So, what now?

Tags

author, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, editor, insanity, small rants

Tomorrow is New Year’s Day.

I have no idea whatsoever about what I am going to do about it. But I do have a new idea for a novel to work on in 2014. So, I’m not entirely lost. But still! Iris is pressuring me to do New Year’s resolutions, which admittedly I am very bad at.

I finished the Hike All Trails challenge that was going on at a nature association nearby. We had to hike every trail on the property, and I finished back in August or September (I think). I was back on the trails today, trying to help my brother to finish. Ah well. At least we left only four trails undone. But the upshot is, I’m freaking tired. So if I don’t make any sense to follow, you know why.

My idea for a novel is kind of like a rip-off on stereotypes, but a surreptitious one so don’t write it off at first sight. It will probably be very disorienting, since it takes place (at first sight) in what appears to be a Middle Eastern country, but it’s a Middle Eastern country with a very different culture. The higher classes have a very confusing, almost utopian viewpoint; the hero’s mother is considered an outcast because she held fast to her wedding vows even though she loved someone else. So, yes. They have a somewhat unrealistic view of life. But, their perfect world by necessity can not exist without others suffering. The hero, who was raised in the lap of luxury despite having only seen his father twice in his life and his mother not much more often (not by her choice!) has his mother’s temperament; he’s more stoic and willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Because, ultimately, the conventions of the nobles’ utopia only make them more selfish.

I’ve always wanted to see how a utopia can go badly wrong…

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Of Continuity Errors (Real, or Imagined.)

Tags

completely random posts, confusing nonsense, disney, history, military, pixar, rambling musings, small rants, the age old debate

Poor Mr. Lasseter.

It can’t be easy to keep all the facts in line–especially when faced with such a fanatic history buff as my brother.

But I digress.

This is about Planes, the new Disney/Pixar movie. It’s enjoyable. It’s disorienting. It’s everything a good movie should be…

Except, sadly, for having exact historically accuracy.

Warning: Spoilers. Proceed no farther unless wearing correct protective equipment.

While we were watching it (spoiler alert!!!) I ran upstairs to ask Sprite if the Corsair had originally been intended for something other than dogfighting. He said, no, it was specifically designed to combat the Japanese Zeros.

“Snap! goes our third thread, leaving us exactly where we started.” –Sherlock Holmes, The Hound of the Baskervilles

Well, I kicked back. And then learned that the Corsair did not fight at Guadacanal. It had not been built until after the US gained air supremacy in the Pacific, two years later! And, since the Corsair had been specifically designed to combat the Zero, it is hardly likely that only one plane would be left, out of an entire sixteen-plane squadron. Granted, though, in the flashback, they were coming through some pretty nasty flack out there, and there were battleships in the mix as well. They were outnumbered, clearly.

Not to criticize the movie. It was fun to watch (though admittedly, I have not seen the whole thing yet, thanks to Raya’s loving attentions.) It was entirely what you’d expect from Disney/Pixar.

My good friend Iris tells me I have a tendency to over-think things, to look too critically at the details.

She’s probably right

Oh well.

Despicable Me 2

Tags

despicable me, sir arthur conan doyle, star wars, the adventure of the creeping man

Eight words:

The Adventure of the Creeping Man, and purple.

The former is a Sherlock Holmes short story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the latter the color of Mace Windu’s lightsaber, and a truly original addition by the film’s directors.

Spoilers to follow. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT YET.

This was a great movie, if scarier than the original Despicable Me. There was a great sense of menace and suspense at the beginning, since you didn’t know what was going on when the Minions were disappearing one by one. I found it kind of odd that Gru did notice, but dismissed it as giving them too much vacation time. (Oh, and by the way: I REALLY WANT TO FIND THE WEBSITE HE WAS READING IN THE MOVIE. Villains.com or something like that.)

Agnes’ birthday party. Extremely cute. And more loosers: #5 (Julian), #65 (Silas Ramsbottom–honestly, who has a name like that?!) and #7 (who has an unfortunate name-resonance with the heroine, Shannon Holmes, of my new drama series that I’m working on. Yeah… she stays Looser #6 to me. X-P) Incidentally, this is the first Despicable Me movie with a villain who is not hash-tagged “Looser”, as Vector should have been. (Loosers #1, #2, and #3 were the vacationing family in Egypt who discovered that the Great Pyramid was a fake, if you must know. Looser #4 was Vector.)

Jam as a weapon. Absolutely love it. Nefario was brilliant. This was a very appropriate psychological journey for him, though for obvious reasons they couldn’t flesh out the backstory there (since they had to maintain suspense.) Needless to say, I did foresee that Nefario would be working for El Macho, and also that he would return to working with Gru before the end.

“You brought the girls along?!”

“Er… was that wrong?”

-Gru and Nefario

Oh, and how can I not mention Ninja Edith?! And lovestruck Margo–erm… glad that Antonio ditched her, to be honest. Love at first sight? Nope, not feeling it.

This film left me with just one question: Just how many Minions are there in existence?!

If you have not read The Adventure of the Creeping Man, you are missing out. I strongly recommend it.

And did I mention I love Ninja Edith?!

Hope you enjoyed this review! 🙂 Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

Wintertide Retreat

Tags

christmas, christmas gift, completed stories, coruscantbookshelf, j.r.r. tolkein, lord of the rings, short stories, snow, star wars, winter

This post is dedicated to coruscantbookshelf, who writes the most awesome stuff, inventor of Nasriel Kaliu Threeb and master of the online email roleplay. Seriously. Go check out her blog. Thought-provoking, enjoyable stuff to be found therein.

Since I obviously can’t send her a care package this Christmas, I’m settling for something almost as good–an original story to enjoy. This is my gift to you, am’yana arens. May the light of Christmas shine ever in your heart and home, and may the Force be with you. Always.

Insomnia

                Lights gleamed against the shutters, casting slatted luridly-colored psychedelic patterns across the roof, walls and floor of the darkened room. Obi-Wan turned over, trying to go back to sleep, mentally cursing Coruscant and its sickening night life. The blankets were too warm, the pillow flat, the atmosphere of the room choking, the Force outside churned and confused and muddy. Obi-Wan groaned and moved so that he was staring straight up at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep. He tried blocking himself out from the miasma outside, but it wasn’t seeming to work.

Slowly, the twisting, writhing lights subsided into a less tawdry gleam; the Force calmed somewhat, the first heavy raindrops splattered against the window. Obi-Wan gave a cynical, faintly malicious smile at the startled feelings outside as the orgy was replaced by a rainstorm. Serves you right, he thought. The soft patter of raindrops was relaxing, lulling, cathartic. Obi-Wan drifted off, at last, thoughts becoming more and more scattered. Tomorrow’s air would be cleaner—the rain carried pollutants and other “things” down out of it. Why didn’t it rain more often? If only cleaning the air of war were so easy…

Suddenly, he jerked back to full wakefulness with the sensation of falling. It took a moment to remember where he was, what he was doing, a moment longer to realize that the jerk into wakefulness was not coming from himself.

It was one of the Padawans.

Obi-Wan reached out, breathing into the Force. Both Padawans seemed to be shielding, Ben much more lightly than Nasriel, but Obi-Wan could still sense distress seeping distantly from her. Silently, he got up, slipping a robe around his shoulders against the night-time chill. He chilled easily, always had, especially when wearing less than the full tunics. He walked across the common room and waved open the door to Nasriel’s room, entering quietly. “Nasriel? Are you all right?” he asked. Nasriel looked sharply up.

“I locked the door,” she said defensively. Obi-Wan sighed.

“Nasriel, I wouldn’t be a Jedi Master if I couldn’t open a simple lock. What’s troubling you, alir’yana?”

“Nothing,” Nasriel muttered, turning away. Gently, Obi-Wan put a hand on her shoulder.

“Nasriel, you don’t have to protect me from the ghosts of your past. I’ve dealt with my own for years now. What’s troubling you?”

“I don’t know,” Nasriel muttered. Obi-Wan glanced out the window, noticing suddenly the complete, lovely silence that had fallen outside. Perfectly formed crystals dropped silently from the sky, blanketing everything in white. Even better—more precious—rarer—than rain, and perfectly pure, absolute white.

“Nightmare?” he asked, turning back to his Padawan.

“Mmmmm,” Nasriel said.

“You can’t hold onto it, Nasriel. You have to let it go.”

Suddenly, Nasriel launched herself forward into Obi-Wan’s arms. He froze for a moment, then willed himself to relax. He hadn’t liked to be embraced since Qui-Gon had died; the memories were just too painful. Qui-Gon had never been effusive in any emotion, and his Padawan had been much the same, but there had been the occasional physical contact, which memories Obi-Wan had always clung to like a drowning man. After Naboo, any close contact was painful; it reminded him of things that hurt too much to recall, because they never would be reachable again. Perhaps it had been selfish, but he had preferred to allow those memories to remain untarnished, locked away in a place in his mind where nothing could ever mar them.

But that was then. Now, Nasriel was sobbing her heart out against his shoulder. Clumsily, Obi-Wan raised his hands and patted her back, reassuringly, or so he hoped. He didn’t speak. Better to say nothing than nonsensical, sugary promises that no one could keep. Long experience had taught him that it was better to just be there.

Finally, Nasriel’s sobs drew to an end. Obi-Wan lifted her chin with one long finger, smiling slightly. “Feel better now?” he asked. Nasriel nodded. “Come on. I have something to show you.”

Stopping in the kitchen to pick up some instant hot chocolate (Obi-Wan wondered how he could have ever sworn at the faucet after burning himself on the boiling-hot water earlier,) he led Nasriel out of the Temple, into the outdoor gardens. She shivered slightly in the chill breeze, and Obi-Wan wrapped the cloak around her. It drooped around her, pooling like russet velvet in the snow, the sleeves far too long for her arms. She looked strangely like he had when Qui-Gon had wrapped his own cloak about him in a similar situation. Obi-Wan passed her the thermos of hot chocolate. “Beautiful, isn’t it,” he said, softly. Nasriel nodded, silently. “I must have been even younger than you when Qui-Gon brought me out here the first time, to watch the snow fall. Now—it might as well not be Coruscant you’re standing on. Strange how other people don’t seem to see the magic in this.” Obi-Wan closed his eyes, lost in memory. He wasn’t cold any more. Fluffy, fat flakes settled in his hair, beard and eyebrows; Nasriel was crowned in sparkling jewels of filigreed mithril.

Nasriel looked up at the snow. “It’s like fallen stars,” she said.

Something hit her from behind. She spun around to see Obi-Wan smiling at her, holding a snowball in one hand, a mischievous grin on his face. Despite the beard, she thought she had never seen him look so like Ben before. Obi-Wan nodded to her. “Come on. Aren’t you going to strike back?” He laughed softly. Nasriel picked up a handful of snow.

“As soon as I can figure out… how to… make it into a ball…” she said, watching in dismay as it crumbled away in her hand.

 

The next few hours were spent in snowballing each other, flinging huge piles of slush at each other, and so forth. It was about the fourth hour past midnight when they finally went back inside, soaking wet and completely happy.

 

Ben woke up, wondering why someone (Obi-Wan or Nasriel, it didn’t matter which) hadn’t come in to wake him up already. He snuggled back down into the warm covers with a sigh of contentment and looked out his window as he did so. He gave a whoop of excitement upon seeing the snow and threw on his clothes, joining the throng of winter-clad Padawans in the hall.

It didn’t matter if the Council member and older Padawan slept in at the moment.

It was Christmas break, after all.

The End

Quick book recommendation: Letters from Father Christmas, by J.R.R. Tolkien. Enjoy!

Merry Christmas, and may God bless us, every one!

The Unexpected

Tags

author, baroness emma orczy, bbc merlin, brian jacques, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, j.r.r. tolkein, long rants, lord of the rings, madeleine l'engle, rambling musings, redwall, sherlock holmes, sir arthur conan doyle, star wars, story dynamics, the hobbit, the scarlet pimpernel

This gallery contains 3 photos.

Dear Diary, I really love unpredictable heroes. There never really seem to be enough of them. For instance, you can …

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Walk by Night

Tags

completed stories, completely random posts, contrast, rambling musings, short stories, star wars

Well, since I don’t have a new chapter of Battlefield of the Soul, but I do have a hard drive full of little gems such as The First Time, You Never Know, and I Called Him Wormtongue, I decided to post another one of my never-before-seen short stories. Enjoy!

Author’s Note: The Shi’len are a creation of mine. They’re a human race–not quite a separate species–with a much longer lifespan. 😉

Walk by Night

                Jillayea’s measured pace turned up the Temple, step by step. She could not sleep. She had not slept for nights.

It was peaceful here, in the Temple precincts, when the sun had gone and the Jedi were resting. Jillayea followed the tiled floors down toward the Room of a Thousand Fountains. It was refreshing, more so than sleep.

“Do you often walk here by night?” a voice asked, softly. Jillayea looked around, startled, for the owner of the voice. It was a nice voice, she contemplated, with an upper-class accent that was almost a brogue; a clear tenor, ringing, lilting, almost brassy, yet with an understated richness that surprised her. It carried something more than gentleness, something not quite remorse; though young, it was ancient, and rich with memory.

Jillayea did not see the voice’s owner at first, then she spotted him, standing in a corner. She hadn’t seen him before, though something about him was vaguely familiar; she couldn’t place exactly what. He was perhaps in his late teens, with a compact, sturdy build, and of only mediocre height. It was his eyes, though, that caught her attention. They were not quite blue, not quite gray, not quite green, but a strange balance of all three; continuously changing, but somehow at rest, at the same time. Ancient eyes, that had seen more than many a Jedi.

Somehow, Jillayea tore her eyes from the young man’s eyes and took stock of his appearance. Handsome, with a cleft chin and dimpled cheeks, square jaw, broad but shallow cheekbones, straight nose with perhaps a miniscule break, thick, slightly ruffled auburn hair. Jillayea self-consciously straightened her somewhat rumpled tunics. A slight humorous twinkle of amusement lightened those strange eyes. Something about the eyes made Jillayea feel that, despite his appearance, she should be calling him ‘master.’ “Well?” he continued softly. “Do you often walk here by night?”

“Not often,” Jillayea said slowly. “Do you?” The young man shrugged.

“I live here,” he said quietly. It seemed like a somewhat strange answer to Jillayea. “What are you looking for, young one?” There was a world of experience in the words, and, strangely enough, for once Jillayea did not object to being called young.

“I don’t know.” she said quietly.

“The answers are simple, aren’t they?” he continued. Very soft-spoken, but Jillayea had the feeling that he could be intimidating, if he wanted to be. “Peace of mind, hope, dreams which won’t break, release from grief or sorrow, or even escape from nightmares. It’s harder to tell which one you are seeking, though.” His eyes still held a faint whisper of innocence, somehow, though it was tempered by harsh trials in the school of life. “Perhaps, meditation might help. Wandering the halls of the Temple by night, not so much. Go back to bed, child.” He smiled at her. Jillayea smiled back. It was a good night…

The next thing Jillayea knew, it was morning.

Epilogue

                “Master Skywalker?” Jillayea asked.

“Yes, Jillayea,” Luke Skywalker replied, looking up from the book he was perusing.

“I wanted to ask you about… well, a Padawan I met, or perhaps a young knight…” Jillayea blushed furiously. Here she was, dithering over someone whose name she did not even know, and she didn’t even have romantic feelings for him.

“Of course. What was his, or her, name?”

“I don’t know. He was smallish, well-built, a bit taller than you perhaps, but not quite as tall as Captain Solo… Ruddy hair, piercing eyes… Oh, and one more thing… his eyes seemed to change color.” An odd expression crossed Luke’s face. He turned back to his desk and pulled a few books and papers out of the way, lifting a piece of canvas with a painted portrait of a young man on it.

“Is this him?” Luke asked. Jillayea nodded, eyes going wide.

“Yes! How did you know?” Luke smiled slightly.

“I know him well, very well.”

“What’s his name? I would like to contact him…”

“His name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Is he currently in the Temple?” Luke, inexplicably, did not directly address the question.

“He was my father’s mentor, and eventually mine as well…”

“So… he’s Shi’len?”

“Jillayea, Obi-Wan Kenobi has been dead for almost twenty years.” Jillayea gasped.

“He…”

“Yes. But I don’t think Obi-Wan was the type to ever retire.” Luke smiled. “It’s good to know that he’s still around, helping us.” A faint shimmer gleamed upon the still, dust-sparkling air. Neither of them actually heard a voice, but they could have sworn that they did.

Always, old friend.

Battlefield of the Soul, Chapter III

Tags

alternate universe, battlefield of the soul, insanity, panic attacks, shifting tides series, small rants, star wars, stories in progress

Hi! I’m back again, and here’s the next chapter. (Please, please, please give me some feedback on this one–I need the inspiration–continuation is proving difficult. As in, I don’t have another full chapter to post after this one!!! Chances of survival: Over four million to one. :-P)

This chapter: Dooku grows curious, an escape, a rescue attempt, and a failure. May the Force be with you (and the same to me, I sure need it…)

Chapter III

                Dooku walked into the med center, nodding to the receptionist as he did so. He made his way into the lab, curtly acknowledging the technician. He handed her the blood sample he had obtained earlier, while Kenobi was being interrogated.

“Ninane. I need a run-down on this blood sample. The midichlorien count is the most important thing.” Ninane sighed, shrugging.

“I’m sorry, my lord. The equipment is off-line—it won’t be until tomorrow that I can get it back to you.” Dooku gave no sign of irritation.

“Very well,” he shrugged off-handedly. “Time is not an object, as long as I get the midichlorien count.” With that, he left.

 

The sun had set hours ago, and the confines of the Imperial Palace had quieted somewhat. Obi-Wan’s eyes shot open, and he raised himself from the bed where he had laid down an hour ago, until the night gathered and worked its magic. Carefully, he took a long knife that he had sharpened before lying down from its hiding place beneath the mattress, and steeled himself. Taking a deep breath, he cut his upper arm, touching the slave transmitter and flicking it out with a combination of the knife point and the Force, to keep it from activating. He slid it under the mattress and bandaged the wound as best as he could. That done, he slipped out of his room and went to Shmi and Anakin’s quarters. The door slid open silently. The Skywalkers were prepared and waiting.

“Come on!” he wshipsered, grabbing the bundle out of Shmi’s arms, as the exited the quarters. “Hurry!” he hissed. “It’s already late. We have to go!” Silently, they rushed down the deserted corridors of the palace.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan froze. “Wait…”

“Come on! Hurry!” Anakin said, rushing forward.

“No, Anakin, wait!” Obi-Wan cried, leaping after Anakin, grabbing at the collar of the boy’s shirt. Too late. The two of them barreled together into a patrol of the royal guards.

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin and hit the ground with the boy underneath him, shielding him with his body. The first barrage of their fire spent, the guards retreated momentarily. Obi-Wan leaped to his feet, kicking out, his boot connecting solidly with the targeted guard’s jaw, felling him, as the young warrior struck another smoothly in the stomach with the same motion. In an impressive display of martial arts lasting for the next thirty seconds or so, the remainder of the guards were all on the ground, unconscious. Obi-Wan flicked his hair back out of his eyes. “We should go. We still haven’t—” He swayed. “We haven’t even picked up Ventress yet.” He hurried them along at a brisk pace. Shmi moved quickly to his side.

“Ventress?” she asked. Obi-Wan nodded.

“We’re taking her with us.” Suddenly, the young man clutched at his side, his footsteps faltering a little.

“Are you all right?” Shmi asked, concerned.

“Fine,” Obi-Wan managed, cheerfully. He staggered. Shmi was almost scared now.

“Obi-Wan, you’re not ‘fine’,” she said.

“I’ll be okay—we have to get Ventress, and go!” They ran on for a bit, then Obi-Wan suddenly fell, without a cry or gasp or any other sound. Shmi gasped.

“He’s been shot!” she said, fingers ghosting over the burn mark on the fabric of Obi-Wan’s tunic.

“Let’s get him to the ship!” Anakin exclaimed, grabbing one of the unconscious Jedi’s arms and struggling in an attempt to pull him onward.

“But what about Ventress?” Shmi wanted to know.

“There’s no time. Let’s go!”

Shmi did not notice, as they lifted Obi-Wan’s unconscious form, the odd, unnatural yellow tinge in her son’s eyes.

 

When Obi-Wan did not come for her, Ventress began to worry. Her overactive imagination supplied myriads of macabre images of the daring young Jedi found out—captured—tortured—killed. She waited an hour—an hour and thirty minutes—after curfew.

Still no sign of her would-be rescuer.

Taking a deep breath, Asajj hurried out into the corridor. No sign of Obi-Wan anywhere. Swiftly, Asajj searched all the relevant corridors. Still there was no sign of Obi-Wan.

Asajj rushed to the private hangar of the palace. She got there just in time to see a sleek corvette lift off the pad and take off. Her desperate waving and shouts went unheeded. The ship made for space, quickly disappearing into the distance.

Asajj stood, frozen to the spot, for several long minutes, feeling betrayed. Then, sadly, she turned and retraced her steps to her room.

There would be no rescue for her.

She had been left behind.

 

Somehow, between the two of them, they somehow managed to get Obi-Wan on board a spaceworthy craft and take off. As soon as they were a safe distance from Coruscant’s busy airspace, Anakin set the coordinates for a small Outer Rim planet in the middle of nowhere. As the ship made the jump to hyperspace, Obi-Wan blinked, opened his eyes. Shmi hurried to his side, concern coloring her voice.

“Obi-Wan? Are you all right?” she asked. “Other than the obvious, are you hurt?”

“I think I’m all right… What happened?” Obi-Wan groaned, holding his injured side.

“You were injured. We had to get you on board here as quickly as we could.” Shmi replied.

“What about Asajj?” Obi-Wan asked. “Did you find her? Is she here?”

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan…” Shmi turned away slightly. Obi-Wan felt a sinking, sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“And?” he prompted.

“I’m sorry,” Shmi repeated. Obi-Wan grabbed her arm.

“Please, Shmi. You have to tell me!” he urged.

“When you were injured,” Shmi began, “we thought it would be best to go as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to, but Anakin was worried about you…”

Obi-Wan put his head in his hands. “Oh, no,” he breathed. “It’s back.”

“What’s back?” Shmi asked, suddenly afraid. “What do you mean?”

“Vader. Anakin’s selfish, twisted side,” Obi-Wan replied, darkly. Shmi frowned.

“I thought he had it under control,” she said.

“He still has not learned control,” Obi-Wan ground out. “He needs more time, which is something we don’t have much of right now.” He gingerly probed the wound. “It’s not that bad,” he said, cautiously. “I must have gone into shock.” Even Jedi were not immune to the ravages of an over-reacting body. Obi-Wan stood, carefully checking his balance before he fully trusted himself to it. “Where are we headed?” he asked.

“Nagr, I think,” Shmi replied. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ll go ask Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, walking with surprising steadiness toward the cockpit. Shmi hurried after him.

“Wait… are you sure that’s such a good idea? You’re injured!” she exclaimed, unheeded.

 

Obi-Wan entered the cockpit. “Anakin,” he said softly.

“Yes, Master Obi-Wan?” Too prim, too smooth, too calm. Obi-Wan was instantly on his guard.

“Where are we going?” he asked deliberately. Anakin’s eyes shifted slightly to his left as he replied.

“I don’t know. We were in a hurry to get you away.” Obi-Wan leaned down against the center console, his weight on the heels of his hands, intentionally invading Anakin’s personal space.

“Don’t lie to me, Vader,” he said, purposefully. “I know that’s not Anakin talking. What’s your ugly little game?”

“Kenobi,” the Dark Side hissed. Obi-Wan gathered the light around himself, flinging all that he could muster at it. It vanished, but Obi-Wan knew that it was only temporarily routed, not permanently put to flight. The soft wisps of light, seemingly weak yet startlingly resilient, that he had used to drive out the dark were already returning to him. He leaned forward and grasped Anakin’s shoulders.

“Anakin. Snap out of it. The Dark Side—you have to fight it, Anakin!” No response. Anakin appeared to be sleeping. Obi-Wan slowly released the boy’s shoulders.

He had a very bad feeling about this.

A Rant

Tags

birth control, christianity, conscientious objection, freedom of speech, hhs mandate, politics

Honestly?!

I mean, seriously?!

How about sanely?!

Because this is insane. Sheer insanity.

Vision Forum is shutting down. The recent HHS mandate put them out of business.

For years, Vision Forum has been committed to restoring Christian values in popular culture. For years, they’ve promoted true man- and woman-hood. They have been around since 1998.

And now it’s all gone.

And why?!

So-called CIVIL LIBERTIES. Aka, healthcare that includes birth control. Did you know you can commit suicide by overdosing with “the pill”!? Not that anyone actually does that, but still! It’s a POISON. And now employers are being forced to pay for it in their healthcare plans.

That’s all.

All?!

All.

I disagree with the use of birth control. Let me explain why.

If someone (say, someone famous) was to approach me and ask me if I “wanted to be friends” (just friendship, nothing more), and I asked them why and if they told me that they liked me, my personality, found my views or intellect fascinating, I would be flattered. Of course I would say yes.

But if they told me that it was only to keep up their public image, I would be outraged and say “no.”

All things have their purpose. Nothing exists for its own sake. No matter what modern-school artists say. Art and music exist for enjoyment. Family for support. Love, for marriage and family. And birth control denies that purpose. You’re taking away my little fantasy of “happily ever after.” What do you have to say for yourself, birth control?!

Anyway, the mandate contains horrifically vague and narrow clauses for conscientious objection. This means it only nominally and legally allows one of our basic rights. And, as we all know, the law isn’t everything.

And Vision Forum isn’t the only group. All over the place, small family businesses are being shut down because they refuse to conform with these standards. They can’t afford to pay the fines. This denies the free-market principle, by the way. (Did I mention the HHS mandate is FULL of problems?!)

I’m angry. Very very angry. You’re free to attack my blog for supporting these values as you please. But I’m sick. Sick and tired and very, very upset. I loved their stuff! It was epic! Their catalog was cooler than the Boy Scouts’ catalog used to be.

Go ahead. Throw mud at me. I don’t care. You’re killing free speech, people.

Now, excuse me while I go throw up.

But if, on the other hand, you’d like to support me, please, I need a hug. A shoulder to cry on. And possibly encouragement to cut-and-paste my second-semester-of-college essay.

What are you waiting for?! Add something to the comments. I’m going to shut up now, because if you don’t believe the same way I do, I’m probably not going to be able to convince you. And just so you know, you won’t convince me. I’ll stay in the Dark Ages, thank you very much. Thanks for reading, and may God bless you even if you don’t believe in Him!!!!! 🙂

Guilt Tripped

Tags

author, c.s. forester, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, contrast, horatio hornblower, insanity, long rants, rambling musings, small rants, star wars, story dynamics

I was guilt tripped today.

No, literally. I mean my guilt tripped!

Someone tried to guilt bribe me with something I really didn’t feel guilty about. I just ignored them.

Score one for me. Big fat zero for the other person.

This is also good in another way.

As in, the villain tries to hold off the hero (see Hostage Situation) with something the hero does not feel guilty about. Also known as Dun Moch Backfires, or Count Dooku (or other Star Wars villain) Fails. (Not to be confused with Inverse Dun Moch, in which the hero tries to convince the villain that the bad guy’s life is so sad, he just goes around blowing things up.) But that’s not really what we’re talking about here.

Sometimes, the villain doesn’t even succeed in making the hero mad. (Still more EPIC fail! :-P) So, instead of a guilt trip, it gets shrugged off and the hero says something along the lines of “You deserve to die, but you’re still not worth the powder!” (I love Horatio…)

Though this is not always the best option for an emotionally charged climax (why do we all love angry heroes?!), it’s still something to keep in mind.

Because, to be honest, taunting? It doesn’t always work out that way. 😉

Never Tell Me the Odds

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author, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, contrast, explosion, flame it, insanity, j.r.r. tolkein, long rants, madeleine l'engle, rambling musings, ray bradbury, small rants, star wars, story dynamics, the silmarilion

Han Solo quote aside, just… don’t. They can be helpful, but statistics are also a nuisance. (Did I mention that the title is also the best Han Solo quote EVAR?!)

And then there are other things that you should never tell an author. Here are a few pet peeves (my own top ten):

10.”Oh my **** that’s so cool! What do you think about… {insert name of random celebrity who I have, honest to goodness, never heard of before}?” Or, “Sure, that’s nice. Do you mind getting more napkins?” Excuse me while I’m sick.

9. “So, you write novels all the time?” Sorry, no. I would love to, but there’s real life. Oh, and the fact that there is such a lovely thing as a short story. (Partial to Ray Bradbury, myself.)

8. “I can draw the illustrations for you if you like.” Er… ever heard of an author who does their own?

7. “Have you ever considered writing Amish fiction?” *facepalm*

6. “Have you ever considered writing about vampires?” Ewwww.

5. “Have you ever considered writing children’s books?” Gah. Should be the first consideration, to my mind. To quote Madeleine L’Engle, “You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.” Children believe better than adults, and aren’t going to laugh at you if you believe too.

4. “Are you getting this published?” Well, first and foremost, I write for myself. If other people like my stories, then that’s great, and yes, I will consider publishing. If not, I have lost nothing at all.

3. “I tried writing once, but I didn’t like it.” Do or do not. There is no try. If you are a writer, you will write, fair or foul, like it or not. Even if you just spend hours typing and erasing, that’s still progress. People who just give up are wimps.

2. “I might try writing some when I retire.” Seriously?! Everyone can write, if they try. This does not necessarily mean they will be good at it. That takes hard work, and a casual little moue like this indicates to me not wanting to really try. Even then, though, some people just (ultimately) can NOT write. This is why there are ghostwriters. Believe it or not, Miley Cyrus and all those bands don’t actually write all their own songs!

1. Don’t just make assumptions and randomly compare their work to the work of a published author, especially an uber-popular one. Some of us lesser-known authors have very strong likes and dislikes, and don’t care at all for Harry Potter, Twilight, The Hunger Games. Not that I have any dislike for any one of those in particular (never having read them), but, just for example. 😉

And, worst one of all time…

0. When someone tries to talk to you about a book you have never read that is really ultra-popular, completely ignoring that you just said that you liked The Silmarilion just two seconds ago!!!

Okay, rant over. You can go about your own lives again now. ;-P