followed in behind the flying flame, swinging at the goblin with sword and torch while it was frantically flailing at the fire.

The goblin’s flailing inadvertently helped it to dodge the swinging sword, but the torch slipped in to hit its forehead. The monster fell backwards onto the ground as the remaining flames stole its life away.

Panting, Shaddar turned and smiled weakly at Luna, his tongue unconciously flicking from behind his pointed teeth.

“Thanks.”

Smiling slyly at him, the tiefling poked her small, red tongue out from between her own pointed fangs. Her tail twitched in the dirt on the floor, in deep amusement.

“You’re welcome.”

Rolling his eyes - a maneuver he had learned from observing Luna - Shaddar turned and set about searching the corpses, not even bothering to ask the tiefling before sorting the money he found between the two stashes in his pouch.

“No boots,” she muttered, examining the corpses in her own way, ignoring Shaddar’s careful division of the money.

Looking at the tiefling’s booted feet, Shaddar admitted that they looked fairly worn, but they were still in perfectly serviceable condition.

“Your boots look fine to me, why would you need new ones?”

“What?” she looked up, distracted. “No. Not new. The older the better.”

Giving up, she stood and glared at the corpse, tail swishing irritably around behind her. Moving through the doorway before them, Luna quickly explored the small chamber, with no interest. Peeking cautiously around another doorway, she squeaked with excitement and fell upon a crude chest.

The chest was in a rough hewn cave that appeared to have been excavated around the remains of what had once been a balcony for the tower, but was now encased in stone and dirt.

Shaddar quickly followed behind Luna, worried that she was rushing into trouble.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Look! Look!” she squealed with delight holding up the gleaming, green emerald and for the moment ignoring the rest of the plainly expensive contents.

“Looks like we found their treasure trove,” Shaddar commented, coming over to examine the contents of the chest with her.

“It’s so pretty!” Luna agreed, with childish delight, not taking her eyes from the stone. “Can I keep it?”

Taking a close look at the gem, the white dragonborn’s tongue flickered.

“It’s magical. Do you know what it does?”

The tiefling’s hand suddenly shot out, grasping for the thin, forked tongue that was vanishing back behind the dangerously pointed dragon teeth. She caught it deftly, and gently, between two fingers, then released it just as quickly.

“No! Do you?” she said, as if nothing out-of-the-ordinary had happened, but there was a slight, incorrigible tilt to her head.

“Why’d you do that?” Shaddar demanded and started rubbing at his sensitive tongue, trying to eliminate the dirt and tiefling taste.

“To see if I could,” she said simply, then, slightly quieter, “why do you sound like I just lit your bed on fire?”

“Becauth you tathte terrible!” Shaddar said. Giving up on the scrubbing, he took a drink of his water. He gave her a sideways look - somewhere between frustrated and amused. “Don’t do that.”

“Oh, ok!” She agreed readily, turning back to her magic stone. “I did bathe last month,” she added, slightly hurt.

“What else have we got here?” Shaddar asked, going to look in the chest for himself. His eyes were immediately drawn to a shiny scale shirt. He lifted it out of the chest and gasped.

“It’s so light!”

Without worrying about possible consequences, he took off his current, heavy scale shirt and started putting on the new one. Under his scale shirt, his actual scaled back had a tree-like pattern in gold scales on his more common white scales.

Luna quickly grew bored with the laborious and tediously long business of fastening and unfastening armours. She amused herself by examining each item in turn, but all the time, keeping the emerald resting safely on her lap.

Looking up just in time to catch the tree-patterned scales, she sucked in her breath in awe and shuffled forward on her knees to get a closer look.

“You’ve got a tree in your scales! It’s so pretty!”

Shaddar turned around, inadvertently hiding his back from her curious eyes. “Hmmm? Yes, I was born with it.”

“I like it. Do all dragon-people have trees?”

Laughing, Shaddar shook his head. “No, everyone has their own patterns and colouring. I’m told both white and gold dragonborn are uncommon in the world, although both occasionally hatch in my clan.”

Crossing her legs and sitting in front of him, she listened, giving him her full, and rare, attention.

“What clan are you from? What are you called?”

“Drachdeliath,” Shaddar said, a hint of pride in his voice. He finished fastening his new armour on and moved about to get a feel for it. He snapped his teeth in approval. “I like this! Very nice; very light. What else have we got here?”

Luna wasn’t listening, however.

“All hail and cower before the mighty Drak-lilacs!” she bellowed, leaping to her feet, tail lashing excitedly about her. “Mightiest, honourable-est, strongest of all dragon-people!”

“Drachdeliath,” Shaddar corrected sharply, his eyes narrowing dangerously and small wisps of smoke issuing from his nostrils.

Instantly, the dun coloured tail ceased its excited lashing and Luna turned to regard the dragonborn with the first indication of fear she had ever shown towards him.

“I, um...” she began, uncertainly. “Oopsy! Sorry, I didn’t mean to... Could you pronounce it a bit slower?” she added, staring hard at his face, a determined expression replacing the quick flash of fear.

Shaddar’s expression instantly softened. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, turning away, toward the chest. “I don’t use my clan name anymore, anyway.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice softer than normal. A ridge of concern formed below her horns.

The dragonborn didn’t answer. Instead, he picked a vial of red liquid out of the chest. Curious, he gave it a shake and the red liquid glimmered. Fairly confident it wouldn’t be harmful, he unstoppered the vial and took a tiny taste.

“Healing potion,” he said, nodding as he felt the familiar tingle of healing magic.

There were certain hints that even this wild-living tiefling could read. The small wrinkle of concern didn’t smooth, but Luna nodded silently, behind the large, draconic back.

“You should take that,” she stated. “Some of us have healing in our hands.”

As proof, she held up both her grubby hands and wiggled the thin, but strong, fingers.

Shaddar chuckled. “That you do. Now this is a mystery.”

He held up a sloshing ceramic jug that looked like it could hold about a litre of liquid, but when he uncorked it, there was nothing inside. He even turned it upside-down and nothing came out, though it continued to slosh.

“I know! Here,” she reached out for the strange jug.

The dragonborn willingly surrendered the jug.

Grasping the container tightly, she appeared to take a small sip.

“Am I invisible?!” she squeaked excitedly.

“Where did she go?” Shaddar gasped sarcastically.

Clutching her hands in tiny fists pressed to her cheeks, Luna giggled like a small child and danced on the spot.

“I’m right here! Oooooh!”

“So you are,” Shaddar chuckled, reaching to pat her on the head, but then withdrawing his hand when he remembered her reaction last time.

Luna watched his hand approach, then begin to retract with satisfaction. Then, unexpectedly, she found herself not so averse to what was beginning to seem like a sign of... Affection.

Quickly, she ducked her head forward, bringing her horns up on either side of his hand, brushing his palm with her purple hair.

Slightly confused, Shaddar patted her head, then turned back to the chest. “What else have we got here?”

He reached in and pulled out a short blueish-grey cloak, trimmed in gold and with a long, thin tail protruding from the back.

“More magic, or I’m a talking lizard,” Shaddar said, flipping it around and examining it. “I wonder what it does.”

Smiling with embarrassment to herself, Luna examined the cloak as well, grabbing for it in her enthusiasm. Swirling it around her shoulders she suddenly crouched to the ground and scurried about the small chamber.

“Squeak! Squeak!” she said, in a passable imitation of a small rodent.

“Looks more like a sea creature than a mouse,” Shaddar commented, his voice tinged with amusement.

“A sea mouse?” she asked in slight awe. “I’ve never been to anything that big. Just ponds and lakes in one or two forests.”

“I’ve been to the sea a couple times,” Shaddar said with a shrug. “It’s just a big salty pond.”

He turned back to the chest and pulled out the last item - a fairly normal looking blue satchel. Frowning, knowing instinctively that it had some magic about it, he poked his nose inside. His eyes flew open.

“It’s bigger on the inside!”

“What?!” she exclaimed and grabbed at the edge, yanking it down. “By the Loki’s nose hair, it is!”

“I’ve heard of this sort of thing, but never seen one before,” Shaddar said, putting the open bag on the floor. “Watch this.”

Her retrieved his old scale shirt and put it in the satchel, then lifted the bag from the floor.

“I was right!” he said, laughing aloud. “The bag’s the same weight as before, even with the heavy scale mail inside.”

Luna stared in amazement, tail pointed stiffly in surprise. Quickly growing bored with this new wonder, she turned back to the chest, still wearing the odd cloak.

“That’s the lot,” she said, slightly disappointed. “Now if we can only figure out what it all does...”

Holding up the emerald again, the curious tiefling squinted at it, hard.

“Reveal your secrets to me, little shiny stone!”

The emerald glinted back innocently. It seemed to be surrounded by inaudible whispers.

“If we took the time, I’m sure we could figure them out,” Shaddar said, “but I’m worried about the rest of the goblins. I don’t want their boss to escape again.”

“Rrrrrrrr...!” the tiefling growled, viciously, dropping to her hands and feet in good imitation of a wolf. “You’rrrrrre rrrright! Let’s get ‘em!”

They traveled back to the room with the decrepit bed and through the second doorway, past the kobold Luna had killed. Around a corner at the far end of the passage, there was a stairway leading down. From below came the occasional crack of a whip, followed by an anguished yelp.





Discover what happens next in Episode 8: Big Bad Boss





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.

Monday, November 02, 2015

Everyone is Important

            Earlier this week, a friend of Facebook shared an image that said, in essence, “Remember that everyone you encounter changes your life in some way.” The next day, a friend with no connection to the first shared an image saying, “Remember that you change the lives of everyone you meet.” Both say the same thing from opposite perspectives and that coincidence must have lodged in my subconscious, because look what I’m blogging about today!

            This is a view on life I’ve had from a very young age. Everyone effects everyone around them, perhaps in small ways, but even the smallest influence can be significant.

            For me, one of my best examples goes back to when I was writing my first book (not including the picture book I wrote when I was six) – around age eleven or twelve. At this point in time, I was still at the stage where I imitated other writers – in this case Brian Jacques with his anthropomorphic animal characters.

            My brother, in his first year of highschool, had a friend a few years older who was also writing a book. My brother arranged for me to swap books with this friend so we could give each other feedback. The feedback I received from this person I’d never met yet took me a huge leap forward – he gave me the confidence to stop imitating and become my own author.

            In addition, this same friend lent my brother R.A. Salvatore books, which I started reading as well. He became one of my favourite authors and those books had a huge impact on my views of the world. There are some philosophies in the books that, rereading them recently, I discovered I’d been expressing to other people almost word for word without knowing it.

            It is amazing for me to think that someone with so loose a connection to me and who I only met once (at that point in time – a decade later he started working in the same plaza as the pizza place I worked. We started chatting, realized our past connection, became friends and, eventually, my wife and I shared an apartment with him for two years) could so influence my entire life thereafter. That’s all it takes, though! Most people never realize how the most insignificant seeming thing can change the lives of people around them.

            A lot of people also wonder about their importance in the world and weather they make a difference. The answer is yes. You are important. I am important. Everyone is important. Just because you can’t see how far your reach spreads doesn’t mean you make no difference.


            Everyone’s lives are made up of a myriad of connections. Even a slight tug on a tread of their lives can cause ripples that carry on forever. So, remember that the next time you feel insignificant. Without you, the world would be an entirely different place.




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.