Judge that way after all

Yes, I know that the following statement further confirms me as a weirdo.

One of the bonuses of having internet access while on vacation is the ability to update your Librarything account with your latest purchases.

It's true, though. It's like a travel diary. "Ah, yes. Durham, North Carolina. I bought that Verne collection there."

Speaking of travelogues, Penguin's Great Journeys series caught my eye, but mainly because the covers are cool.

IFComp Walkthrough

This game has multiple endings.  In order to get the blessed ending, be sure to make the following choices:

• Accept the offer, and learn from them. "I am honored to join you."
  
•  Keep at it. This mission must be completed.

Weirdo.

The idiosyncrasies have started to take over.

I've become something of an oddball at work. An insistence on aligning my pens with each other. An incapacity to endure a buzzing sound. Pulling up socks in the middle of conversations.

These sorts of things combined with my insistent reserve make for an eccentric fellow about whom no one knows anything. The quirks replace character and personality, indeed become them in the eyes of many.

I have to confess, it's kinda fun.

Yahar...

As the autumnal breezes blow, my mind has turned near fully to the open seas. I have nearly reached the final page of Master and Commander, despite being utterly lost in the jargon much of the time. Been playing Puzzle Pirates, of all things -- but only because I couldn't get my hands on a copy of Sid Meier's Pirates Exclamation Point. (I must confess, though, it is fun.)

Just got back from New Orleans, and while there found myself growing awfully naval. On a self-made bookstore tour of the French Quarter, I picked up the dramatically-named and hideously-covered Men, Ships, and the Sea for some steamjournally research. Also bought a few old prints of (what else?) Boston Harbor circa 1800.

After a few days I even began to look like a seaman. My skin burned, my stubble grew. I wore my shirt far more open than is my normal Northeastern habit, and pale drawstring shorts which may just as well have been made of sailcloth. I even went barefoot at times, heels scraping on the sun-bleached deck.

This is all well and good, as International Talk Like a Pirate Day grows large on the horizon, large as a great Spanish brigantine heavy with booty and ripe for the takin', me hearties.

Bloggeur

Been plugging my way through the recommended readings in the Harvard Classics. Yesterday's fifteen minutes was a bit o' Voltaire. The man, it seems, was a blogger.

Tongue-in-cheek sarcastic humor? Check.
Disdain for some or all establishments and authorities? Check.
Penchant for short rants? Check.

It Is Absolute

Obsessive B A Starters may remember I wrote an article for the Buffalo Spree holiday guide stating that the strip of Delaware Ave from Target to Kenmore Ave is the city's video game corridor. Gamecrazy, EB Games, Gamespot all within walking distance -- add in Target and Blockbuster, and it's the major industry for the block.

Yesterday, driving back from the heinous suburbs, I passed a new game store on Delaware a block up from Kenmore. Oogie Games, LLC -- or at least that's what the tarpaulin/sign says. I can only assume the owner read the article and decided to jump on the wagon before it gets too crowded in Buffalo's Akihabara.

Don't Read This

Lot of action on the "Alex hates the chosen one" post, much of which consists of Gary reminding me that I should have put SPOILER WARNING in it somewhere. Sorry dude. Trust me -- knowing that the parents in Heroes are manipulating things doesn't ruin a thing. There are only three good things about Heroes: Superpowers, superpowers, and superpowers. And I ain't talking the USSR.

Comments

I can always trust Gary to come through when needed. 3 comments in a single day! Here, here, and here.

That Guy

Those of you who have been keeping tabs on my dream library (Todd) will be happy to know a set of 1909-10 Harvard Classics arrived today.

My feelings, like a prep school dance, are mixed. The HC are truly meant for poser intellectuals, which of course I am, but regardless I love them. I could be pressed to say I lurv them, if provided enough alcohol.

Today's fifteen minutes consisted of half a chapter of the Confessions of St. Augustine. zzzz. Here's hoping Two Years Before the Mast grabs the attention a tad more. I will, as always, keep you posted.

Who does this choosing, exactly?

When writing fiction about impossible things in my own hackish way, I find myself pulled in by the gravity of the Chosen One. I'm sick of him. He was born with the power and just needs to find it. Merlin shows up to tell him who he is, and after that no one can stand against him. He's Potter, he's Neo, she's the P sisters from Charmed, and we've seen it rehashed more times than I care to stomach.

Why does Luke get to be the super-Jedi? Why does chosenness have to pass from father to son? The message "if you ain't born with it, you can't get it" just doesn't fly with me.

Trouble is, it's so easy. You build a world with supernatural qualities, and why does your main character get to be the one to use them? Because of his parents, that's why. So, for some time now I have tried to write stories where a non-superhuman obtains superhuman powers through practice and tenacity, in which anyone can be a wizard, not just people from the right gene pool.

Then I come across this article by super-genius Jane Espenson, in which she explain how to sell sci-fi.

It's a very specific type of Hero's Journey, the most potent sub-case. It's told over and over again, and it works, over and over again. Dorothy Gale, Buffy Summers, Harry Potter, Charlie Bucket, Luke Skywalker, even Peter Parker, they all fit a very specific pattern. They're living a life, sometimes a fine one, often a troubled one, but certainly one governed by ordinary rules, when suddenly the curtain is pulled back and a whole new world, or a new set of rules of this world, is revealed. And what's more - and this is the important part - in that new world, they are something special. They are The Chosen One.

And if that wasn't enough...

So here's what I think we need to do if we want to write a sci-fi or a fantasy show and give it appeal way beyond the normal boundaries of sci-fi/fantasy fandom. We need to start with an empty page of notebook paper, write "The Chosen One" across the top and start brainstorming. At least, that's what I plan to do.

Damn it, Jane! So, I need to do the precise and stated opposite of what I have been?

Thing is, I don't agree. Starbuck being Miss Prophesy is lame. In Heroes, all of the characters' parents know each other and have been manipulating them the entire time -- also lame. As soon as a show starts down the "it is your destiny" path, I lose interest. The predictability destroys the enjoyment; no matter how much a Chosen character rails against their certain fate, they always succumb* because superpowers are bad-assed. "Just be yourself" is a lot easier when your self can fly.

So, Jane, you know I love you, but on this we disagree. Give me Wedge and Xander over another mewling "why must my life be so hard, what with all of my awesome powers and all" puss. I'm sure to be Chosen is to live alone and there's some sort of proportional relationship between great power and great responsibility, but a person who chooses himself would be a welcome change.



(With the exception of Luke. It was his destiny to kill Vader. It was his destiny to join Vader. He did neither.)

The Trail of the Dead

Wandering the webs, I came across the New York Foundation for the Arts site, including info on artists' fellowships. A quick perusal of the app reveals what they want from you:

"A representation of your recent artistic work within the last 5 years."

This represents a large corpus of work for, let's say, Jess, but for me? Let's see...

• Several drafts of the Magnum Space Opus, the most recent of which being written mainly in a single month.
• A play written under similar restraints.
• One piece of flash fiction, sent to Artvoice and rejected.
• One sci-fi short story, sent to a few magazines and rejected.
• A version of Jorinda and Joringel.
• Another short story submitted to a contest. No prize awarded.
  
• Another few remarkably horrible short stories.

None of this has been published, of course. I have yet to develop the discipline to really edit stuff (spell-check is enough, right?) and there's always another ephemeral concept waiting in the wings, begging for my attention. The next project, that will be the one I really throw myself into.

Tunes

His Garveyness recently asked me to let him know what new tunes I was listening to. I think he thought he was talking to Jess. Either way, here a rhaplink for you, the contents of which are the tracks of my recent brain soundtrack. Except If You Leave Me Now by Chicago. I just couldn't.

Queue?

Not entirely sure why Netflix would recommend Unprecedented: The 2000 Presidential Election based entirely on my 5-star rating of Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind. The pro-environmental message? The negative depiction of invading forces? Does something fly in it?

.....

Usage question. The store "Sofas etc...".

Should it be "Sofas etc....", with a period for the et cetera abbreviation followed by an ellipsis?

Perhaps "Sofas etc.....", with the above and then the period which ends the phrase?

I'll ask my buddies Strunk and White, but I doubt they would deign to discuss it.

Gary?

And yet another.

And now at long last I post the link to Eric's blog, The Humanist. He's twisting my melon, man.

Appointed Rounds

The Postal Service and I have not been getting along so well as of late. Not the band The Postal Service, with which I have maintained a quietly devoted friendship, but rather the United Stated Postal Service. Apparently flying like an eagle involves either withholding or completely losing packages. Not only did my horribly pretentious copy of the Idylls of the King travel a long and tortuous route to my doorstep (causing much fear and dismay in the mind of the Ebay seller), but the USPS managed to completely misplace a Netflix return, calling into question my integrity as a subscriber. Perhaps the postal gods feel slighted because I have yet to use those Star Wars stamps.

Dustjacket

Books on the brain recently.

Here's a link from lifehacker with some booky ideas.

I went in to Borders this weekend on the hunt for an edda. I forgot it was Harry Potter Day. Yosh.

Tagged most of my books in Library Thing yesterday. Apparently my tastes in books have not changed since I was twelve, a discovery I find neither surprising nor displeasing.

Click

Anyone else notice that Debo posted a picture of me? And you thought he only snapped photos of party people.

Speaking of pictures, I was part of another great wedding this weekend. I'm always a little nervous about the pictures, though. Every time, I end up looking like I would rather be anywhere else than with the happy couple. I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong -- I smile and think happy thoughts, but it doesn't seem to work. Quite embarrassing, really.

It's over!

Finished the play. Fairly satisfied with it. So now what?

Peeve

Attended the Buffalo Book Fair yesterday, and swung by the library for the first time in a decade or so. The fair is certainly worth a stop-in, so keep your eyes open next year.

Any library gives me a feeling of coming home, of course. The decor in my apartment is a testament to that. The Buffalo library, while awesome, did manage to piss me off. There's a "Mark Twain Room" in there, outside of which is a recently posted sign reading "Iconic Mark Twain". Grr....

My hatred of the "i" word knows no bounds.