Nelson Lowhim's Blog, page 116
November 16, 2015
Veteran is eviscerated by the word "veteran"
Here we are in the aftermath of the Paris attacks and I'm trying to make myself disciplined enough to not retort on my Twitter feed to the plethora of people who are touting Islamophobia and the exact same actions that brought about such attacks. [1]But that is neither here not there. I did make the mistake of giving a thumbs up to Trudeau (Canadian PM) for withdrawing his forces from the "fight" against ISIS [2]. I was immediately confronted by a Canadian conservative who claimed it wasn't brave to abandon allies. I playfully (and thoughtlessly, as it happens) said "since 1914" but didn't think much of it.
The second tweet was something I've seen before: "@nlowhim obviously you know completely nothing abt our military... our vets dies so u could post idiotic tweets... they're brave".
Now, I'm not exactly sure how to respond to such statements. I'm well aware of it and its inherent weaknesses. Do I let them know that I'm a veteran? What exactly does this lend the argument, though? Not much, in my opinion. [3]
As I said before, I don't particularly want to start arguments on the internet [4] and Twitter makes it so that it's much too weak to facilitate an argument, even with willing parties. But allow me to tackle the comment itself (and validate the title of this post).
I find it extremely interesting that the person was associating veterans with a very specific, conservative (better to say reactionary or jingoistic), world view. I also find it interesting that it was used as a kind of trump card, whereby I should, ostensibly, feel enough guilt to cede ground, or perhaps (if I weren't well-informed enough) accept the framing of this world view and stand against veterans, and dead veterans no less, should I want to tweet my idiotic tweets.
It's also interesting that an argument about refugees devolved into the anti-refugee person hiding behind dead veterans. I imagine most people still have the mindset that anything pro-war is automatically pro-veteran and vice versa? It's unfortunate that this is the case. [5]
As for arguments, I think I'll have to find a better way to carry them out on the internet. Anyone have a site?
[1] As I've promised before, I'll dive more fully into ISIS and I will do so, to include these latest attacks.
[2] The idea of gaining anything from comment threads or other linear discussions, such as Twitter, is a whole different matter. I've come to the conclusion that these feeds or threads are at best the id of us people or a way to gain simple facts, but are not a way to build knowledge (other than, again, the simple kind, or to entertain). At best, it is a circle-jerk affair, with no truth arrived at.
[3] Mainly because though having served provided me the impetus to learn more about conflict in general and from that knowledge I base a lot of what I believe in (again, fueled and informed by my trips to Iraq, which can only ever be case studies—the specific experiences, at least—to say nothing of that combustible fuel of emotion). Furthermore, many other veterans, including friends of mine, have experienced the way and have opposing opinions to mine. (and to judge by many of their facebook posts, they have not decided to use emotion to read more on the matter and in many ways, they sound even more extreme than I remember them, while I've drifted off in the opposite direction, having been in the same place as them).
[4] One day, like a bar, there will be no discussions on religion or politics on the internet... not in any of the forms it's currently in.
[5] Another side note is that such a word is now Veterans' day instead of Armistice day. As Vonnegut noted, this is quite the change. Again, note how the word veteran is being
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The second tweet was something I've seen before: "@nlowhim obviously you know completely nothing abt our military... our vets dies so u could post idiotic tweets... they're brave".
Now, I'm not exactly sure how to respond to such statements. I'm well aware of it and its inherent weaknesses. Do I let them know that I'm a veteran? What exactly does this lend the argument, though? Not much, in my opinion. [3]
As I said before, I don't particularly want to start arguments on the internet [4] and Twitter makes it so that it's much too weak to facilitate an argument, even with willing parties. But allow me to tackle the comment itself (and validate the title of this post).
I find it extremely interesting that the person was associating veterans with a very specific, conservative (better to say reactionary or jingoistic), world view. I also find it interesting that it was used as a kind of trump card, whereby I should, ostensibly, feel enough guilt to cede ground, or perhaps (if I weren't well-informed enough) accept the framing of this world view and stand against veterans, and dead veterans no less, should I want to tweet my idiotic tweets.
It's also interesting that an argument about refugees devolved into the anti-refugee person hiding behind dead veterans. I imagine most people still have the mindset that anything pro-war is automatically pro-veteran and vice versa? It's unfortunate that this is the case. [5]
As for arguments, I think I'll have to find a better way to carry them out on the internet. Anyone have a site?
[1] As I've promised before, I'll dive more fully into ISIS and I will do so, to include these latest attacks.
[2] The idea of gaining anything from comment threads or other linear discussions, such as Twitter, is a whole different matter. I've come to the conclusion that these feeds or threads are at best the id of us people or a way to gain simple facts, but are not a way to build knowledge (other than, again, the simple kind, or to entertain). At best, it is a circle-jerk affair, with no truth arrived at.
[3] Mainly because though having served provided me the impetus to learn more about conflict in general and from that knowledge I base a lot of what I believe in (again, fueled and informed by my trips to Iraq, which can only ever be case studies—the specific experiences, at least—to say nothing of that combustible fuel of emotion). Furthermore, many other veterans, including friends of mine, have experienced the way and have opposing opinions to mine. (and to judge by many of their facebook posts, they have not decided to use emotion to read more on the matter and in many ways, they sound even more extreme than I remember them, while I've drifted off in the opposite direction, having been in the same place as them).
[4] One day, like a bar, there will be no discussions on religion or politics on the internet... not in any of the forms it's currently in.
[5] Another side note is that such a word is now Veterans' day instead of Armistice day. As Vonnegut noted, this is quite the change. Again, note how the word veteran is being
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November 8, 2015
Why I write: on movies and writing. A confession
This is a confession more so than an essay or critique... I suppose that I should expect as much on a cold and wet autumn day; those rain-smeared glass windows mimicking their stained counterparts by splashing that confession-dark-lighting upon my soul.
I feel that the last few years have seen a definite uptick in movie quality. It would also seem that many of those movies are scifi. Given the natural topics that scifi has usually covered, it would seem that scifi should only increase in popularity as it moves towards becoming ever more relevant [1].
But, as much as I loved the movies, they were no more than deeply entertaining. This isn't entirely derisive, but it does lay bare the weakness of the visual medium. This is more a statement about myself rather than about the movies (it may be that I'm more insufferable than I think).
As entertaining as these movies were, and as deep as they tried to be, my brain whirred away at the background, dicing and splicing that which they said, acted and compared it to my dismal model of the world [2]. In other words, I couldn't help but see provincial frames and frames of minds when I saw these good movies. Mind you that this isn't an accusation or criticism, but, like I said above, a confession.
For example, when I watched Interstellar , I was thoroughly entertained by the tight plot and sentimental, but somehow realistic ending. But, as my better half says, I am a Grinch and so I couldn't leave well-enough alone.
The point that got to me was that a pilot claimed he would not bomb the starving masses, or something to that effect, and somehow the world worked towards a more inclusive method of dealing with mass starvation or refugees. Right. This framing, which Hollywood and other mass media tend use (with good reason, for, as James Baldwin says, mass psychosis—& the market—demands such views) does not sit well with me.
Nevermind that bombing the poor has been nothing short of a tradition [3]. No, that's not my point here, nor is mocking the heroic action of one man saving the world the point either (speaking of that specific pilot). Rather, one should point out that a pilot declining such an action would only lead to another pilot, or a remote-fired denotation filling that role.
And once I see that framing at work, I know the movie is neither serious nor introspective. For it's merely more of the same, and what it excels at are good scenes, good plot, and good acting. Nothing to sneeze at, but nothing else, either.
Is this a matter of a writer whining about a medium that trumps his own? I'm not sure. IMHO, writing has more power and more potential, but when I look at many contemporary writers, I see similar variables at work: all deep on an individual level, yet none moving from the standard framework. [4]
My own jealousy at work? Perhaps. Mainly, though, it's a wake-up call for me to keep digging and striving to improve myself and my writing and that which I impart upon my audience. Even my most recent scifi effort, Labyrinth of Souls , might not have come close to reaching the, admittedly diffuse, standards I mentioned above. In that book—though I tried my hardest to label the unspoken, and to work through a character of lasting import in the main robotic character—I'm still not sure that I managed to achieve that. So keep working and keep improving, for I have not reached the level I want to attain. That is the confession. So beat on, rain drops, upon my window, and pull more out of me.
[1] In the visual sense, for scifi has always been relevant to social topics and other matters.
[2] Note that I understand fully that my expectations taints my objectivity that I may lay claim to.
[3] One that has been so empowered that cottage industries provide us with enough slogans to paint the bombed as deserving, paint the survivors as deserving of no pity and should a weakness (aka kindness) arise within the bombers, there will be food and weapons thrown strategically to divide and conquer.
[4] We writers give ourselves too useless a task (those trying to be deep, at least) if we state that it is only a story of a human or place we're trying to import, rather than actually trying to dig into some sort of truth, or that which is unspoken.
Enjoyed the writing? Please share it via email, facebook, twitter, or one of the buttons below (or through some other method you prefer). Thank you! As always, here's the tip jar. Throw some change in there and help cover the costs! Then Subscribe to my mailing list* indicates requiredEmail Address * First Name Last Name Email Format
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I feel that the last few years have seen a definite uptick in movie quality. It would also seem that many of those movies are scifi. Given the natural topics that scifi has usually covered, it would seem that scifi should only increase in popularity as it moves towards becoming ever more relevant [1].
But, as much as I loved the movies, they were no more than deeply entertaining. This isn't entirely derisive, but it does lay bare the weakness of the visual medium. This is more a statement about myself rather than about the movies (it may be that I'm more insufferable than I think).
As entertaining as these movies were, and as deep as they tried to be, my brain whirred away at the background, dicing and splicing that which they said, acted and compared it to my dismal model of the world [2]. In other words, I couldn't help but see provincial frames and frames of minds when I saw these good movies. Mind you that this isn't an accusation or criticism, but, like I said above, a confession.
For example, when I watched Interstellar , I was thoroughly entertained by the tight plot and sentimental, but somehow realistic ending. But, as my better half says, I am a Grinch and so I couldn't leave well-enough alone.
The point that got to me was that a pilot claimed he would not bomb the starving masses, or something to that effect, and somehow the world worked towards a more inclusive method of dealing with mass starvation or refugees. Right. This framing, which Hollywood and other mass media tend use (with good reason, for, as James Baldwin says, mass psychosis—& the market—demands such views) does not sit well with me.
Nevermind that bombing the poor has been nothing short of a tradition [3]. No, that's not my point here, nor is mocking the heroic action of one man saving the world the point either (speaking of that specific pilot). Rather, one should point out that a pilot declining such an action would only lead to another pilot, or a remote-fired denotation filling that role.
And once I see that framing at work, I know the movie is neither serious nor introspective. For it's merely more of the same, and what it excels at are good scenes, good plot, and good acting. Nothing to sneeze at, but nothing else, either.
Is this a matter of a writer whining about a medium that trumps his own? I'm not sure. IMHO, writing has more power and more potential, but when I look at many contemporary writers, I see similar variables at work: all deep on an individual level, yet none moving from the standard framework. [4]
My own jealousy at work? Perhaps. Mainly, though, it's a wake-up call for me to keep digging and striving to improve myself and my writing and that which I impart upon my audience. Even my most recent scifi effort, Labyrinth of Souls , might not have come close to reaching the, admittedly diffuse, standards I mentioned above. In that book—though I tried my hardest to label the unspoken, and to work through a character of lasting import in the main robotic character—I'm still not sure that I managed to achieve that. So keep working and keep improving, for I have not reached the level I want to attain. That is the confession. So beat on, rain drops, upon my window, and pull more out of me.
[1] In the visual sense, for scifi has always been relevant to social topics and other matters.
[2] Note that I understand fully that my expectations taints my objectivity that I may lay claim to.
[3] One that has been so empowered that cottage industries provide us with enough slogans to paint the bombed as deserving, paint the survivors as deserving of no pity and should a weakness (aka kindness) arise within the bombers, there will be food and weapons thrown strategically to divide and conquer.
[4] We writers give ourselves too useless a task (those trying to be deep, at least) if we state that it is only a story of a human or place we're trying to import, rather than actually trying to dig into some sort of truth, or that which is unspoken.
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November 2, 2015
On chipping away at a story
I mentioned in the previous post that sometimes editing was akin to shipping away at a stone block (that initial, usually formless first draft) trying to create something like a story people will like. To add to that, I would like to add a picture that can better show this idea. I'm no artist, not visually speaking, so bear with it.
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Enjoyed the writing? Please share it via email, facebook, twitter, or one of the buttons below (or through some other method you prefer). Thank you! As always, here's the tip jar. Throw some change in there and help cover the costs!
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November 1, 2015
Why I write: the discarded remains of Labyrinth of Souls
The end of every major book of mine is followed by a refractory period. This quiet, solemn time is a moment for reflection. For my most recent book, the Labyrinth of Souls, this feeling has been compounded with the complexity of the book's world, its characters, and the issues being dealt with. I should remind you that the book started out as an idea that gestated from this short story. Hold on to that last thought.
At this moment, I'm staring at pieces of the body that were the original novel. Not to mention 100s of post-it notes meant to assist the story or character, but never made it into even the first draft. Some of these are set scenes or dialogues or whole characters that would have added depth to the story, or to a single character or another angle to the world or the labyrinth in the book.
And yet they didn't make it and some were mercilessly ripped from the main body of the story. Back to that thought. As this story gestated from a smaller seed, so too do I hope that these pieces will help to germinate more and more stories for the future. I also take comfort in what Michelangelo said (to paraphrase him): that one takes a block of stone and chips away until there's a sculpture left... Though I doubt that he would do something as crass as use his scraps for more work. [1]
But I digress. The main issue is seeing these discarded pieces and wondering what truly adds or takes away from a single novel and if I'm wrong to take away so much from the story. Perhaps it should linger some more on these snippets of life in the novel's world?
In the end, this story answers a question I had and evokes many more. I sense that I have grown much from the experience of writing this specific book and I also sense that I will move away from the style, once and for all, because the style does not allow for certain global concerns or views to surface [2]. (I'm rambling now...) Is the topic of the essay an attempt to point to an inherent weakness of me as a writer? Perhaps. But we shall see.
[1] But it's well known that writers are on the lower rung of the artist totem pole, to say nothing of a relatively unknown writer such as myself.
[2] I feel that this is a problem with many books I now read: that they are trying too hard to focus on the individual. Perhaps it's time to get rid of that?
Enjoyed the writing? Please share it via email, facebook, twitter, or one of the buttons below (or through some other method you prefer). Thank you! As always, here's the tip jar. Throw some change in there and help cover the costs! Then Subscribe to my mailing list* indicates requiredEmail Address * First Name Last Name Email Format
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At this moment, I'm staring at pieces of the body that were the original novel. Not to mention 100s of post-it notes meant to assist the story or character, but never made it into even the first draft. Some of these are set scenes or dialogues or whole characters that would have added depth to the story, or to a single character or another angle to the world or the labyrinth in the book.
And yet they didn't make it and some were mercilessly ripped from the main body of the story. Back to that thought. As this story gestated from a smaller seed, so too do I hope that these pieces will help to germinate more and more stories for the future. I also take comfort in what Michelangelo said (to paraphrase him): that one takes a block of stone and chips away until there's a sculpture left... Though I doubt that he would do something as crass as use his scraps for more work. [1]
But I digress. The main issue is seeing these discarded pieces and wondering what truly adds or takes away from a single novel and if I'm wrong to take away so much from the story. Perhaps it should linger some more on these snippets of life in the novel's world?
In the end, this story answers a question I had and evokes many more. I sense that I have grown much from the experience of writing this specific book and I also sense that I will move away from the style, once and for all, because the style does not allow for certain global concerns or views to surface [2]. (I'm rambling now...) Is the topic of the essay an attempt to point to an inherent weakness of me as a writer? Perhaps. But we shall see.
[1] But it's well known that writers are on the lower rung of the artist totem pole, to say nothing of a relatively unknown writer such as myself.
[2] I feel that this is a problem with many books I now read: that they are trying too hard to focus on the individual. Perhaps it's time to get rid of that?
Enjoyed the writing? Please share it via email, facebook, twitter, or one of the buttons below (or through some other method you prefer). Thank you! As always, here's the tip jar. Throw some change in there and help cover the costs!
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October 30, 2015
It's here....
Just got the news that the ebook is out. So click on the picture below (or link back there in the previous sentence) and get the book today. Price will go up after a week, so get it while you can. Hope you enjoy it!
Also, for all those paper-bound folk, the paperback should be coming out soon. I'll announce that as well. As for those looking for shorts, there should be more in the upcoming months. Please bear with me as I get things back into orbit (in terms of writing et al). Best.
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Also, for all those paper-bound folk, the paperback should be coming out soon. I'll announce that as well. As for those looking for shorts, there should be more in the upcoming months. Please bear with me as I get things back into orbit (in terms of writing et al). Best.
Enjoyed the writing? Please share it via email, facebook, twitter, or one of the buttons below (or through some other method you prefer). Thank you! As always, here's the tip jar. Throw some change in there and help cover the costs!
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October 17, 2015
A game at a cafe
Once again I’ve been remiss in updating you, my dear readers [1]. So I’m back and stand ready to inform you about the many things I’ve been doing, to include having been busy getting short stories in minor publications on both coasts, and editing the massive quarter-million word story on AI and the coming rebellion. Not between human and robot, but a more complex fragmentary civil war.
But again, it wasn’t so much the busyness that got to me but the odd places visited out there in the Inland NW. The most recent place was another cafe that one could only consider seditious; if Fox news is right about real America and we have no reason to doubt that amazing news source. So back to the cafe.
I knew right away that this cafe was odd, when I walked in to see a perturbing painting. Now, if its subject was odd, the realistic brush strokes were certainly not. One look from a few inches away—and mind you this 10’x10’ painting was best views from afar—and one knew it was the work of a master. The facture, the everything was breathtaking. It was simply the face of a man—and now that I think on it, I’m not so sure why it still disturbs me—and on one side the man was youthful with angry eyes, and the baby-face of a just blossoming youth, but as one shifted their eyes to the other side, the face slowly gained scars, imperfections of skin beaten, sunken cheeks, and finally sad, old eyes—though wise—and wrinkles etched in deep. The man was wearing a hat which was only slightly faded on the “old side.”
Now this isn’t the only reason I’ve been busy, I just want to set the state of mind forced upon me once I entered the cafe and saw this: already alert, mind you, from the smell of well roasted coffee and the Pavlovian reaction that entices out of my addicted body.
This cafe, out in the hinterlands of the USA’s northern Rockies, was in a square shape, 4 shipping containers connected by a madman’s welding job (I’m not kidding, a closer look at the welding and I could see Arabic patterns better suited for Southern Spain) to create window and straight lines of view to the garden. It was a bright and almost hot summers day and thus the tops of the containers; gardens unto themselves, were all very inviting, yet after I grabbed my coffee from a barista with tattoos of jokes and horse-radish skin to highlight those beautiful starts, I chose to go to the darkened and now stuffy back room and look through the games they had back there.
Now, usually most cafes lack imagination when it comes to their game department, usually a mix of chess, scrabble and maybe checkers. Expecting nothing more than this, I found myself moving chu-shogi sets and coming across something called the Game of Khans. I stared at the mean-mugging Mongol on the front of the box and pulled out its innards. Or so I thought. The game box was empty. i asked the apathetic barista, who shrugged.
I finished my coffee and went on google to find the game or something that could help me find out more about the game. There was a short, and weak wikipedia article on the matter, claiming that Genghis Khan had the game invented after conquering all that he did and feeling that go and chess were much too weak as it were (and merely raising the stakes wouldn’t make a difference). So, the hapless artisans from a conquered city were forced to come up with a game that would replace all other games.
In the end, though, the game never caught on. The wiki entry had nothing else on it, in terms of the rules or even the pieces involved.
In fact, nothing on the internet had much on the game. So, of course, I took it upon myself to search as many online resources as the local library would allow me. And so it goes, I suppose, but I was annoyed that I had never read of this game before.
Finally, after searching thousands of article on Khan, I found a small excerpt on the game. Genghis had indeed forced a thousand artisans to come up with a game better than chess or go at mimicking life.
The results were not pretty: the first artisan came up with a game that, on a 19x19 go board, one placed their chess pieces and then fought in a chess style game. Apparently the Khan was not amused and had his horses crush the man after he was rolled into a rug. The second artisan had a similar game, except they had die involved. He was allowed a speedier death. Apparently this went on as the frightened artisans tried to think of what exactly the Khan would care for.
Some tried overly baroque pieces, giving minimal thoughts to the rules; after all, shouldn’t the savages be impressed with the shine pieces? While others came up with odd hybrid games which had ornate rules. All failed. It came down to the last artisan who took it upon himself to survey as many Mongols as possible to find out what exactly took their fancy.
And so he came up with a game board that mimicked some of the great Mongol battlefields, a castle on each side, and various pieces, mainly horses, and 3 die (an odd aside is that the original chess had a die, but it was not allowed as that randomness would allow one to get too close to mimicking God; the Khan had no such reservations) to allow one to place and move their pieces as they felt appropriate.
Like chess there were weak and strong pieces, with some pieces unable to kill others, while as in go, surrounding was another way to kill. Another way was getting all 1s on the die roll, which would be lightning and would allow for the person to take off one piece of the other. Higher ground also allowed one to fight/defeat a stronger opponent. In many ways, this takes away the one weakness of chess which allows a small piece to kill a larger one. In real life this is rarely true.
The game was loved by Khan, though I’m not sure why it failed to pick up after his death. But I’ll get back to you as soon as I can figure out the rules and the board with all its pieces.
[1] Note how a blog requires the plural, whereas a novel really begs for the singular reader. That must say something about these two mediums and the kinds of things we write, and expect as readers, doesn’t it? Perhaps Franzen is right, perhaps he sees this subtle chance as the difference between an intimate conversation between confidantes and a political rally (the internet, now) where mere slogans are blurted out and the masses add their two cents—but oh my, I digress, dear readers.
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But again, it wasn’t so much the busyness that got to me but the odd places visited out there in the Inland NW. The most recent place was another cafe that one could only consider seditious; if Fox news is right about real America and we have no reason to doubt that amazing news source. So back to the cafe.
I knew right away that this cafe was odd, when I walked in to see a perturbing painting. Now, if its subject was odd, the realistic brush strokes were certainly not. One look from a few inches away—and mind you this 10’x10’ painting was best views from afar—and one knew it was the work of a master. The facture, the everything was breathtaking. It was simply the face of a man—and now that I think on it, I’m not so sure why it still disturbs me—and on one side the man was youthful with angry eyes, and the baby-face of a just blossoming youth, but as one shifted their eyes to the other side, the face slowly gained scars, imperfections of skin beaten, sunken cheeks, and finally sad, old eyes—though wise—and wrinkles etched in deep. The man was wearing a hat which was only slightly faded on the “old side.”
Now this isn’t the only reason I’ve been busy, I just want to set the state of mind forced upon me once I entered the cafe and saw this: already alert, mind you, from the smell of well roasted coffee and the Pavlovian reaction that entices out of my addicted body.
This cafe, out in the hinterlands of the USA’s northern Rockies, was in a square shape, 4 shipping containers connected by a madman’s welding job (I’m not kidding, a closer look at the welding and I could see Arabic patterns better suited for Southern Spain) to create window and straight lines of view to the garden. It was a bright and almost hot summers day and thus the tops of the containers; gardens unto themselves, were all very inviting, yet after I grabbed my coffee from a barista with tattoos of jokes and horse-radish skin to highlight those beautiful starts, I chose to go to the darkened and now stuffy back room and look through the games they had back there.
Now, usually most cafes lack imagination when it comes to their game department, usually a mix of chess, scrabble and maybe checkers. Expecting nothing more than this, I found myself moving chu-shogi sets and coming across something called the Game of Khans. I stared at the mean-mugging Mongol on the front of the box and pulled out its innards. Or so I thought. The game box was empty. i asked the apathetic barista, who shrugged.
I finished my coffee and went on google to find the game or something that could help me find out more about the game. There was a short, and weak wikipedia article on the matter, claiming that Genghis Khan had the game invented after conquering all that he did and feeling that go and chess were much too weak as it were (and merely raising the stakes wouldn’t make a difference). So, the hapless artisans from a conquered city were forced to come up with a game that would replace all other games.
In the end, though, the game never caught on. The wiki entry had nothing else on it, in terms of the rules or even the pieces involved.
In fact, nothing on the internet had much on the game. So, of course, I took it upon myself to search as many online resources as the local library would allow me. And so it goes, I suppose, but I was annoyed that I had never read of this game before.
Finally, after searching thousands of article on Khan, I found a small excerpt on the game. Genghis had indeed forced a thousand artisans to come up with a game better than chess or go at mimicking life.
The results were not pretty: the first artisan came up with a game that, on a 19x19 go board, one placed their chess pieces and then fought in a chess style game. Apparently the Khan was not amused and had his horses crush the man after he was rolled into a rug. The second artisan had a similar game, except they had die involved. He was allowed a speedier death. Apparently this went on as the frightened artisans tried to think of what exactly the Khan would care for.
Some tried overly baroque pieces, giving minimal thoughts to the rules; after all, shouldn’t the savages be impressed with the shine pieces? While others came up with odd hybrid games which had ornate rules. All failed. It came down to the last artisan who took it upon himself to survey as many Mongols as possible to find out what exactly took their fancy.
And so he came up with a game board that mimicked some of the great Mongol battlefields, a castle on each side, and various pieces, mainly horses, and 3 die (an odd aside is that the original chess had a die, but it was not allowed as that randomness would allow one to get too close to mimicking God; the Khan had no such reservations) to allow one to place and move their pieces as they felt appropriate.
Like chess there were weak and strong pieces, with some pieces unable to kill others, while as in go, surrounding was another way to kill. Another way was getting all 1s on the die roll, which would be lightning and would allow for the person to take off one piece of the other. Higher ground also allowed one to fight/defeat a stronger opponent. In many ways, this takes away the one weakness of chess which allows a small piece to kill a larger one. In real life this is rarely true.
The game was loved by Khan, though I’m not sure why it failed to pick up after his death. But I’ll get back to you as soon as I can figure out the rules and the board with all its pieces.
[1] Note how a blog requires the plural, whereas a novel really begs for the singular reader. That must say something about these two mediums and the kinds of things we write, and expect as readers, doesn’t it? Perhaps Franzen is right, perhaps he sees this subtle chance as the difference between an intimate conversation between confidantes and a political rally (the internet, now) where mere slogans are blurted out and the masses add their two cents—but oh my, I digress, dear readers.
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September 29, 2015
Been meaning to write
So I have been meaning to speak about ISIS and that specific issue. Once again it has come to the fore, especially with regards to the refugee crisis. I will certainly deal with it in due time, but I should point out that my issue with not writing about it is that all these matters are intertwined. Intertwined and ever changing. Therefore at any given time one really cannot even say that things are so. No. Rather we try our best to paint a picture with official statements—biased summaries usually—to give us an idea of what is going on; to say nothing of trying to bring the past and cause & effect into the pictureSomewhere within the above issue is a place for an essay and a writer and fiction. What that place or role is, is beyond me. But I will try... and note that it is akin to a person in a stream trying to describe what the stream, where he stands, looks like; unable to take note of what his feet are doing to the current—a weak metaphor standing in for our own biases that our history and upbringing bring to the table.
Nonetheless I will try to untangle the large web that is these states of affairs: ISIS. Droughts. Climate Change. Refugees [1]. Western elite (and populist) attitudes as well. These are all intertwined. And if our answer is to simply lob bombs (this is something that Russia and China also seem guilty of, to say nothing of Saudi Arabia... in other words, powers trying to be powers are not facing these issues with the tools they need) at the enemy, there will be many deaths at our, and other powers' hands. And so it goes.
A drought happens anywhere in the world and there must be an immediate effort to help that entire region. Period. An ounce of prevention worth a pound of cure. Those studying climate change know this. That our government chooses to ignore the prevention is foolish.
What else to say? Coming soon.
[1] This isn't hard: climate change will affect water tables and droughts and other destructive forms of weather, and this will lead to mass violence as people react and blame and since most institutions are not up to measure, chaos and refugees will reign.
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Nonetheless I will try to untangle the large web that is these states of affairs: ISIS. Droughts. Climate Change. Refugees [1]. Western elite (and populist) attitudes as well. These are all intertwined. And if our answer is to simply lob bombs (this is something that Russia and China also seem guilty of, to say nothing of Saudi Arabia... in other words, powers trying to be powers are not facing these issues with the tools they need) at the enemy, there will be many deaths at our, and other powers' hands. And so it goes.
A drought happens anywhere in the world and there must be an immediate effort to help that entire region. Period. An ounce of prevention worth a pound of cure. Those studying climate change know this. That our government chooses to ignore the prevention is foolish.
What else to say? Coming soon.
[1] This isn't hard: climate change will affect water tables and droughts and other destructive forms of weather, and this will lead to mass violence as people react and blame and since most institutions are not up to measure, chaos and refugees will reign.
Enjoyed the writing? Please share it via email, facebook, twitter, or one of the buttons below (or through some other method you prefer). Thank you! As always, here's the tip jar. Throw some change in there and help cover the costs!
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September 26, 2015
Oh, it's been a while
So I'm still stuck in the morass of getting the next book out. But even that doesn't excuse the time between posts. So I will definitely try to get as many stories out as possible (note, the best way is still via the email newsletter, which you can sign up for to the right). I have, outside of the novel, felt most of my muse has been of the short story variant. This is a partial result of what I've been finding interesting to read (Borges
). One short, the one on Sasquan World-con, was well received over at file770. Many thanks to Mr. Glyer who called the story "an oasis". Much too kind, that.
Nevertheless, I am also here to present to you an excuse, of sorts. For when I have not been dealing with the upcoming novel [1], I have been out and about and dealing with the very things that one would call a distraction. And so it goes, you may say. For one, all that has been in the news has been pushing me to write more and more on that which has been on my mind. But I have not.
When it comes to matters like the refugee crisis, all I can say is that the world better have a better plan than what they are showing of being capable of right now. Anyone with a brain will have accepted climate change as inevitable. So what to do next? Even the tamest of predictions put the lowering of water tables and the increase in droughts across the world (and especially in the third world) will make this refugee crisis (to say nothing of the militias, heavily brutalized, that will come from it) look like a picnic.
Think on it. How much would a little bit of drought prevention have helped Syria, rather than what they (and the world) are facing right now. So I see all this and wonder how the world could not have any plan. Even if this one crisis somehow goes by without too many more deaths, what about the next one?
Of course, to see the tribalism in Europeans and Americans come to the fore is predictable—and can only be one of history's sense of humor, for how many times have many members of these nations looked elsewhere to mock tribalism?—but very sad too. I would wonder if older people have the same sense of foreboding and history repeating as I do, if they weren't spouting the same tribalistic nonsense as everyone else. And so it goes.
But let's not dive into politics for now. I will write, and write plenty on the matter later. If any of you have been following this blog for some time, you will now that I'm a little bit of a lover of arts. The younger me would never have understood it (that youth only liked grand realistic paintings), but as I've grown older, my love for the arts, for facture, has grown and I now think on it as one of those pleasures of life that I can count on and love.
And if you've been following this blog, you will know about one artist whom I find extremely interesting and, along with street art, I think of as one of the best of our time. Well, I recently had a chance to see her work in a gallery nearby this town of ours. By the way, if anyone wants to tell you that you have to go to large cities for beautiful work, don't listen to them. That is entirely false. Here in the Inland NW, there are plenty of artists making some very interesting art.
Let me speak, now, on the artist's work. There were only a handful of pieces,[2] but they were all worth it. This section of her work, at this time of her life, was based on Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian Man
. Ostensibly the one drawing that points to the man becoming, once more, the center of the world, this drawing is beyond iconic. Nevertheless, it's this that she based all her work around.
The first is a sculpture of the Vitruvian Man. Except this one is in a sphere and his arms and legs are being moved back and forth and back and forth. On his face is a look of anguish. A torture mechanism? I'm not sure, but it certainly seems that way. Then there are a series of paintings. All are a mixture of the Vitruvian man stuck in the nodes of large and expansive edge-node paintings. I wasn't sure what each was, though some were shaped like household objects and others still parts of the atlas, or a human body part [3]
You might think this derivative, and it probably is, but I am of the mind that it says much about the coming age (or, perhaps, says much about the industrial and post-industrial age). A few of the paintings towards the end have the men, and women, climbing between nodes, fighting as some nodes dissipate. Odd, these.
The ultimate piece, a sculpture, was a combination of all that preceded it: a large mass, made up of small Vitruvian men (and women, and everyone else too, I should note) in nodes as small as peas. You have to look closely to see what they are. Each node and edge is hooked up to a fine LED light. And over and over a light starts at one place and spreads to everyone, node by node. It usually takes only a few seconds for it to do so. Above it a large display flashes what is traveling in such a viral fashion: virus, happiness, anger, fear and so on. They're all the same and in the same pattern—and I'm sure scientists will argue—but the point is made.
It was beautiful, the entire show, and I only felt like it gave me more ideas for my future work. For all of you out there, you should definitely check it out.
[1] And my, this here is a warning to anyone trying to undertake some sort of borderline manic world: beware. For once caught in such things, you'll certainly have to live it over and over again as you go over every detail you dreamed (or whatever experts are now calling writing, surely not a purely sub-conscious nor purely conscious matter) and it might be a little too much.
[2] I'm aware of many of her critics who think even her previous edge-node artwork was much too literal, if not ironic (and what art critic thinks that art should stoop to such a low level?). they will certainly find this worse, then. Of course, this sort of blatant imagery is exactly what I like. Perhaps it's the peasant in me.
[3] Again, I agree with her critics here, that it's close to impossible for any one person to draw what must be a million nodes on a painting this large. Not in a lifetime. So even if the robot arm that draws rumors are true, so what? Does that change the art at all? Does it change the message? I think not.
Enjoyed the writing? Then Share it via email, facebook, twitter, or one of the buttons below (or through some other method you prefer). Thank you! As always, here's the tip jar. Throw some change in there and help cover the costs! Then Subscribe to my mailing list* indicates requiredEmail Address * First Name Last Name Email Format
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). One short, the one on Sasquan World-con, was well received over at file770. Many thanks to Mr. Glyer who called the story "an oasis". Much too kind, that.Nevertheless, I am also here to present to you an excuse, of sorts. For when I have not been dealing with the upcoming novel [1], I have been out and about and dealing with the very things that one would call a distraction. And so it goes, you may say. For one, all that has been in the news has been pushing me to write more and more on that which has been on my mind. But I have not.
When it comes to matters like the refugee crisis, all I can say is that the world better have a better plan than what they are showing of being capable of right now. Anyone with a brain will have accepted climate change as inevitable. So what to do next? Even the tamest of predictions put the lowering of water tables and the increase in droughts across the world (and especially in the third world) will make this refugee crisis (to say nothing of the militias, heavily brutalized, that will come from it) look like a picnic.
Think on it. How much would a little bit of drought prevention have helped Syria, rather than what they (and the world) are facing right now. So I see all this and wonder how the world could not have any plan. Even if this one crisis somehow goes by without too many more deaths, what about the next one?
Of course, to see the tribalism in Europeans and Americans come to the fore is predictable—and can only be one of history's sense of humor, for how many times have many members of these nations looked elsewhere to mock tribalism?—but very sad too. I would wonder if older people have the same sense of foreboding and history repeating as I do, if they weren't spouting the same tribalistic nonsense as everyone else. And so it goes.
But let's not dive into politics for now. I will write, and write plenty on the matter later. If any of you have been following this blog for some time, you will now that I'm a little bit of a lover of arts. The younger me would never have understood it (that youth only liked grand realistic paintings), but as I've grown older, my love for the arts, for facture, has grown and I now think on it as one of those pleasures of life that I can count on and love.
And if you've been following this blog, you will know about one artist whom I find extremely interesting and, along with street art, I think of as one of the best of our time. Well, I recently had a chance to see her work in a gallery nearby this town of ours. By the way, if anyone wants to tell you that you have to go to large cities for beautiful work, don't listen to them. That is entirely false. Here in the Inland NW, there are plenty of artists making some very interesting art.
Let me speak, now, on the artist's work. There were only a handful of pieces,[2] but they were all worth it. This section of her work, at this time of her life, was based on Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian Man
. Ostensibly the one drawing that points to the man becoming, once more, the center of the world, this drawing is beyond iconic. Nevertheless, it's this that she based all her work around.The first is a sculpture of the Vitruvian Man. Except this one is in a sphere and his arms and legs are being moved back and forth and back and forth. On his face is a look of anguish. A torture mechanism? I'm not sure, but it certainly seems that way. Then there are a series of paintings. All are a mixture of the Vitruvian man stuck in the nodes of large and expansive edge-node paintings. I wasn't sure what each was, though some were shaped like household objects and others still parts of the atlas, or a human body part [3]
You might think this derivative, and it probably is, but I am of the mind that it says much about the coming age (or, perhaps, says much about the industrial and post-industrial age). A few of the paintings towards the end have the men, and women, climbing between nodes, fighting as some nodes dissipate. Odd, these.
The ultimate piece, a sculpture, was a combination of all that preceded it: a large mass, made up of small Vitruvian men (and women, and everyone else too, I should note) in nodes as small as peas. You have to look closely to see what they are. Each node and edge is hooked up to a fine LED light. And over and over a light starts at one place and spreads to everyone, node by node. It usually takes only a few seconds for it to do so. Above it a large display flashes what is traveling in such a viral fashion: virus, happiness, anger, fear and so on. They're all the same and in the same pattern—and I'm sure scientists will argue—but the point is made.
It was beautiful, the entire show, and I only felt like it gave me more ideas for my future work. For all of you out there, you should definitely check it out.
[1] And my, this here is a warning to anyone trying to undertake some sort of borderline manic world: beware. For once caught in such things, you'll certainly have to live it over and over again as you go over every detail you dreamed (or whatever experts are now calling writing, surely not a purely sub-conscious nor purely conscious matter) and it might be a little too much.
[2] I'm aware of many of her critics who think even her previous edge-node artwork was much too literal, if not ironic (and what art critic thinks that art should stoop to such a low level?). they will certainly find this worse, then. Of course, this sort of blatant imagery is exactly what I like. Perhaps it's the peasant in me.
[3] Again, I agree with her critics here, that it's close to impossible for any one person to draw what must be a million nodes on a painting this large. Not in a lifetime. So even if the robot arm that draws rumors are true, so what? Does that change the art at all? Does it change the message? I think not.
Enjoyed the writing? Then Share it via email, facebook, twitter, or one of the buttons below (or through some other method you prefer). Thank you! As always, here's the tip jar. Throw some change in there and help cover the costs!
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September 8, 2015
The yarn and the old folk
All this editing is taking its toll. Sometimes, after work but before I can lay my head to rest, my mind wanders some. Hard thing, to have a deadline and to know the clock is ticking, but to have the muse—that delightfully mischievous even sexual ghost, just as she was sculpted so perfectly as that avatar in Rodin's sculpture—play games when there is no time for it, well, one grows weary, but one must abide.Growing up, I spent a lot of time playing, but also absorbing what the old folk around me had to say. All play is serious, as they say, but I sensed then that what the older folk were doing was much more serious than what we were doing, even if they were playing with each other. But this isn't a lamentation for a lost time when kids listened to the adults, for I understand that which makes one obedient to adults in ones area has less to do with the person or generation and more to do with learned and useful memes.
But I'm getting sidetracked here; there was a day when I came across two people, as old as dust, arguing over something in a way that struck me then, and even now, as odd. Under the shadow of an awning, with mud leaking pushing into the building, as it's wont to do during the rains, the woman and man argued over a ball of string. Oh those rains! And the corresponding smell of kerosene hurricane lamps lit for the dark cavities of houses.
I can't remember the sides being taken, but one argued that the ball was just that, a ball, while the other claimed it was nothing more than string made to look in that shape. The first one countered that there was nothing to this kind of thinking but madness. That when it was taken apart one would have a string, but until then it was a ball.
There were passersby, other adults, who chimed in that it was a ball. Everyone sided on that account. In the end, the other one let it be, calling everyone an imbecile. I wouldn't see them again, but I would see the ball of yarn again, as I can see it now in my mind, and I wonder what they could possibly have been arguing about.
Enjoyed the writing? Please share it via email, facebook, twitter, or one of the buttons below (or through some other method you prefer). Thank you! As always, here's the tip jar. Throw some change in there and help cover the costs! Then Subscribe to my mailing list* indicates requiredEmail Address * First Name Last Name Email Format
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But I'm getting sidetracked here; there was a day when I came across two people, as old as dust, arguing over something in a way that struck me then, and even now, as odd. Under the shadow of an awning, with mud leaking pushing into the building, as it's wont to do during the rains, the woman and man argued over a ball of string. Oh those rains! And the corresponding smell of kerosene hurricane lamps lit for the dark cavities of houses.
I can't remember the sides being taken, but one argued that the ball was just that, a ball, while the other claimed it was nothing more than string made to look in that shape. The first one countered that there was nothing to this kind of thinking but madness. That when it was taken apart one would have a string, but until then it was a ball.
There were passersby, other adults, who chimed in that it was a ball. Everyone sided on that account. In the end, the other one let it be, calling everyone an imbecile. I wouldn't see them again, but I would see the ball of yarn again, as I can see it now in my mind, and I wonder what they could possibly have been arguing about.
Enjoyed the writing? Please share it via email, facebook, twitter, or one of the buttons below (or through some other method you prefer). Thank you! As always, here's the tip jar. Throw some change in there and help cover the costs!
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September 1, 2015
New Story out. Thanks to Omni-reboot!
Hi all. As I chip away at my edits like Snow White's companions, I'm also working on several projects at once. So trust and believe that the novel is being refined, but enjoy this short story while you're waiting. Called RAW (short for Robo-Anthro-War), it's a short about a man and his companion at the end of the world. Enjoy it and share it!
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Enjoyed the writing? Please share it via email, facebook, twitter, or one of the buttons below (or through some other method you prefer). Thank you! As always, here's the tip jar. Throw some change in there and help cover the costs!
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Nelson Lowhim's Blog
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