Hey folks. So in some ways work is going slowly on my project, but in other ways it's still moving forward. I've finished a first draft of the text for the first post. Since it's the first post I'm probably going to revise it considerably more than subsequent posts. There's still plenty of planning and writing and other such work to do, but it's being worked on.
Here's hoping the next week sees even further progress. I might be posting before May's out!
Peace.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Thursday, May 1, 2014
May Brings Change
Starting this month I'm working on a project that will hopefully have me writing considerably more than I have been, and will hopefully have considerably more people reading it too.
I'm posting a Hearthstead novel in weekly portions. Maybe bi-monthly. Still haven't decided that part.
I'm not starting this week and maybe not next week. It depends on how much buffer I've got going by then. But I wanted to let everyone know that it's happening, and that as of today all my writing energies, when I focus them, are honed in on this one project until I get it going reliably. I've got plans. Like accompanying artwork, branches into games and music, and a whole lot of story I think deserves to be somewhere other than just the heads of two cousins.
Here's some stuff I don't know yet that I need to sort out before this actually starts happening:
Venue: This novel needs an internet home, and it's not going to be this blog. I have one spot in mind, but I'm trying to decide if I need a new URL and if I shouldn't fork over the money for a nice little niche of the web all its own. A brand new website means a good deal of page design and that's quite a bit of work, but the reason I'm puzzling about this now is I'm not sure about moving home sites if this gets more successful further down the line. If any of my readers know for sure I won't be nipping this bud by starting on a free, bloggy website, maybe you could ease my worries on this?
Timing: When exactly I'm going to start posting is some rancid calculus of everything else I've mentioned so far confinded by the logarithmic curve of my writing pace, which is probably more up in the air than all that. There's also the question I mentioned above of whether posts will be weekly, every two weeks, one great bull of a post a month, or intermittent depending on creator patterns. My first thought is weekly, but... :
Other Content: Like I said, I'd like this to be more than just words I splatter all over the internet. Hearthstead was birthed as a stick figure comic in a notebook with a healthy dose of legos and roleplaying, so I want the full-on commencement of Hearthstead storytelling to be similarly multidisciplinary. I am unfortunately not a polymath so I'll likely be looking to bring in others to help fill in whatever content it is we'll be doing. At the very least there'll be pictures, and at the very least my cousin Nate, whose brainchild Hearthstead is as much as it is mine, will be participating, be it with visual art, mix tracks, or as a sounding board to make sure I'm bringing 100% Hearthstead with every post. I know that visual artwork is often as time-consuming and labor-intensive as writing (I'm sure many artists would consider writing lazy by comparison), so I'd be remiss if I declared a definite density of artwork-to-written-post without a certainty of how all that's working.
All that stuff hanging in the firmament aside, I'm posting this blog for one primary reason: because I really want to do this, and I want everyone to know that I'm dead-set on giving it its fair shot. This isn't a half-baked novella I push for a week and leave behind. I have plans for at least four "seasons" of this thing, and that's gonna take tremendous time and effort and hopefully be a boatload of fun. Hope you're along for the ride.
I'll leave you with this little teaser. The working title I have for this project, or at least its first phase? Forging the Shade.
Peace.
I'm posting a Hearthstead novel in weekly portions. Maybe bi-monthly. Still haven't decided that part.
I'm not starting this week and maybe not next week. It depends on how much buffer I've got going by then. But I wanted to let everyone know that it's happening, and that as of today all my writing energies, when I focus them, are honed in on this one project until I get it going reliably. I've got plans. Like accompanying artwork, branches into games and music, and a whole lot of story I think deserves to be somewhere other than just the heads of two cousins.
Here's some stuff I don't know yet that I need to sort out before this actually starts happening:
Venue: This novel needs an internet home, and it's not going to be this blog. I have one spot in mind, but I'm trying to decide if I need a new URL and if I shouldn't fork over the money for a nice little niche of the web all its own. A brand new website means a good deal of page design and that's quite a bit of work, but the reason I'm puzzling about this now is I'm not sure about moving home sites if this gets more successful further down the line. If any of my readers know for sure I won't be nipping this bud by starting on a free, bloggy website, maybe you could ease my worries on this?
Timing: When exactly I'm going to start posting is some rancid calculus of everything else I've mentioned so far confinded by the logarithmic curve of my writing pace, which is probably more up in the air than all that. There's also the question I mentioned above of whether posts will be weekly, every two weeks, one great bull of a post a month, or intermittent depending on creator patterns. My first thought is weekly, but... :
Other Content: Like I said, I'd like this to be more than just words I splatter all over the internet. Hearthstead was birthed as a stick figure comic in a notebook with a healthy dose of legos and roleplaying, so I want the full-on commencement of Hearthstead storytelling to be similarly multidisciplinary. I am unfortunately not a polymath so I'll likely be looking to bring in others to help fill in whatever content it is we'll be doing. At the very least there'll be pictures, and at the very least my cousin Nate, whose brainchild Hearthstead is as much as it is mine, will be participating, be it with visual art, mix tracks, or as a sounding board to make sure I'm bringing 100% Hearthstead with every post. I know that visual artwork is often as time-consuming and labor-intensive as writing (I'm sure many artists would consider writing lazy by comparison), so I'd be remiss if I declared a definite density of artwork-to-written-post without a certainty of how all that's working.
All that stuff hanging in the firmament aside, I'm posting this blog for one primary reason: because I really want to do this, and I want everyone to know that I'm dead-set on giving it its fair shot. This isn't a half-baked novella I push for a week and leave behind. I have plans for at least four "seasons" of this thing, and that's gonna take tremendous time and effort and hopefully be a boatload of fun. Hope you're along for the ride.
I'll leave you with this little teaser. The working title I have for this project, or at least its first phase? Forging the Shade.
Peace.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Swords and Symbolism
You wanna talk about swords? I wanna talk about swords.
So I have this tendency when I'm trying to focus on a task to picture a figure drawing a sword. Picture isn't the best word, since it's often accompanied by an imagined rasp of steel. Now admittedly there's probably a more sound/disturbing psychological explanation for this association that I've made since my childhood, but pondering the oddity myself I find the most interesting reason is because to me swords are symbols of agency.
Now let's define what I mean by agency, since it's kind of a meaning-loaded word. An agent, in semantic terms, is the person who performs the primary action in a statement. In "He pushed the woman out the window," "He" is the agent. So in story and philosophy terms someone with agency has acting power in a situation. What this comes down to in discussions of agency is "who makes and executes meaningful or impact choices?"
Agency is one of the prime values of contemporary Western culture. Its dearth is what makes so many of us disgruntled about our dead end jobs (or lack thereof) and the pursuit of it is much of the good that motivates most movements of civil rights and social justice. I won't get into the wormcan I just shook there, but I wanted to note: agency, independence, self-fulfillment, all these are valued pretty highly by our society.
So why would a sword symbolize agency, the power to act? I'd say it's because a sword is a tool, and by our very nature humans use tools as an extension of themselves. There are many more tools that people use that can stand as symbols of our agency, but the sword is iconic.
As a weapon, a tool for harming and killing other living creatures, the sword is simple and effective. It has a long cutting edge that can sever the bonds between sinews and sometimes bone. This martial association changes the tone of the symbol the sword represents. It's not just a tool for mundane agency. This is a war-tool, and that means the will behind the weapon is serious.
But this whole culture grew up around the sword, and I would wager what most people think of when dwelling on swords is swordfights. Now the stereotypical swordfight, the ones from legends and myths, aren't one-stroke encounters so much as full-on dances where the climax of the performance is the fatal injury of one of the combatants. It all stems around a game of skill, defending yourself while creating and exploiting openings in your opponent's assault.
I'd assume that this style of confrontation evolved from the more brutal initial displays, but I think there's a strong parallel extant here. The duel is a commonly recognized analog of the content of two wills, two minds, two forces, two agents with opposing lines of action. Of course the same is true of wrestling, any many other contests, but the sword's popularity today stems from the idea of it at the heart of that contest of will. And I think, then, that a sword has come by association to stand for a person's manifested agency.
That would explain why the appeal of the magic sword is so strong for many. It's a visual manifestation of powerful agency, and the thought of gaining enough agency to overcome the obstacles in your life is very, very appealing. Or at least it is for me.
I suppose you might be wondering why any of this speculation matters. For me it's a relief to have an explanation for myself why I might be so fixated on an outdated piece of weaponry. But if swords have this sort of symbolic weight in more pysches than my own, then it might also explain part of why swords figure so largely in escapist fantasy, and what the source of the cool factor is for putting swords in the hands of futuristic warriors.
I've been picking at this post on and off for weeks now. I think I'll just post it.
By the way, I've been chewing on advice offered by a friend, and it's possible I might start a new blog that dwells primarily on fantasy (as opposed to largely personal musings) and even submit a novel chapter-by-chapter.
I'll keep you posted, by which I mean I won't blog here again for like three months.
Friday, August 16, 2013
Coolness.
Here's my apology.
And here's what I have to say this week.
I've been thinking about a specific concept that humans have. It comes in many shades depending on the culture involved, but it's always esoteric. As the title of this post suggests it's "cool," or "awesome," a bevy of hippie slang, "badass," etc.
My first thought is that this is an aesthetic cultural concept, and that this is why it's hard to pin down or even translate it from person to person. But I think the specific kind of aesthetic it belongs to is the category shared by both glory and beauty. It shares traits with both of these, because it is heavily died to appearances as beauty is, but is also associated with a specific way of being as glory is.
So how is "coolness" like beauty? Both are aesthetic traits to which people aspire on a level that can approach or cross the threshold of madness. People get surgery to "fix" their face in hopes of becoming more beautiful, and some people tattoo and pierce themselves in accordance with a more "badass" aesthetic. Both of these traits are considered attractive, and both can elicit jealousy and even malice because of their social value. Anyone regardless of gender or race can be "cool," but I will say in my own experience coolness is a trait males want to embody and beauty is one females are encouraged to reflect.
There's also a connection to efficiency in movement, be it called grace or brutally mechanistic. This of course isn't the sum of beauty or "cool," but rather one shape the concept takes. When we watch a dancer, or a warrior wading through battle, we thrill in the spectacle of a work well-executed. And speaking of thrill and spectacle, it's time to talk about glory!
Glory is defined in the dictionary as "very high praise" or "honor," which is pretty close to my own sense of the word as it is understood today. Its Latin origin is the source of its sense of "magnificence," splendor, and a whole load of other words tied to the idea of good, bright things. One of the senses is tied directly to a specific glory or honor you win in battle, and demonstrates a descent into evil through resplendence. What I mean is nationalism and similar movements glorify destroying the enemy in battle. This can be tied to the spectacle of the thing, and even the beauty of movement, but often enough it can be divorced from everything but the demonstration of power that is victory.
I feel safe assuming you know of the philosophical iconoclasm that occurred in the twentieth century. We fought wars that pulled unprecedented number of combatants into Hell. People decided Nietzche was right about God being dead. I think something happened to the way we look at glory and beauty in this culture after that. Glory--with its old ties to religion--and the innocence of beauty both seemed to be lies. We started looking for new aesthetics that didn't attend to the moral spectrum.
We said, "This and this look good, even with the grit and debauchery. Because of the grit and debauchery."
That is where I think "cool" came from. Not the word itself, but the idea. I also don't think this was a movement. People didn't sit down and say, "Beauty and glory are dead, and badass is born." It was a shift in focus.
Now I'm hardly a historian of any calibre and I've got no training in sociology or whatever, this is just the synthesis of my logic and stuff I picked up during my education. But it makes sense to me.
The question now I guess is why does it matter? I don't suppose it does to most people, but I like to wrestle with ideas that trouble me, and this is one that does just that.
That's it from me for now. See you next week, possibly not on Monday because I might be visiting dear friends for much of that day. We'll see!
And here's what I have to say this week.
I've been thinking about a specific concept that humans have. It comes in many shades depending on the culture involved, but it's always esoteric. As the title of this post suggests it's "cool," or "awesome," a bevy of hippie slang, "badass," etc.
My first thought is that this is an aesthetic cultural concept, and that this is why it's hard to pin down or even translate it from person to person. But I think the specific kind of aesthetic it belongs to is the category shared by both glory and beauty. It shares traits with both of these, because it is heavily died to appearances as beauty is, but is also associated with a specific way of being as glory is.
So how is "coolness" like beauty? Both are aesthetic traits to which people aspire on a level that can approach or cross the threshold of madness. People get surgery to "fix" their face in hopes of becoming more beautiful, and some people tattoo and pierce themselves in accordance with a more "badass" aesthetic. Both of these traits are considered attractive, and both can elicit jealousy and even malice because of their social value. Anyone regardless of gender or race can be "cool," but I will say in my own experience coolness is a trait males want to embody and beauty is one females are encouraged to reflect.
There's also a connection to efficiency in movement, be it called grace or brutally mechanistic. This of course isn't the sum of beauty or "cool," but rather one shape the concept takes. When we watch a dancer, or a warrior wading through battle, we thrill in the spectacle of a work well-executed. And speaking of thrill and spectacle, it's time to talk about glory!
Glory is defined in the dictionary as "very high praise" or "honor," which is pretty close to my own sense of the word as it is understood today. Its Latin origin is the source of its sense of "magnificence," splendor, and a whole load of other words tied to the idea of good, bright things. One of the senses is tied directly to a specific glory or honor you win in battle, and demonstrates a descent into evil through resplendence. What I mean is nationalism and similar movements glorify destroying the enemy in battle. This can be tied to the spectacle of the thing, and even the beauty of movement, but often enough it can be divorced from everything but the demonstration of power that is victory.
I feel safe assuming you know of the philosophical iconoclasm that occurred in the twentieth century. We fought wars that pulled unprecedented number of combatants into Hell. People decided Nietzche was right about God being dead. I think something happened to the way we look at glory and beauty in this culture after that. Glory--with its old ties to religion--and the innocence of beauty both seemed to be lies. We started looking for new aesthetics that didn't attend to the moral spectrum.
We said, "This and this look good, even with the grit and debauchery. Because of the grit and debauchery."
That is where I think "cool" came from. Not the word itself, but the idea. I also don't think this was a movement. People didn't sit down and say, "Beauty and glory are dead, and badass is born." It was a shift in focus.
Now I'm hardly a historian of any calibre and I've got no training in sociology or whatever, this is just the synthesis of my logic and stuff I picked up during my education. But it makes sense to me.
The question now I guess is why does it matter? I don't suppose it does to most people, but I like to wrestle with ideas that trouble me, and this is one that does just that.
That's it from me for now. See you next week, possibly not on Monday because I might be visiting dear friends for much of that day. We'll see!
Monday, August 5, 2013
Long Form
Preemptive warning: this blog post is basically just me thinking into a word processor. By the time I post this my wife will be away at camp meeting. I handle the distance better than she does. Still it means I won't have her here to help me wrestle my demons.
As I have come to believe is typical for most writers of my pedigree (that is folks who grew up doing it and have trouble imagining doing anything else with their lives) I have a bounty of old unfinished projects, many of wish I probably erroneously considering still to be "in progress." I may have mentioned a few of them on this blog in the past. Certainly Talks Ke looms large both in word count and personal mythology.
I have also mentioned that I have quite a few projects heaped on my plate. It is enough to make me wonder if I give myself these projects just to feel like I'm doing something with my life.
Then I remember these are stories I want to tell. They capture my mind and I want to share them. Ideally, I want the natural outpouring of my writing to support me. I'm even willing to work hard at it.
One of troubles with having novel or series-length projects is that, while I want to share the stories, it takes a tremendous amount of time and effort to devote to their telling, not to mention the hard part: going public. Book signings. Elbow rubbing. And that's after convincing someone to pick you up.
It seems to me that I also face the inverse problem with my Writing Circle. In terms of time and effort the pieces we generate have minimal requirements, but I have virtually no passion for the material and frankly that shows in every soulless piece I put out week to week. I'm good at writing short stories. Not great. Just good. But that's only when I care about what I am writing. All too often I slog through because it's ostensibly improving my writing. I am still uncomfortable with the short story structure. I can't get pacing right and I prioritize the wrong techniques. Many weeks I rush through the writing to get to projects I give a hoot about.
These projects apparently include complaining on this blog, which is easier than tying my shoes.
For these reasons I am probably going to cut this blog short to make time for other things. Like short stories and poetry. But at least you know where my head's at, should you care about such things.
I'm still working on song reviews. They haven't gone a way. See you next week.
As I have come to believe is typical for most writers of my pedigree (that is folks who grew up doing it and have trouble imagining doing anything else with their lives) I have a bounty of old unfinished projects, many of wish I probably erroneously considering still to be "in progress." I may have mentioned a few of them on this blog in the past. Certainly Talks Ke looms large both in word count and personal mythology.
I have also mentioned that I have quite a few projects heaped on my plate. It is enough to make me wonder if I give myself these projects just to feel like I'm doing something with my life.
Then I remember these are stories I want to tell. They capture my mind and I want to share them. Ideally, I want the natural outpouring of my writing to support me. I'm even willing to work hard at it.
One of troubles with having novel or series-length projects is that, while I want to share the stories, it takes a tremendous amount of time and effort to devote to their telling, not to mention the hard part: going public. Book signings. Elbow rubbing. And that's after convincing someone to pick you up.
It seems to me that I also face the inverse problem with my Writing Circle. In terms of time and effort the pieces we generate have minimal requirements, but I have virtually no passion for the material and frankly that shows in every soulless piece I put out week to week. I'm good at writing short stories. Not great. Just good. But that's only when I care about what I am writing. All too often I slog through because it's ostensibly improving my writing. I am still uncomfortable with the short story structure. I can't get pacing right and I prioritize the wrong techniques. Many weeks I rush through the writing to get to projects I give a hoot about.
These projects apparently include complaining on this blog, which is easier than tying my shoes.
For these reasons I am probably going to cut this blog short to make time for other things. Like short stories and poetry. But at least you know where my head's at, should you care about such things.
I'm still working on song reviews. They haven't gone a way. See you next week.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Die Alone -- Girls and Boys Review
Some time ago, while I was still posting almost daily on this blog, my cousin recommended an album for me to review (and analyze) as I had Forget and Not Slow Down. It was Girls and Boys by Ingrid Michaelson. Around that time I sat down and transcribed the lyrics to most of the songs on the album as I heard them. Then I sat on the lyrics, at first waiting for a time that I could listen to them and analyze the lyrics and music to get at the meaning and, less importantly, let you know if the songs are any good.
I can tell you most of the songs are pretty good in my book, if that helps.
Time passed, and distance made the heart grow more apathetic. I stopped blogging on here for what, four months? I've been sitting on a lot of drafts and not taking the time to dig into them, but now I'm getting to them because I'll be remiss if I let myself have a backlog when I'm supposed to have all this time on my hands. So pretty soon I'll be rolling out my song reviews for Girls and Boys and weighing in on the album as a whole. This may be my Monday posts for few months, or I might schedule them more sporadically. We'll find out when it happens, won't we?
Another note I wanted to make before I launched into this was that I loved on Forget and Not Slow Down hard last year, and Relient K's latest outing Collapsible Lung disappointed me so much that I cannot listen to older RK and feel the same way as I did. There might be a blog post, even a review of the new album, at some point. In fact, there's enough music for me to open up another day just for music talk.
Hit me up with your opinions about that. Any feeback is nope can't say it.
Let's get started.
I can tell you most of the songs are pretty good in my book, if that helps.
Time passed, and distance made the heart grow more apathetic. I stopped blogging on here for what, four months? I've been sitting on a lot of drafts and not taking the time to dig into them, but now I'm getting to them because I'll be remiss if I let myself have a backlog when I'm supposed to have all this time on my hands. So pretty soon I'll be rolling out my song reviews for Girls and Boys and weighing in on the album as a whole. This may be my Monday posts for few months, or I might schedule them more sporadically. We'll find out when it happens, won't we?
Another note I wanted to make before I launched into this was that I loved on Forget and Not Slow Down hard last year, and Relient K's latest outing Collapsible Lung disappointed me so much that I cannot listen to older RK and feel the same way as I did. There might be a blog post, even a review of the new album, at some point. In fact, there's enough music for me to open up another day just for music talk.
Hit me up with your opinions about that. Any feeback is nope can't say it.
Let's get started.
Die Alone
(Ingrid Michaelson)
I woke up this morning
A funny taste in my head
Spackled some butter
over my whole-grain bread
Something tastes different
maybe it’s my tongue
something tastes different
suddenly I’m not so young
I’m just a stranger
Even to myself
A rearranger
of the proverbial bookshelf
Don’t be a fool girl
Tell him you love him
Don’t be a fool girl
You're not above him
I never thought I could love
anyone but myself
now I know I can't love
Anyone but you
but you make me think that maybe I won't die alone
Maybe I won't die alone
Kiss the boys as they walk by
Call me their baby
But little do they know
I'm just a maybe
Maybe my baby will be the one to leave me sore
Maybe my baby will settle the score
I never thought I could love
anyone but myself
now I know I can't love
anyone but you
but you make me think that maybe I won't die alone
Maybe I won't die alone
What have I become?
Something soft
and really quite dumb
'cause I've fallen
'cause I've fa—fallen
'cause I've fall—fall—fallen
so far away from the
place where I started from
I never thought I could love anyone
I never thought I could love anyone
I never thought I could love anyone
but you but you but you
(I never thought I could love anyone)
but you make me think that maybe I won't die alone
Maybe I won't die alone
---
First off, the beginning of this song is mighty tasty. I don't know what the style for the guitar is called. Blues came to my mind. Maybe it's more R&B? Or maybe I'm totally off. The play is three eighth notes on guitar before a snare hit on the beat. The distortion is used sparingly. This ain't a rock album, folks, not that rock is the only thing using distortion these days. The album's genre is listed as "pop-folk." I don't even. I can't wrap my head around today's classifications.
I'm noticing a lot of what sound like hand drums on this album, which is something I like. In this song they take a back seat to the electric guitar and drum kit, but that's fine.
Like I was saying, this song is tasty for the ears. The majority of the song is tonally minor, which suits my sensibilities. Michaelson's delivery blends just the right sweetness and edge to sell the lyrics. Okay, that's enough music talk for now. Lyrics time.
The first verse's lyrics are as tasty as the music, honestly. Our speaker wakes up (the opening line to the album, by the way) with "a funny taste in" her "head." That unusual sense pairing sets the tone for the song. A little tongue in cheek. A little off-kilter. As I mentioned parenthetically a moment ago, this opening stanza also colors the whole album experience (if you're listening sequentially like a good little consumer). The lines about "spackling" (an uncommon verb) butter onto "whole-grain bread" further characterize the speaker's predicament as something that takes place in the mundane world. There's still breakfast to make (and healthy choices to make about it). I think this emphasizes the intrusions of the speaker's sudden strange affliction. The next stanza says it plainly, albeit still strangely. "Something tastes different," Michaelson says. It could be her tongue, but the last line of that thought throws the whole concept of food out the window. She's abruptly "not so young."
A musical interlude breaks up the first two stanzas from the third, in which Michaelson says she's a "stranger/ even to" herself. She calls herself a "rearranger" of "proverbial bookshel[ves]." This is a person who doesn't know who she is, and this seems to unnerve her. This has all been back drop for the subject of the song, which starts in the next stanza.
The speaker addresses herself, goading her to man up and tell her love interest her feelings. The presence of this stanza amidst the rest of the monologue, as well as the melodic line it inhabits, creates the impression to me that the command comes from another part of Michaelson's psyche, probably one a little deeper and less burdened by the uncertainty Michaelson has been describing.
We then come to chorus, where Michaelson speaks directly to her love. What the chorus says is that the speaker never expected to love another, but that to her surprise she finds she can only love her man (sort of a cliché thing to say), and that this leads her to hope she won't "die alone." It should be noted that outside the chorus Michaelson doesn't appear to be speaking to him (see the line "maybe my baby... after the first chorus"). This contributes to the sort of disjointing that the song dwells in. It is also significant because the song dwells on Michaelson and her mental and emotional state, without describing the object of her love in any detail. All mention of him is filtered through a focus on Michaelson.
This could be taken as a sign of selfishness, but that the chorus departs from this by addressing Michaelson's love directly, and is seen as a sign of hope, takes that superficial reading and turns it towards a deeper meaning. That this lover could mean a significant departure from Michaelson's present state. Like a new taste. Like getting older.
But hope is not grasped once glimpsed. After the first chorus we get this stanza, where Michaelson calls herself a "maybe," drifting through relationships, unless her "baby" can do something about it. What is startling is what Michaelson suggests her baby might do. "Leave" her "sore." "Settle the score." This implies there may be some guilt behind Michaelson's descriptions of her malaise of uncertainty, echoing the omen of "suddenly I'm not so young," which is a pretty tightly written way to refer to loss of innocence as it's often depicted. I'm just reading into lyrics here, trying to fit pieces, so that could be bunk. But it seems to me the speaker in this song wants to change but needs help as hard as it is to admit, and even though it will probably hurt (soreness).
After the stanza (which is structured differently from the first verse) is another instance of the chorus, then the bridge which follows the thoughts established previously. Michaelson is astonished at what she's become, but what is that? "Something soft/ and really quite dumb." We get another layer, and part of the reason this song is tonally minor. I think Michaelson is not someone who wants to need a man. I think that idea rankles her, but that regardless she feels what she feels, as the chorus indicates. I don't think that's all of it, as I suggested when I was talking about the second verse. But if, desiring to be strong and smart (rather than soft and dumb), you've closed yourself off (which is rather hard and sharp), then the process of opening yourself up again is going to be both painful and difficult. This would also explain why Michaelson says she's "fallen so from the place that [she] started from." You don't aim to protect yourself so that you can turn out cruel. And we all ostensibly start from somewhere at least partly innocent.
And we end with the chorus. I failed to mention earlier that the chorus is tonally major, at least to an extent, which also separates it from the rest of the song. We end with hope, even if the hope is that Michaelson "won't die alone." Those last words are delivered just as the music ends, and the last note is dark.
Now, I have to say that all of this context I've been reading in this song has an extra layer from Michaelson's deliver, that much of this is a little tongue-in-cheek. At least, there might be a bit of satire in this, that it's not as serious as all that (or is it?). You don't ever get the sense Michaelson's moping in her room, struggling with depression. It's not that kind of minor tonality.
My verdict on the song is that its good. It's fun. I don't think it's a masterpiece, but it does provoke some thought, and like I said to start with, it's tasty to listen to. I've gone on quite long enough. Now to get to work on the other reviews.
First off, the beginning of this song is mighty tasty. I don't know what the style for the guitar is called. Blues came to my mind. Maybe it's more R&B? Or maybe I'm totally off. The play is three eighth notes on guitar before a snare hit on the beat. The distortion is used sparingly. This ain't a rock album, folks, not that rock is the only thing using distortion these days. The album's genre is listed as "pop-folk." I don't even. I can't wrap my head around today's classifications.
I'm noticing a lot of what sound like hand drums on this album, which is something I like. In this song they take a back seat to the electric guitar and drum kit, but that's fine.
Like I was saying, this song is tasty for the ears. The majority of the song is tonally minor, which suits my sensibilities. Michaelson's delivery blends just the right sweetness and edge to sell the lyrics. Okay, that's enough music talk for now. Lyrics time.
The first verse's lyrics are as tasty as the music, honestly. Our speaker wakes up (the opening line to the album, by the way) with "a funny taste in" her "head." That unusual sense pairing sets the tone for the song. A little tongue in cheek. A little off-kilter. As I mentioned parenthetically a moment ago, this opening stanza also colors the whole album experience (if you're listening sequentially like a good little consumer). The lines about "spackling" (an uncommon verb) butter onto "whole-grain bread" further characterize the speaker's predicament as something that takes place in the mundane world. There's still breakfast to make (and healthy choices to make about it). I think this emphasizes the intrusions of the speaker's sudden strange affliction. The next stanza says it plainly, albeit still strangely. "Something tastes different," Michaelson says. It could be her tongue, but the last line of that thought throws the whole concept of food out the window. She's abruptly "not so young."
A musical interlude breaks up the first two stanzas from the third, in which Michaelson says she's a "stranger/ even to" herself. She calls herself a "rearranger" of "proverbial bookshel[ves]." This is a person who doesn't know who she is, and this seems to unnerve her. This has all been back drop for the subject of the song, which starts in the next stanza.
The speaker addresses herself, goading her to man up and tell her love interest her feelings. The presence of this stanza amidst the rest of the monologue, as well as the melodic line it inhabits, creates the impression to me that the command comes from another part of Michaelson's psyche, probably one a little deeper and less burdened by the uncertainty Michaelson has been describing.
We then come to chorus, where Michaelson speaks directly to her love. What the chorus says is that the speaker never expected to love another, but that to her surprise she finds she can only love her man (sort of a cliché thing to say), and that this leads her to hope she won't "die alone." It should be noted that outside the chorus Michaelson doesn't appear to be speaking to him (see the line "maybe my baby... after the first chorus"). This contributes to the sort of disjointing that the song dwells in. It is also significant because the song dwells on Michaelson and her mental and emotional state, without describing the object of her love in any detail. All mention of him is filtered through a focus on Michaelson.
This could be taken as a sign of selfishness, but that the chorus departs from this by addressing Michaelson's love directly, and is seen as a sign of hope, takes that superficial reading and turns it towards a deeper meaning. That this lover could mean a significant departure from Michaelson's present state. Like a new taste. Like getting older.
But hope is not grasped once glimpsed. After the first chorus we get this stanza, where Michaelson calls herself a "maybe," drifting through relationships, unless her "baby" can do something about it. What is startling is what Michaelson suggests her baby might do. "Leave" her "sore." "Settle the score." This implies there may be some guilt behind Michaelson's descriptions of her malaise of uncertainty, echoing the omen of "suddenly I'm not so young," which is a pretty tightly written way to refer to loss of innocence as it's often depicted. I'm just reading into lyrics here, trying to fit pieces, so that could be bunk. But it seems to me the speaker in this song wants to change but needs help as hard as it is to admit, and even though it will probably hurt (soreness).
After the stanza (which is structured differently from the first verse) is another instance of the chorus, then the bridge which follows the thoughts established previously. Michaelson is astonished at what she's become, but what is that? "Something soft/ and really quite dumb." We get another layer, and part of the reason this song is tonally minor. I think Michaelson is not someone who wants to need a man. I think that idea rankles her, but that regardless she feels what she feels, as the chorus indicates. I don't think that's all of it, as I suggested when I was talking about the second verse. But if, desiring to be strong and smart (rather than soft and dumb), you've closed yourself off (which is rather hard and sharp), then the process of opening yourself up again is going to be both painful and difficult. This would also explain why Michaelson says she's "fallen so from the place that [she] started from." You don't aim to protect yourself so that you can turn out cruel. And we all ostensibly start from somewhere at least partly innocent.
And we end with the chorus. I failed to mention earlier that the chorus is tonally major, at least to an extent, which also separates it from the rest of the song. We end with hope, even if the hope is that Michaelson "won't die alone." Those last words are delivered just as the music ends, and the last note is dark.
Now, I have to say that all of this context I've been reading in this song has an extra layer from Michaelson's deliver, that much of this is a little tongue-in-cheek. At least, there might be a bit of satire in this, that it's not as serious as all that (or is it?). You don't ever get the sense Michaelson's moping in her room, struggling with depression. It's not that kind of minor tonality.
My verdict on the song is that its good. It's fun. I don't think it's a masterpiece, but it does provoke some thought, and like I said to start with, it's tasty to listen to. I've gone on quite long enough. Now to get to work on the other reviews.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Thought Lives Are Weird
So lately my brain had been confused about whether I am considering becoming an atheist. I say this because in the last few weeks I have found myself debating the points in my head why it would be a bad idea for everyone else were I to make that decision, without an easily discernible source.
You see, I am quite happy believing in my all-powerful, all-good, loving Creator who saved me by dying as a man and coming back to life. I am convinced that everything good in my life has come from Him, that all my problems are a result of the sins of humanity (primarily my own), and that He is the solution.
Yet I find myself thinking about nihilism. I think about what the world would seem to me if God did not exist, and basically it all looks like ashes to me without Him.
Now, I am going through a real crisis of sorts, trying to find my feet in a flood of friends and peers throwing their support behind homosexuality (and the topic of marriage especially). A year ago I knew what to think, but what complicates it is first, the number of people, including close friends, who are altering or tweaking their stance, and second, the compelling arguments made by such folks.
But I don't really believe that either stance on homosexuality is going to keep someone from heaven. Its just that I am beginning to feel singled out and I don't know if I should welcome it or reevaluate my own convictions more fully than these checks my system keeps seeming to run without me. Either way this isn't making me doubt the existence of God.
If anything, that would be my friends. I have one or two friends who are wrestling and angry with my Loving Savior, and perhaps my mind is trying to place itself in their shoes to try and understand where they're coming from. The problem is for me the existence of God is axiomatic, that is, so intrinsic to my understanding of the universe that without Him nothing means anything. I have a line of reasoning to back this up, rooted in philosophy, and maybe there'll be a blog post on that.
But when I'm thinking about these things I am not intentionally trying to put myself in another's shoes. I seem to be deciding on that subconsciously and skipping to the part where I have strong emotional responses to trying to imagine a universe without its source of meaning. It's not even helpful for these friends because my response sort of devolves into "disbelieving God is stupid for reasons I find hard to articulate because I emotions and there are a lot of reasons."
Couple this with my general dissatisfaction with grunt working life, the pittance of writing I am doing, finances, and sundry, and you have another part of my brain observing the part that's having emotional reactions and asking the general overseer if I'm okay. To which I respond:
"Nope, not really."
At least I don't ask myself if I want to talk about it. Instead I start composing a blog post in my head.
Or in this case actually writing one.
This has been a peek at my brain. Sorry if it scarred you. And don't worry about me, I'm as okay ever.
You see, I am quite happy believing in my all-powerful, all-good, loving Creator who saved me by dying as a man and coming back to life. I am convinced that everything good in my life has come from Him, that all my problems are a result of the sins of humanity (primarily my own), and that He is the solution.
Yet I find myself thinking about nihilism. I think about what the world would seem to me if God did not exist, and basically it all looks like ashes to me without Him.
Now, I am going through a real crisis of sorts, trying to find my feet in a flood of friends and peers throwing their support behind homosexuality (and the topic of marriage especially). A year ago I knew what to think, but what complicates it is first, the number of people, including close friends, who are altering or tweaking their stance, and second, the compelling arguments made by such folks.
But I don't really believe that either stance on homosexuality is going to keep someone from heaven. Its just that I am beginning to feel singled out and I don't know if I should welcome it or reevaluate my own convictions more fully than these checks my system keeps seeming to run without me. Either way this isn't making me doubt the existence of God.
If anything, that would be my friends. I have one or two friends who are wrestling and angry with my Loving Savior, and perhaps my mind is trying to place itself in their shoes to try and understand where they're coming from. The problem is for me the existence of God is axiomatic, that is, so intrinsic to my understanding of the universe that without Him nothing means anything. I have a line of reasoning to back this up, rooted in philosophy, and maybe there'll be a blog post on that.
But when I'm thinking about these things I am not intentionally trying to put myself in another's shoes. I seem to be deciding on that subconsciously and skipping to the part where I have strong emotional responses to trying to imagine a universe without its source of meaning. It's not even helpful for these friends because my response sort of devolves into "disbelieving God is stupid for reasons I find hard to articulate because I emotions and there are a lot of reasons."
Couple this with my general dissatisfaction with grunt working life, the pittance of writing I am doing, finances, and sundry, and you have another part of my brain observing the part that's having emotional reactions and asking the general overseer if I'm okay. To which I respond:
"Nope, not really."
At least I don't ask myself if I want to talk about it. Instead I start composing a blog post in my head.
Or in this case actually writing one.
This has been a peek at my brain. Sorry if it scarred you. And don't worry about me, I'm as okay ever.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Skyrim
I spent the bulk of this Monday slaughtering bandits, discovering new magic, and resurrecting my housecarl from the dead using eldritch commands against the universe.
Yeah, I got Skyrim because it was on sale and. Well you van do all that stuff. It is no longer Monday, so I shall do what I said I would. However, I did post a video of me apologizing as per parameters, but not on my blog. It's still just on YouTube as of yet. I plan to fix that, probably around the time I craft another silly couplet to sorry you with.
Skyrim as a game captures my attention primarily by the form of its progression. You go anywhere (within Skyrim) at a pace set by you, and you choose how to deal with the situations as they arise.
Shortly after the game was released (at nearly two years old, this game is practically a dinosaur) I watched a video of someone playing a pacifist khajiit. He used mostly illusion spells to dissuade things that wanted to kill him. I've discovered first hand that the calm spell is remarkably effective at convincing even raging spriggan that you're nothing to be bothered about. It is humorous to hear a calmed bandit complain gently about being magicked, too.
I hear often that the main story of Skyrim is rather lackluster. I can't defend or attack the stance, because the majority of my 70 odd hours of Skyrim have been repeatedly starting New characters on friends' copies of the game. Now that I am playing my own game, I find myself struggling to reach High Hrothgar between distracting forts full of bandits, flooded out prisons haunted by ghosts, and caves crawling with falmer and black spitting death beetles.
Not that Ragh, my high-elf who fights with orcish weapons and any spell whose tome he can flip through, feels very strongly compelled to heed the summons of a bunch of old nord guys on top of a mountain. Sure, there was the weird thing with the dragon, but I'm not sure he much cares.
That's another draw in the format of Elder Scrolls games. You always start as a prisoner, and there could be any number of reasons you decide for this. Or you could not care.
But that pacifist khajiit? Probably picked up for theft in a case of racial profiling. My high-elf? I think he was thrown in chains by the Thalmor because he killed a few too many people.
Then there's the lore. After what twenty years? There's enough of it there that the writers hardly have to try. I think they do though. The series is old enough they don't have to justify having elves in their games, which I think is either starting to be a thing or will be soon.
Speaking of elves, I would like to stop and note out elf tropes are subverted in these games. The Thalmor are imperialist pigs. Wood elves are cannibals. And honestly these guys aren't pretty. They're strange looking. The faces are stretched. The eyes are too big and too oddly shaped. And with the game advances that have been made I daresay it's not just bad graphics anymore. Elves are sort of subtly hideous by design, I think. I know few people play high elves. With their arrogance it's easier to develop racist thoughts against their golden skin, impossibly high foreheads, and magical prowess. No one wants to be that. They'd rather be social pariah oddballs like the cat-like khajiit.
Can wr also talk about how orcs and dwarves are, by their high names, implicitly forms of elf? Like the falmer are? That's a lot of elf variation.
That's not getting into the daedra and their realms, the vascillations in the pantheon, or any number of tiny things that fill in the lore. It's a rich world, and for the most part Bethesda just lets you run around wrecking it.
I don't think I need to tell you anything else to demonstrate why these games are so widely appealing despite their many flaws. For myself, I think the game is almost improved by failures on the part of the creators when they open the game to modifications that include virtually anything people can imagine.
Because it gets you thinking "this could have been better. I could have done this better.
"I will do this better.
"Once I finish this quest."
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Heroic Apology and Virol vs Doctor part 2
Well this post is at some point going to contain an embedding of the video I have on my phone but can't figure out how to post from mobile. So while I'm waiting on that I figure I'll do that other thing I said I would do.
First, a text version of the apology:
It came out late and wasn't even done
My next apology should use a pun
Edit: here's the video
Now. When I left off Virol and the Doctor were both established as being very old and very clever. Smart fogeys. They also both happen to appear young. Or at least not nearly as old as they really are.
This could look bad, but there are several reasons no one is going to make a stink about it.
The first reason is that it is highly unlikely than Virol will ever be a character known to more than one hundred people and so there will be no exposure. The second, tiny reason is that I came up with him long before I had ever encountered Doctor Who.
That second ties into the third reason, which is the one I'm aiming this week's blog for. Most people are aware that two people can think of one creative idea separately and without influencing each other. It's a fairly common occurrence as coincidences go. This is because of archetypes, symbols embedded in our cultural makeup. The Doctor is himself made up of a few archetypes sort of spliced together.
One of these is the wise elder. There's a reason that one exists. Old people have seen more than you have, and it's good stuff to know about (not always pleasant mind you). There are some characters that take this archetype straighter than Virol or the Doctor. Gandalf and Merlin are prime examples. These elders are both wise and powerful, and just a little eccentric.
What the Doctor adds to this is the old-as-dirt pipe dream of eternal youth. Of course in his early incarnations he appeared as an old man, but in this day and age he's young and active. There's also a bit of rebirth thematics to it since he gets a new face every time he regenerates from death/near-death. These are key features of his character but don't get quite as much play as the central tenets (almost wrote Tennants there) I introduced him with.
Virol also plays into the ideas of the wise elder and eternal. Like the Doctor, he also has a jocular facade covering a much darker center. However, Virol never changes his face, and he has to live in cycles of youth and decrepit old age, prolonged over centuries.
It might also be good to note that Virol, like the Doctor, is close to the last of his kind. The difference there is he knows there are more out there somewhere, where the Doctor believes there are none. It is also pretty explicitly not much of a hang-up for Virol. He has lived most of his millennium-long life in this state. The Doctor, in the New series, recently cam into his bereavement. He hides it well considering, but you know.
One of the larger differences between the characters is that the Doctor is from science fiction, and Virol is entrenched deeply in fantasy. He's closer to a snarky well-dressed Merlin than to the Doctor.
The other important difference is that Virol is no time traveler. His power doesn't come from a space ship. It's just him for the most part. And the stuff he knows.
At this point it's pretty easy to see how different the characters are, but without the full context it looks a little sketch. But maybe it shouldn't. The Eternally Young but Ancient Wiseguy serves a certain purpose. The idea fascinates people. Of course the Doctor is the more well known and better executed, but I made Virol because I thought it would be interesting to see him interact with the rest of the world my cousin and I created.
I think that's enough for now. Talk to you on Monday with something else.
First, a text version of the apology:
It came out late and wasn't even done
My next apology should use a pun
Edit: here's the video
Now. When I left off Virol and the Doctor were both established as being very old and very clever. Smart fogeys. They also both happen to appear young. Or at least not nearly as old as they really are.
This could look bad, but there are several reasons no one is going to make a stink about it.
The first reason is that it is highly unlikely than Virol will ever be a character known to more than one hundred people and so there will be no exposure. The second, tiny reason is that I came up with him long before I had ever encountered Doctor Who.
That second ties into the third reason, which is the one I'm aiming this week's blog for. Most people are aware that two people can think of one creative idea separately and without influencing each other. It's a fairly common occurrence as coincidences go. This is because of archetypes, symbols embedded in our cultural makeup. The Doctor is himself made up of a few archetypes sort of spliced together.
One of these is the wise elder. There's a reason that one exists. Old people have seen more than you have, and it's good stuff to know about (not always pleasant mind you). There are some characters that take this archetype straighter than Virol or the Doctor. Gandalf and Merlin are prime examples. These elders are both wise and powerful, and just a little eccentric.
What the Doctor adds to this is the old-as-dirt pipe dream of eternal youth. Of course in his early incarnations he appeared as an old man, but in this day and age he's young and active. There's also a bit of rebirth thematics to it since he gets a new face every time he regenerates from death/near-death. These are key features of his character but don't get quite as much play as the central tenets (almost wrote Tennants there) I introduced him with.
Virol also plays into the ideas of the wise elder and eternal. Like the Doctor, he also has a jocular facade covering a much darker center. However, Virol never changes his face, and he has to live in cycles of youth and decrepit old age, prolonged over centuries.
It might also be good to note that Virol, like the Doctor, is close to the last of his kind. The difference there is he knows there are more out there somewhere, where the Doctor believes there are none. It is also pretty explicitly not much of a hang-up for Virol. He has lived most of his millennium-long life in this state. The Doctor, in the New series, recently cam into his bereavement. He hides it well considering, but you know.
One of the larger differences between the characters is that the Doctor is from science fiction, and Virol is entrenched deeply in fantasy. He's closer to a snarky well-dressed Merlin than to the Doctor.
The other important difference is that Virol is no time traveler. His power doesn't come from a space ship. It's just him for the most part. And the stuff he knows.
At this point it's pretty easy to see how different the characters are, but without the full context it looks a little sketch. But maybe it shouldn't. The Eternally Young but Ancient Wiseguy serves a certain purpose. The idea fascinates people. Of course the Doctor is the more well known and better executed, but I made Virol because I thought it would be interesting to see him interact with the rest of the world my cousin and I created.
I think that's enough for now. Talk to you on Monday with something else.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Virol and the Doctor part 1
So for my first(ish) post back I wanted to talk about character archetypes. I had an idea in mind and it was just waiting for me to write it. Then I spent the weekend visiting family because my niece was born and Monday I squandered in typical first world internetian behavior. So. There's gonna be a poetry video. Also, I might post a more truncated post before Monday officially ends if I can.
So about character archetypes, I am going to be talking about two circumstantially similar characters. This may be an exercise I have performed before but it's happening nevertheless.
The more recognizable character is of course the Doctor of Doctor Who. The other is a man called Virol, my own creation whose public existence only perpetuates in my self-published novella Ashes of Silver.
For those people who aren't familiar with the Doctor (and they do exist) there are two basic aspects of his character you need to know about him. One, that he is very clever. Two, that he is very old. It gets more complicated than that obviously, but that is a boiling down of things that make the Doctor the Doctor, more so than his face for sure.
Just so happens these are the two same important things to know about Virol. That he is both brilliant and ancient.
Now that I've established that I have to go. Next half goes up tomorrow or else very soon.
Pax.
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