Today; if he was still alive (which in the accordance of Literature, he always will be), the author of one of my favorite short stories, Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius would be turning 112 years old today.
Thank you Jorge Luis Borges.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
A Smattering of Linkage...
Hello Everyone!
So I have been wandering the interwebs in my boredom and imagine my surprise when I find a site that hits home on my comic-book geekery with great happiness and relish. It was something called DC Fifty-Too. This is an awesome blog where artists showcase their tallents on DC comics that will never be. Until the end of the month, 52 artists will premiere 52 different books you won't be seeing on stands. It's a DC Universe where the publisher's foremost characters aren't Batman or Superman. The obscure people from teh background were suddenly made into A-listers and had their own comic books. yes, it is as if the DC Universe is no longer in their own hands but in teh hands of fans and atrists. Some of the covers are inspired might I add. One of my favorites is a Teen Titans cover done by Tim Seely.
Moving on though I found another thing that tickled my funny bone and amused me greatly. It would be the great and fantastic move also known as AURORA.
What is Aurora you ask? It is a fantatic short movie that took almost three and a half years to create, Produced over a 3 1/2 year period, the finished film belies its impressively small budget of $1800, using eight locations, over 80 costumed extras (almost 100 dedicated people to the whole film itself) and 375 VFX shots: a significant undertaking in independent film making.
Go see it, you'll love it.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Circus Magicians?
So I have to say that Circus Magicians where not what I was expecting to be the new Harry Potter...
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
A Word of Advice...
"It is known that there are an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them to be in. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the Universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the whole Universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination."
- Douglas Adams
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Two times Two
This was written as a short for a "Write or Shut up" post in Aspiring Novelists, a Face book group I belong to. Go ahead. It's just some flash fiction...
“Two times one is two. Two times two is four. Two times three is six…”
The voice droned on just slightly. Allison was quite sure that her own voice was the one that was speaking, but sometimes she wasn’t sure. She was currently in the twos and she had been repeating them for a while now. As she rode the bus, she was sure that she would eventually reach her destination, but she was not sure if she should have been going there in the first place. She thought really hard for a moment and the counting stopped. Was she really going to go this time? She shook her head in quiet disbelief and the quiet counting started once more.
The bus continued along, jolting every time it hit a dip or pothole in the asphalt that made up the road. Allison pulled her thin jacket around her just a little tighter. Even though the sun was trying it’s best to shine through the foggy morning cloud buildup in the sky, Allison still felt as if it was the dead center of winter rather than the chilly beginnings of spring. There was no way that this weather could be real. She refused to acknowledge it, as if hoping it was warmer would make it warmer.
Allison continued to mumble to herself, “Two times ten is twenty. Two times eleven is twenty-two. Two times twelve is twenty-four. Two times one is two.”
The mindless repetition made her appear crazy, but she paid no mind to that. She was headed towards her destination with quiet determination and counting numbers, to be more precise counting her twos, made her feel better. As to why she was on the bus, she couldn’t quite remember. There was a fog over her thoughts that seemed to quietly hover in her mind whenever she tried to remember. It was like a quiet thunderstorm that would only rage when she got too close to a certain destination.
She shook her head and continued to count in circles. The bus rolled to a stop for a moment and Allison heard the shuffle of people getting on and off. She continued to count and knew that soon she would be at the destination, whatever it was. For now, she would just have to simply be content with not knowing and counting. A woman sat next to her and set a rather large bag full of apples on the ground in between her feet. The woman eyed Allison carefully, but Allison continued to count. A few more stops rolled by before Allison stood up. As she did, the woman pulled out an apple and handed it to the strange girl. Allison smiled and took the apple with muted thanks.
As Allison stepped off the bus, the incessant need to count seemed to evaporate and she began walking forwards with a rather large sense of purpose. She walked down the cracked sidewalk towards what appeared to be an abandoned railroad track that led into the woods. As she saw the track she realized that she had somehow managed to make it all the way to the other side of town. That was to be ignored however as she finally realized where she was going. She followed the track down through the winding areas of trees and dirt and twisted metal from the tracks and soon she saw it, the gaping black maw rising in front of her like a monstrous gullet preparing to swallow her down.
The hole was brick on either side of itself; a slowly sloping arch enclosed it from the ground up. Swirling eddies of darkness seemed to pour forth from the hole that she remembered to be called a tunnel. The mortar was slowly crumbling away into a distant powder and it was here that she knew she had found what she was looking for. She looked at the bricks, taking in all the graffiti and other such tags that had been placed upon the bricks until she saw it. There in small black numbers, sprayed in the bottom corner of the massive arch was a question.
2 x 2 = ?
Allison knelt down in front of the small section of words and after a moment, used her hands to try to wipe off the grime from the bricks. There was a moment of silence and then the whole world seemed to hiss around her. Allison jerked backwards and watched as the space in between the train tunnel entrance took on a gentle blue hue as colors began to pour outwards from all manner of directions. Hundreds of thousands of colors swirled in a vortex of lights and sounds that filled only the central part of the arch way. Allison stared at it with amazement and a sort of wonder and slowly her hand raised itself into the air and she moved forwards to place a hand on it. Her whole body seemed to sing out in joy and pleasure as soon as she moved towards the shimmering wall.
She placed a hand in and saw her hand vanish into the strange cacophony of senses. She smiled to herself. This was where she had wanted, no, needed to be. She pushed her hand in further and felt nothing and then looked at the space behind her. There was no one there. She smiled and spoke to herself in a very low voice and said, “Four.” She smiled. It was only a moment, but there was a flash of incandescent light and then, the tunnel was just a tunnel again.
Allison was nowhere to be seen.
“Two times one is two. Two times two is four. Two times three is six…”
The voice droned on just slightly. Allison was quite sure that her own voice was the one that was speaking, but sometimes she wasn’t sure. She was currently in the twos and she had been repeating them for a while now. As she rode the bus, she was sure that she would eventually reach her destination, but she was not sure if she should have been going there in the first place. She thought really hard for a moment and the counting stopped. Was she really going to go this time? She shook her head in quiet disbelief and the quiet counting started once more.
The bus continued along, jolting every time it hit a dip or pothole in the asphalt that made up the road. Allison pulled her thin jacket around her just a little tighter. Even though the sun was trying it’s best to shine through the foggy morning cloud buildup in the sky, Allison still felt as if it was the dead center of winter rather than the chilly beginnings of spring. There was no way that this weather could be real. She refused to acknowledge it, as if hoping it was warmer would make it warmer.
Allison continued to mumble to herself, “Two times ten is twenty. Two times eleven is twenty-two. Two times twelve is twenty-four. Two times one is two.”
The mindless repetition made her appear crazy, but she paid no mind to that. She was headed towards her destination with quiet determination and counting numbers, to be more precise counting her twos, made her feel better. As to why she was on the bus, she couldn’t quite remember. There was a fog over her thoughts that seemed to quietly hover in her mind whenever she tried to remember. It was like a quiet thunderstorm that would only rage when she got too close to a certain destination.
She shook her head and continued to count in circles. The bus rolled to a stop for a moment and Allison heard the shuffle of people getting on and off. She continued to count and knew that soon she would be at the destination, whatever it was. For now, she would just have to simply be content with not knowing and counting. A woman sat next to her and set a rather large bag full of apples on the ground in between her feet. The woman eyed Allison carefully, but Allison continued to count. A few more stops rolled by before Allison stood up. As she did, the woman pulled out an apple and handed it to the strange girl. Allison smiled and took the apple with muted thanks.
As Allison stepped off the bus, the incessant need to count seemed to evaporate and she began walking forwards with a rather large sense of purpose. She walked down the cracked sidewalk towards what appeared to be an abandoned railroad track that led into the woods. As she saw the track she realized that she had somehow managed to make it all the way to the other side of town. That was to be ignored however as she finally realized where she was going. She followed the track down through the winding areas of trees and dirt and twisted metal from the tracks and soon she saw it, the gaping black maw rising in front of her like a monstrous gullet preparing to swallow her down.
The hole was brick on either side of itself; a slowly sloping arch enclosed it from the ground up. Swirling eddies of darkness seemed to pour forth from the hole that she remembered to be called a tunnel. The mortar was slowly crumbling away into a distant powder and it was here that she knew she had found what she was looking for. She looked at the bricks, taking in all the graffiti and other such tags that had been placed upon the bricks until she saw it. There in small black numbers, sprayed in the bottom corner of the massive arch was a question.
2 x 2 = ?
Allison knelt down in front of the small section of words and after a moment, used her hands to try to wipe off the grime from the bricks. There was a moment of silence and then the whole world seemed to hiss around her. Allison jerked backwards and watched as the space in between the train tunnel entrance took on a gentle blue hue as colors began to pour outwards from all manner of directions. Hundreds of thousands of colors swirled in a vortex of lights and sounds that filled only the central part of the arch way. Allison stared at it with amazement and a sort of wonder and slowly her hand raised itself into the air and she moved forwards to place a hand on it. Her whole body seemed to sing out in joy and pleasure as soon as she moved towards the shimmering wall.
She placed a hand in and saw her hand vanish into the strange cacophony of senses. She smiled to herself. This was where she had wanted, no, needed to be. She pushed her hand in further and felt nothing and then looked at the space behind her. There was no one there. She smiled and spoke to herself in a very low voice and said, “Four.” She smiled. It was only a moment, but there was a flash of incandescent light and then, the tunnel was just a tunnel again.
Allison was nowhere to be seen.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Just a bit Dreadful...
So I am sure that everyone knows about my horridly strange fascination with Steam Punk and all that it entails. I love teh idea of a "Steam Industrial Revolution" with magical ties to it. The Victorian period was a hotbed of such stories now. this involves alternate universes, and universes where the time periods are still rife with intruige, satisfaction, and chivilry (while it is still alive of course...).
Allow me to point you in teh direection of a fantastic site caled "Penny Dreadful Productions". Titled after what I orriginally wished for my Tale of Amretto to be like, this site has several very intersting things going on for it. They are involved in any number of things, though I have to say one of my favorite things is the Dirigible Dolls. I really want one.
Check them out... It will be worth it.
Penny Dreadful Productions
Allow me to point you in teh direection of a fantastic site caled "Penny Dreadful Productions". Titled after what I orriginally wished for my Tale of Amretto to be like, this site has several very intersting things going on for it. They are involved in any number of things, though I have to say one of my favorite things is the Dirigible Dolls. I really want one.
Check them out... It will be worth it.
Penny Dreadful Productions
Friday, August 5, 2011
Stories told by Ghosts...
Everyone knows that one of my favorite thigs to do is the famous "What If" game. we liekd to play it as a child, sometimes as we day dream as teenagers, and yet still at othertimes, when we become older. One of the reasons writers are so lucky in my estimation is that they are payed to play this very same game all the time when they write. Anyone can do it; however not everyone can do it well. This is especially true when it comes to writing Urban Fantasy-fiction. One of my favorite series in this field has always been the Dresden Files. I love Jim Butcher's style of writing when he does. Things happen, choices are made and there are consequences. When I picked up Ghost Story I was still riding a high from Changes. It was so amazing to see how Harry's choices brought him to Chichen Itza, prepared him to make terrible decisions and take terrible action. The final moments of Changes hit hard.
And then I read Ghost Story and discovered the biggest problem: Nothing hits hard.
Butcher has always been able to juggle a large number of characters and do them justice, so adding Sir Stuart, Fitz (too close to "Fix") and the lost boys, yet another cultist style black wizard wasn't unusual. Treating major characters to brief cameo appearances and having Harry wallow in guilt for a few paragraphs then move on was extremely unusual for the series. Mort comes out of Ghost Story with some of the best page time. He was never my favorite character, but I felt a little closer to him for all the new stuff taht we learned about him. Butters actually seemed to become less of a real character with all teh page time that he gets. Even though it is explained how Butters has "grown" as well as teh why he was forced to grow in those ways and I have to say that I never really fell behind it all the way. Murphy, Will, other formerly major characters hover on the edges of the story. They do a little here, they do a little there, they provide reasons for Harry to agonize his situation and wallow in self pity, but at the end of it all, they felt more like ghosts to me than Harry was supossed to be.
Molly was the biggest problem with Ghost Story. The choices Harry made that affected her, everything about how they interacted in Ghost Story felt off. It felt like it was being forced into the story or as if it was like one of those really bad Twilight Zone episodes. The lynch-pins between Changes and Ghost Story don't pull the novels together, it feels contrived, and seems like a choice Harry never would have made even under duress.
Ghost Story is one big info dump -- flashbacks to crucial past events, Harry hovering like the Ghost of Christmas Presents to see where the people in his life have got to (and either I'm slow, or I missed something about Justine and Thomas. Or maybe it was just boredom and the chance to hint at a little girl on girl action that was responsible for that bit. This wasn't the only interlude that had me scratching my head.
I'm looking forward to the next book in the series, don't get me wrong. Harry Dresden and all his crew are still an entertaining bunch, and Butcher is too good a writer not to recoup from this bridge novel. however, that is all you should see this as... A bridge novel.
And then I read Ghost Story and discovered the biggest problem: Nothing hits hard.
Butcher has always been able to juggle a large number of characters and do them justice, so adding Sir Stuart, Fitz (too close to "Fix") and the lost boys, yet another cultist style black wizard wasn't unusual. Treating major characters to brief cameo appearances and having Harry wallow in guilt for a few paragraphs then move on was extremely unusual for the series. Mort comes out of Ghost Story with some of the best page time. He was never my favorite character, but I felt a little closer to him for all the new stuff taht we learned about him. Butters actually seemed to become less of a real character with all teh page time that he gets. Even though it is explained how Butters has "grown" as well as teh why he was forced to grow in those ways and I have to say that I never really fell behind it all the way. Murphy, Will, other formerly major characters hover on the edges of the story. They do a little here, they do a little there, they provide reasons for Harry to agonize his situation and wallow in self pity, but at the end of it all, they felt more like ghosts to me than Harry was supossed to be.
Molly was the biggest problem with Ghost Story. The choices Harry made that affected her, everything about how they interacted in Ghost Story felt off. It felt like it was being forced into the story or as if it was like one of those really bad Twilight Zone episodes. The lynch-pins between Changes and Ghost Story don't pull the novels together, it feels contrived, and seems like a choice Harry never would have made even under duress.
Ghost Story is one big info dump -- flashbacks to crucial past events, Harry hovering like the Ghost of Christmas Presents to see where the people in his life have got to (and either I'm slow, or I missed something about Justine and Thomas. Or maybe it was just boredom and the chance to hint at a little girl on girl action that was responsible for that bit. This wasn't the only interlude that had me scratching my head.
I'm looking forward to the next book in the series, don't get me wrong. Harry Dresden and all his crew are still an entertaining bunch, and Butcher is too good a writer not to recoup from this bridge novel. however, that is all you should see this as... A bridge novel.
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