Archived Articles
I don't know if you've been paying much attention recently, but it seems that role-playing is once again being attributed to real deaths.
The original story to start this little blame-throwing exercise is on MSN. It explains how two young men in Brazil, having been arrested for the ritual murder of a banker and his family, admitted that it was all a part of a role-playing game. This then led to public outcry against the games and those who play them, with bans issued and sermons preached, and role-playing has once again taken a bashing. The latest story I've seen was on Rednova.
Now, I've been role-playing for nearly twenty years and in that time I've met a lot of other gamers. To the best of my knowledge, not one of them has ever turned out to be a murderer. Why is it that as soon as role-playing is mentioned the authorities and the press stop looking for the real cause of the problem? The original article on MSN describes the game played as "...a murder-mystery role-playing game..." which could mean a traditional paper-and-pens role-play such as Dungeons&Dragons or Vampire, though I was more inclined to think of the murder-mystery dinner party games that were popular a few years ago. But no, as soon as the words "role-playing" are used, the scapegoat is revealed. Look, just because the average role-playing game deals with sensitive topics such as death, life, the occult, magic, sex, flowers, rabbits, sailing, swimming, hiking and shopping, that doesn't mean that it's bad. Most role-players (especially the older ones) tend to be intelligent, creative and imaginative. Why not blame soccer for these murders; after all, everybody knows that all soccer fans are potential hooligans one step removed from animals. Or is that just the one side of the story we get in the press?
I do, of course, have my own theory here. I've been doing some research into murders over the last hundred years (since before role-playing as it now exists first came into being) and I've noticed a link. In every single case, the suspects all had one thing in common, and the press have completely failed to alert us to it. It's quite scary actually, and if you don't believe me you can check for yourself. Every single murder committed in the last hundred years was performed by somebody who was breathing air. Why haven't we been told about this before? There must be something in the air that leads people to commit murder; that's the only plausible explanation I can come up with. Are the authorities deliberately keeping us in the dark here? Should we all be worried in case the guy sitting next to you on the bus turns out to be one of those affected by these airborne murder-particles? Who should we trust?
Okay, it's a silly idea, but it's no sillier than suggesting that a game can turn people into murderers. Kids have been playing make-believe since the dawn of time and that's all that role-playing is - make-believe for grown-up kids. If you read a book, you suspend disbelief; if you watch a movie, same result. If you play a role-playing game, you're doing exactly the same but now you're getting interactive. Should we start keeping one eye on our kids in case their latest game of cops and robbers inspires them to grab the nearest machine gun and head for the nearest schoolyard? It isn't the game that kills, but people, and more effort should be made to find out the real reason that those two men in Brazil killed a banker and his family. They've admitted the crime and then in a flash of insight realised that if they say a game made them do it, then they might just get away with it. Just as at Columbine High, the moral majority and the blind, ignorant leaders have heard the soul-chilling words "role-playing" and made their mind up.
Role-playing is a part of the human condition. Whether you play cops and robbers as a kid, Dungeons&Dragons as a young adult, Vampire Live as an adult, or Master and Servant in the bedroom with your S.O., you're still role-playing. Most corporate training companies use role-playing as a tool these days, and for good reason. It helps you to learn a little about the world around you, get to know the other people you're playing alongside and develop new interpersonal skills. It gives you a chance to escape from the mundane world for a few hours and be the hero of the story. It gives you a chance to explore some pretty heady topics or simply to have fun. What it does not do is turn you into a rabid murderer; if that were the case then there'd be a whole lot more dead bodies piling up. Give it a rest, will you?
Sleep well. I'm going to head back to my role-playing game of violence, death and sex.
Anybody who knows me will know that I like to be controversial, and I guess it would be wrong of me to disappoint my fans. With that in mind, I've decided to offer up my own review of Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, and to be honest, I could probably do that with just one word: pathetic.
Okay, maybe one word isn't enough to express how thoroughly disappointed I am with the whole Star Wars franchise, and Mr George Lucas in particular. I feel as though my childhood has been stolen from me.
The movie opens, as all good stories should, in the middle of the action. That in itself causes a problem, because if you haven't seen the Clone Wars animated series on TV then all you get by way of explanation is the brief scrolling message at the beginning (and it doesn't help much, trust me). Cue lots of flashy special effects, a script that could have been written far more intelligently by a five-year old and acting that would be considered below standard for a primary school play, and you get a good idea of what you'd not really be missing if you never saw this movie.
Now, don't get me wrong; there are good points to the whole. The opening is one - the Star Wars fanfare always makes my heart race faster and my pupils dilate, as memories of being a five-year old myself kick in. The initial space battle and the whole rescue of Palpatine is good old-fashioned adventure. It's just a shame that the dialogue is so terrible. Also, when did Grievous develop asthma? Just one of the thousand or so continuity questions that crop up throughout this travesty. The only other good point was the end; you know, the bit just after the credits start to roll, when they play that wonderful music again.
Now, I know that part of the reason that I'm disappointed will be because I'm not a five-year old any more; because I can't view it with the same naive innocence I saw A New Hope with. Or is it? I've watched the original trilogy dozens, possibly even hundreds of times as an adult. They still fill me with wonder and awe, and take me back to being a child. They still allow me to suspend my disbelief for two hours at a time and wrap myself up in the warm cocoon of a fairy tale. I didn't get any of that from the prequels; not one iota. Instead, all I saw was a dead horse being flogged mercilessly.
There are rumours of a TV series and another set of pre-prequel movies and to be honest, I hope the rumours prove to be insubstantiated. I watched the final death throes of an immensely lucrative movie franchise tonight, and it was painful. Please, Mr Lucas, don't hurt us any more.
If you only go to see one movie this year, don't see Star Wars III.
I've been changing the world and it's all Frank Miller's fault.
Over the last couple of days I've been working on an idea for a new story; a serialised comic-book style romp in prose, an homage to the penny-westerns of the fifties and an escape back to the days of my own childhood. I initially considered writing it stylistically, with the good guy in white and the bad guy in black. I wanted heroes and villains, in a mixed-up, muddled-up, shook-up world. I had a vision.
Then I watched Sin City. It had an effect. It changed my dream and played around with my idea of rip-roaring adventure. It reminded me that a writer doesn't necessarily need to spoon-feed the reader, and that a little darkness is good for the soul. My world changed in front of my eyes and things were no longer so clear-cut.
Then, last night, I went for a drink with a writer friend. We discussed our craft, swapped a few ideas, and a stray comment in the conversation gave me a new depth to the story, a new way of presenting the world.
I'm now ready to actually start fleshing out this story. It's taken me maybe three or four days from concept to feeling prepared to put words down. The stage is set, the actors ready to take their cues. Now all I need to do is direct them.
I wonder what they'll do.
Following on from GWB's threatened veto earlier this week, I was interested to read this article from Reuters today. In it, he continues to express his discomfort with the potential change in stem-cell legislation by saying that such a change would violate his own policy from 2001 by "...creating new incentives for the ongoing destruction of emerging human life..." Okay, so I guess this clarifies his stance on why he thinks stem-cell research is bad - because the man-made embryos, grown in a lab, are "emerging human life".
Unfortunately, his own argument is shot down in flames in the same news article. The proposed changes to the legislation would effectively allow federal funds to be spent on stem-cells taken from embryos grown specifically for fertility clinics - embryos which the clinic would normally discard if not needed. Errm, surely discarding an embryo is "...ongoing destruction of emerging human life..." What difference does it make how the embryos are destroyed? And if there are so many being discarded in the first place, surely by GWB's own argument this makes fertility treatment bad as well.
In most IVF-ET procedures, the clinic will attempt to fertilise as many eggs as possible before implanting a viable embryo. Any embryos not used are then either put on ice (ie: cryogenically frozen) for future use or discarded, depending upon the wishes of the donors (parents). If they're going to be discarded anyway, surely it makes far more sense to harvest the stem-cells first, especially in light of the potential benefits that this could lead to. Call me crazy, but just simply throwing something away when it could have far-reaching benefits in the future smacks of wastefulness.
Nice going GWB. Maybe you need to have a chat with your researchers about checking all the details?
Interestingly enough, despite the threatened veto the House of Reps passed the vote by a 238-194 margin. From what I understand, the vote is yet to pass to the Senate, so the argument's not over yet. My favourite quote in this whole debate so far is from the White House press office - "[The legislation] relies on unsupported scientific assertions to promote morally troubling and socially controversial research." Exactly which scientific assertions are they talking about here? I'd love to know.
Ah well, I guess when you put a political agenda ahead of the welfare and wellbeing of the human race you can say whatever the hell you like, no matter how true or false it is. Dress it up in religious rhetoric and you're bound to get the vote of the moral majority.
Sleep well Sleepsville. I'm sure that your government will tell you if you need to worry.
I don't tend to watch that much TV these days. I've started to lose faith in the ol' goggle-box recently and there's not that much on that draws my attention. Sci-Fi shows are dumbing down again, losing their balls; cop shows are predictable and over-dramatised; science and discovery programs aren't telling me anything I can't learn on the internet or by going out and experiencing it personally. Every now and then something will happen along that's worth watching but most of the time I'm happy to wait until it's available on DVD. I don't get as excited as I used to when I was a kid.
I think the most memorable TV experience for me was the old 1950's serials, such as King Of The Rocketmen, Flash Gordon or Buck Rogers. I used to get home from school, grab a bite to eat and drop down in front of the TV until about seven every night. The last show was usually something cool, either from the list above or Doctor Who. I was gripped by the fantastical settings, the heroic characters, the deliciously evil villains, but most importantly, by the "will-they-won't-they" cliffhangers. Every day I would come running back for the next exciting installment to find out if Batman and Robin could escape the clutches of the fiendish Joker, or to see if Zorro was able to get away before the explosion brought down the mine entrance. Not that many shows these days use that technique and I think it's a shame.
I mention this because today I started a new story and I've decided to try and work it along similar lines - a serialisation with a cliffhanger at the end of each episode; a good old-fashioned good-guys versus bad-guys rumble. And it all came from a spurious conversation with a friend about the amazing powers of the human mind.
It's late ... or early, depending on your point of view. I'm going to put the old laptop to sleep now before bedding down myself. I hope that your day's been as productive.
G'nite Sleepsville
Mankind is not the dominant species on this planet. Okay, maybe that's not news to anybody else but from what I've seen in the press, fiction, theology and philosophy, and from what I've heard in conversations with other people, I'm guessing that you're now thinking that I've lost the plot. Everything you've been taught, from birth to the present day, has brainwashed you into thinking that we are the most successful, most intelligent, most creative and most spiritual animal on God's Green Earth, and it's all complete bull.
As a species, we've only been around for a short while; a few million years, a blink of an eye in geological terms. The dinosaurs are believed to have walked the earth for approximately 160 million years, whereas mammals as they now exist have only been around for approximately 70 million years. Hominids, the line from which humans evolved, have only existed for approximately 30 million years, and humans are probably a direct descendant of a hominid which existed around 8 to 14 million years ago. The earth itself is thought to be approximately 5 billion years old. To bring this all into perspective, imagine that the earth formed at midnight, with the present day being the following midnight. Life begins at approximately ten-past seven in the morning, while dinosaurs evolved somewhere around five to eleven at night and lived for approximately three-quarters of an hour. Humans, on the other hand, only arrive on the scene at five minutes to midnight. We're a very young species; in terms of evolutionary age, we're still babies.
If we look at population sizes, we don't even rate on the scale. It is estimated that there are approximately a billion insects on the planet for every single human being, and every single one of us carries approximately 600 million bacteria on our skin alone. We're outnumbered on all sides and if nature decided to wipe us out, we wouldn't stand a chance.
Some might argue that it's our intelligence and artifice that make us dominant, and it's certainly a tempting argument. As far as we can ascertain, no other species has shown the ability to construct machinery or devised technology as complex as our own, but why should this be proof of intellectual superiority? Most of the tools and machines we've developed are a direct result of our constant in-fighting. We are always striving to find new and inventive ways to wipe each other out. To me, such behaviour immediately negates any claim to superiority gained by the ability to manufacture. And we already have evidence that many other species use tools, build homes, act collectively, solve problems with reasoning and use other species to their own benefit. Just because a creature doesn't behave in a certain way, that doesn't mean that it's any less intelligent; only our own egos tell us that it is.
Self-awareness is another argument for our dominance; the belief that we're better because we're conscious of our own existence. This belief usually includes the assumption that other members of the animal kingdom do not exhibit conscious self-awareness, but common sense tells us that this is absolute poppycock. All animals will fight to defend themselves, their mates, their young and their territory. Aren't self-preservation and the preservation of valued things a sign of self-awareness? Animals can easily recognise individual members of other species. Isn't it just a little arrogant to assume that because an animal cannot tell us that it recognises its own existence and its place in life, then it must therefore not be self-aware?
So now the superiority comes in the form of linguistic and communicative ability. Humans can talk, using a number of different systems, in a seemingly endless number of variations. But so can animals. Bees use dancing to direct other bees to sources of food, while many animals use vocalisation to pass on messages, including threat warnings, territorial observances, mating rituals and satisfaction. Some creatures use decoration and controlled markings, such as an octopus' colour-changing ability, to communicate with each other. Other creatures, such as sharks, are believed to use electricity or subsonic sound to send messages vast distances. Even scent and posture are employed in the constantly talking world of Mother Nature. Our own ability to chat to each other suddenly doesn't seem all that unique, does it? What's even more telling is that most animals in a given eco-system can understand the languages of every other animal around them, whereas humans are only just beginning to truly understand the behaviour, sounds, scents and other methods used. We're deaf and blind to the story unfolding around us every day and most of us don't even realise it.
Some people like to believe that it's the soul that makes us superior; that we are the only species on the planet to have an eternal spirit of some description. This particular argument is a difficult one to shoot down because it's so subjective. It relies on the egotistical assumption that we are somehow more important than every other species of life we share the world with. I can't in all sincerity say that this isn't true, because I can't prove that it isn't true, but by the same token, those who believe this line of reasoning cannot prove their own argument. How does one measure the existence of a soul? It may be a core doctrine of your personal religious beliefs that only humans have souls but that doesn't mean that it must be true. For a long time it was believed that the earth was flat until somebody proved it to be round. At this time we don't even know for definite if human souls exist, let alone animal, mineral or vegetable souls.
So why are we taught that we're the top dogs? The only logical, understandable reason I can think of is fear; fear that we're not important. Unfortunately, we're not that important when you get down to it. Whatever we do to ourselves as a race, the species we share space with, the plants that grow or the planet itself, we will barely make a difference to the universe as a whole. We are tiny, little, insignificant specks in the grand scheme of reality. What we do here and now probably won't even register when all is said and done.
But on some level, at the microcosmic scale, we are important. It doesn't matter if we're the dominant species or not. What matters is how we interact with the people and the world around us. Just because your time here is limited and your effect is minimal, that's no excuse for being ignorant and blind. Enjoy the wonders of this life, because they will never be the same way again.
MJE
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Addendum: Just read this on BoingBoing - it makes for interesting reading.
Okay, I'm probably shaking up a big ol' hornet's nest here, but I think that GWB has finally lost the plot. According to Reuters yesterday, he's warned that if an expected vote on the loosening of stem-cell research is successful, he's going to personally veto the legislation. He's also expressed concern over South Korea's research into human cloning. Let's look at these two topics separately, shall we?
Firstly, stem-cell research. For those who don't know (and I'll admit in advance I'm nothing more than an interested observer - for a more in-depth explanation of stem-cells take a look at How Stuff Works), stem-cell research centres around using cloned and harvested human stem-cells to regenerate damaged tissue. Stem-cells are the basic building block of biology. They form at the embryonic stage and upon receiving a hormonal signal, the stem-cells then change into whatever they're destined to be; skin, hair, organ tissue, brain tissue, etc. This offers massive potential for medical technology, especially in the treatment of degenerative diseases such as Alzheimer's. Despite continued research into cell manipulation, the science community still has a long way to go before it can effectively use this miracle panathea, but the outlook is fairly promising. So what's the problem?
Well, as I've already mentioned, the stem-cells being used develop at the embryonic stage, which means to harvest them an embryo has to be created. The best way of doing this is to create a cloned embryo purely for the cells that it will yield. Many people see this as a bad thing - what right do we have to create a new life only to destroy that life before it's even had a chance to breathe? I can understand this argument, but I have a little difficulty following the logic that usually accompanies it. Most of the voices raised against this approach to medical research cite religious doctrine to back up their case. That's fine with me, as long as those same dissenters are willing to admit that a cloned embryo, created in a lab by human manipulation, has the potential to house a soul. Y'see, it's a simple equation - if humans can create something which potentially has a soul, then God's creation of Adam and Eve (and Lilith) wasn't really all that impressive - hell, we've been creating life for decades (anyone remember Dolly the sheep?) - but more about that in a while. If, on the other hand, the cloned embryo has no potential to house a soul, by the religious argument it isn't technically human and is therefore fair game for research purposes. So, which is it GWB?
The second problem here is to do with what constitutes a life. According to US abortion law, an abortion can be granted up to 20-22 weeks into pregnancy (called actual viability) as long as "...the law does not present a 'substantial obstacle' to obtaining an abortion..." according to the Abortion Law Homepage. So if it's perfectly acceptable and legal to destroy a human embryo for up to 22 weeks after conception, why is it so wrong to destroy a purposefully created embryo a couple of days after? I know that GWB is very much anti-abortion (though it's not clear whether he's against all abortion or just elective abortion) so maybe this announcement is just part of the same philosophy. Indeed, he's quoted as saying that the proposed legislation would violate his own principles. WTF? Is the President of the USA allowed to pass or veto legislation based on his own principles? I thought his first duty was to the citizens of the USA, not his own personal agenda. And exactly how would he veto the legislation anyway?
Then there's the 'concern' over South Korea's human cloning research. Well, GWB very neatly sidesteps one interesting point here - British scientists have also successfully cloned humans. Don't believe me? Just check this story from the BBC. Okay, if the reports are true then we're still behind Korean research but will GWB start getting concerned that his closest allies are playing with cloning?
Okay, I think it's time for a little Cloning-101 here. Cloning a human isn't that easy. The best that anybody has managed so far is embryos, and they don't tend to last very long. The clone is created by injecting DNA from the donor into a human egg, which then develops into the embryo in question. There are no instantly-grown bodies, complete with memories, personality and psychotic tendencies as Sci-Fi might suggest. Most of the cloned embryos are short-lived and those that do make it past the first few weeks are destroyed. To grow a fully functioning human body from a clone embryo would require that the embryo be carried to term by a surrogate mother, then raised to maturity. The resulting person would, in theory, be genetically identical to the donor but that's as far as it goes. Personality, memories, knowledge, experiences - these would all be different and therefore the clone would be a totally separate and unique individual.
So where do you draw the line? When do you say that it's right to deliberately create a life in order to destroy that life to improve the existence of another? An interesting question and one I think we should all consider next time we tuck into our juicy steak or bite into an apple. What's the difference?
Enjoy your meal.
Just finished my morning round of news, courtesy of RSS Feeds. The usual collection of war, famine, plague, death, loss and foreshadowings of doom. It seems that stem-cell therapy might be bad for you, increasing the risk of a number of diseases including CJD. WTF? Just yesterday it was being lauded as the amazing wonder-cure. Why can't we have something that's good for us without all the nasty potential side-effects? How long until we're told that the very air we breathe is bad for us ... oh, wait a second, we already have.
In Uzbekistan, things are getting a little predictable after the weekend's riot. The Uzbeki president has already referred to the situation as an uprising and now he's opposing international investigations. I wonder how long until GWB sends in the good ol' USMC? And how will Mother Russia react to the growing pains of one of her offspring? It might make for interesting observation if real people weren't suffering and dying. But hey, don't you worry; you're safe and warm in your democratically governed, fuelled-by-renewable-energy, politically correct (one token minority) estate in the heart of Sleepsville, Western World. Apathy's fine as long as we're not suffering, right?
Wrong. C'mon guys. The world's falling apart over in the Middle East, Eastern Europe, the Far East. Surely if enough of us care then we can do something to help. Sending troops halfway around the world to sort out a political crisis isn't always the answer but I'm betting it'll happen in Uzbekistan. Either the Russians or the US Colonials will stick their automatic weaponry and battlefield artillery in where it don't belong and another police-state will be born. It's the rebuild after the end of the Cold War - let's see how many countries we can all take control of before the shit hits the fan once more.
Hell, it's been over fifty years since the last World War, the public's getting bored. Stop the foreplay and start fighting already. Just don't rope us into your playground cock-fight this time. Childish fucking jerks! When are they going to learn that having power ain't about how many people you can shit on without getting slapped? It's about how much help you can give, how much you can care without letting down the people who rely on you. Just because Johnny-[insert current press-hated ethnic group here] says "yo' mama so fat", that don't mean you have to fuck with him, his family, his land, his government and his life.
Violence. Solves. Nothing!
Sorry - didn't mean to rant. It just happened.
I've mentioned my writing twice now, so I figured it was about time I showed you what I'm so proud of. I'm only going to post the stories here that have either already been published (the rights have all reverted to me a long time ago) or that I'm not planning on submitting. These stories are from me to you, given freely. Please don't abuse the gift by trying to profit from it.
This first story is one of my prouder moments as a writer. I entered it in a BBC Local Radio competition back in 1993 and it was considered good enough for me to be awarded a runner's up place, out of over seven hundred entries. Hearing the story later read out over not one, but four BBC local stations was one of the biggest highs I've ever had.
Jarvey Quince was in love!
No, strike that. Jarvey Quince wasn't just in love; he was in LOVE, with capital letters! He would spell it out in neon lights that rose twenty feet into the sky if he knew how, that's how much in love he was. He would sit by the window for hours on end just staring dreamily at the trees and things and sort of realise for the first time just how wonderful everything was. And it was all because of Miss Gillian Ratcliffe, quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever met. To say that his work suffered would be an understatement. A more accurate description would be that it died quietly in its sleep, without as much as a whimper. After all, what could you expect from an eight year old schoolboy? Miracles?
Jarvey couldn't remember exactly when it was that he had first decided that he loved Miss Ratcliffe but somehow the day had achieved an almost heroic significance in his mind. Since that otherwise ordinary day he had floated from one place to another with a faintly dazed expression on his young, round face. This expression, which many mistook as gormless, was a result of his never-ending daydream in which he would fight off horde after innumerable horde of Space Alien Ninja Zombies to rapturous applause from Miss Ratcliffe. He'd never reached the end of his fantasy but that didn't matter because he already knew what would happen if he did; Miss Ratcliffe would be so happy that she would kiss him, on the lips. Then Jarvey would smile and smoulder his eyes at her (he wasn't exactly sure how to do this but he had once read one of his sister's books where the man had smouldered eyes, so he guessed that it must be a pretty good thing to do). For Jarvey, a single kiss from Miss Ratcliffe would be worth any amount of effort.
So he wore an almost perpetual dreamy expression on his face wherever he went, except Tuesdays and Thursdays, for these were the days that Miss Ratcliffe took the class for English. At these times, Jarvey became the perfect example of an ideal pupil and even though he wasn't very good at English, Miss Ratcliffe always smiled at him when he handed his projects in and she nearly always told him that it was good work.
It was this smile that haunted Jarvey as he waited quietly outside the English room on the last Thursday of winter term holding his latest project reverently in his hand as if it was an ancient parchment, or The Word of God Himself that he held. In the playground he could hear the faint chatter of the other children at play, occasionally punctuated by Miss Crawthorne shouting at Mugsy Boyce, the school bully, but their fun didn't interest him. No, he was more interested in the lone figure in the classroom. Miss Ratcliffe was busy laying out paper and pencils on each table and every so often she would glance in Jarvey's direction and smile, her eyes twinkling slightly in the early afternoon light.
As Jarvey watched her in silent adoration the school bell rang, signalling the end of dinner break and pretty soon he was surrounded by a press of other children, all being generally noisy. With a sigh he allowed the other kids to crowd him into the classroom and after depositing his assignment on the front desk he carefully settled into a seat close (but not too close) to where Miss Ratcliffe would sit. Gradually the background noise subsided to a reasonable level as the others slowly ended their dinnertime conversations and awaited the teacher's instructions.
"As most of you know," began Miss Ratcliffe, happy that the room was as still as could be expected, "today is your last English lesson before the holiday." This last comment solicited more than a few cheers from the class which soon died as Miss Ratcliffe continued speaking.
"What you don't know is that today is also the last time that you will see me as your English teacher. When you come back in the spring you will have a new teacher..." Suddenly the room was awash with young voices, each child clamouring to be heard over his or her class-mates. In fact, the only one who remained seated was Jarvey. For him the news had been something of a shock. She was leaving she had said, but why? Somewhere in the crowd he heard several others ask the same question and listened with a heavy heart as an explanation was given. Apparently Miss Ratcliffe was getting married during the holiday and then going to live somewhere called South Shields. To Jarvey this all meant just one thing; he would never see her again! And he hadn't even known she had a boyfriend!
For the rest of the lesson Jarvey worked in stunned silence, refusing to acknowledge the presence of the others in his grief. It didn't seem fair that he could love her so much and then lose her. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he failed to hear the bell ring at three o'clock. Nor did he notice the other children leave in a cloud of noise and activity. He just remained in his seat, silent and dejected.
"Jarvey?" With a start he was brought back to reality by her voice, the sound that liquid honey would make if it could speak. "Jarvey, are you alright?" she asked in concern. "Should I send for your mother to come and fetch you?"
Inside his chest, Jarvey's heart leapt. Miss Ratcliffe was worried about him. Perhaps if he was nice he could stop her from marrying that other man and stay with him. It was worth a try.
"I'm alright, Miss," he said, thinking that his voice was maybe just a little too high. "I'm going to miss you." To Jarvey, this sounded like the right thing to say and he meant every word of it. "Do you have to go? Can't you stay and teach English?"
At this, Miss Ratcliffe gave a little smile, making her eyes shine in that special way that he liked. "Oh, Jarvey. I'm going to miss you as well," she told him, "but I love Roger a great deal. I have to go with him." For a second Jarvey thought that she might not really mean what she said. Desperately, he tried one last attempt.
"But, I ... I ... Iloveyoumissratcliffe!" The words came out fast, all jumbled together and for a moment she just looked at him. She's going to laugh at me, he thought in the silence. But she didn't.
"I'm flattered, Jarvey," she said when she spoke again. "I really am. But you'll forget me, I'm sure. One day, when you're older, you'll meet another girl and fall in love and maybe even get married. You wait and see."
But Jarvey didn't want another girl. He wanted Miss Ratcliffe.
The holidays passed slowly for Jarvey and it was with a certain reluctance that he dragged himself into English when school re-opened. What fun would it be without Miss Ratcliffe? None, he thought.
And then the new English teacher arrived. With interest the class as a whole watched her set her bag on the desk and listened as she introduced herself as Miss Barnham.
And Jarvey Quince? Well, Jarvey Quince was in love!
(c) Markham J Eggleton
For those of you who don't know already, I write primarily sci-fi, spec-fic and fantasy. Over here in Blightly, there are really only two or three magazines that cater to what is commonly seen as a niche market, with Interzone and The Third Alternative being the two main ones. The latter is a fairly recent addition to the marketplace but the first, Interzone, has been around for a long time. At one point t it was the best-selling magazine of speculative fiction and sci-fi in Britain. You just try getting a-hold of a copy from your local magazine supplier.
To make the first steps into their chosen field, most writers tend to submit to magazines and other short-story markets. This requires an understanding of their market and an ability to write to the same level of quality and same standards as their contemporaries, and to understand that market the writer really needs to read back-issues of the magazines or anthologies. In a way it's like any other career - you start off as one of the crowd and try to get noticed for your skills, devotion, enthusiasm and ambition. Only after you've proved that you can do the job as well as everybody else do you really get the chance to show off; in other words, only then can you afford to write the way you really want to.
It seems that there are a million markets out there for the aspiring author. Of all the genres that exist (both real and made-up), sci-fi is possibly one of the most widespread. It appeals to people from all walks of life, all age groups, both sexes, all creeds, all nationalities and effectively has one of the most diverse demographics you can imagine. If you don't believe me, just take a look at the best-seller lists or the top movies of the week. The final Star Wars movie opens this week and will undoubtedly be the highest grossing film of the year, if not the decade. Most people will have at least one-or-two books in their collections that fall under the banner of sci-fi or spec-fic. So why is this genre so poorly represented on magazine shelves?
To be honest, I have no idea. I don't handle distribution for the publishers, I'm not a buyer for the wholesalers and I don't control the stock levels for the stores. I do know that when I tell people that I write Sci-Fi or Fantasy they get a strange look in their eyes. I do know that the epithets Sci-Fi, Spec-Fic and Fantasy are all poorly understood by most of the reading public. You mention sci-fi to most people and they think spaceships and rayguns, you say fantasy and they think of hobbits, dwarves, dragons and magic. Even the agents and publishers suffer from the same affliction - one agent I spoke to a few years ago was vehement that they didn't represent sci-fi, and yet at the time they claimed they represented William Gibson in this country. WTF?
I think the point is that as people try to pigeon-hole art into more specific genres it slowly erodes the possibilities for the artist. New authors are having to limit their writing to specific motifs and styles in order to simply get their feet on the ladder, and then once they're there, the agents are (understandably) nervous about the author changing tack with their second book in case the public doesn't warm to it. So the author has to make compromises once again in order to write something commercially viable, sacrificing their integrity once again in order to appease the buying public. And the public becomes jaded with yet another writer rehashing the old ideas in search of a fast buck.
And so, in a roundabout way, I come to my point. Don't write to make money - you'll only fail. If you play by the "rules", you'll have maybe one or two mildly successful trade paperbacks to your name and not many people will go out looking for your latest masterpiece. Try to be yourself, try to be different from the word go. If you're lucky, you might find an agent willing to back you, with the courage to handle something a little different. Once your book's on the shelf, the public may or may not read it but those who do will see that it's different and may just stick with you. If they remember you for your differences, you've got a fan-base for a long time - maybe even for life.
I've just submitted my second story this year to Interzone, courtesy of their trial e-subs program. I'm not expecting it to be picked up but at the same time I know that they will treat my story with respect and if they feel it shows any kind of promise, they'll tell me. Every rejection, especially the polite, respectful ones, helps me to become a better writer. Who knows, it may even get my name on the shelves before the end of the year.
Anyhew, that's all for now. I've got things to do today.
Speak again soon.
If somebody were to ask me how I'd spent my afternoon today, I'd tell them that I'd spent it writing. But that's not strictly true.
In addition to writing (just over fifteen hundred words today), I've browsed the internet, prepared and eaten food, prepared and consumed coffee, smoked a little (yeah, I know - filthy habit, pollutes the atmos ... ya-di-ya-di-yaa), listened to music, chatted with a couple of friends, mused on life and daydreamed. So why do I limit my answer to just writing?
I think a lot of it's down to the way I perceive the other activities. Most of them are daily or passive, including chatting to friends - it's a pleasant break in the day and is a great way to fill time, but it's something that generally happens on a daily basis.
Writing, on the other hand, is a proactive activity, requires a structured frame of mind and is totally different every time you do it. Some writers have a definite plan for their work that they stick to and only alter under incredibly rare circumstances, while others go with the flow and let their arc develop organically. But both types, and everyone in between and alongside, will surprise themselves with their latest words. It happens to me all the time; I'll be writing a short story, with a definite theme, arc and resolution in mind, and then halfway through the story I spot a thread of a change that after a moment's thought proves to be finer than the one I originally planned. My story changes as I write and the end result is (in my opinion) better then I'd originally planned. I enjoy my writing, and so I'm eager to let people know when I've had a good day. It's even better when some of them show an active interest in reading the finished product. Thanks guys.
I enjoy writing for a lot of reasons. It's not for the financial rewards (though I do kinda hope that I can make it as a published author so that it pays enough for me to make it a career instead of a hobby). Nope, the main reason I enjoy writing is because it lets me show off, whilst entertaining - and in some cases educating.
I write because I can take a bunch of made-up characters, put them in a fictitious situation, and then try and figure out how they'd react and get out of the situation. That's the same reason I like role-playing. I like to tell stories that I'm making up on-the-fly.
One of the things I've noticed while working on my first full-length novel is that writing needs some structure. I've never really taken any formal training or tutoring on the subject of writing a novel, I've never read any books on the subject, so I've sort of relaxed into a method I'm happy with. I start off with an idea, build a crude arc about it, and then start writing.
I'm now in the final phase of the first draft - the editing stage. Along the way my original arc has almost disappeared, replaced by two major story arcs and drawing in a whole bunch of characters who have been promoted from secondary or supporting roles to primary roles. The novel has matured, grown, developed and improved as I've been working on it. I've taken out some superfluous sections and added in more detail and more backstory. It's nothing like my original synopsis and yet I'm incredibly happy with it so far. I reckon I should have a working MS within the next couple of weeks. Then comes the part I'm dreading; finding an agent.
I won't go into the details of why I've decided to use an agent - I'll save that for another day. I just wanted to introduce you to MJE the writer, as opposed to MJE the satirist. Along the way, you may even get to meet MJE the philosopher.
Okay, I'm off to find another cup of coffee.
Take care all.
There are a lot of things that get on my nerves these days. Most of them are related to the problems in the world, such as starvation, capitalism, the decline of society, racism, sexism, ageism - a whole bunch of ism's, actually - and it was hard for me to decide which thing to choose for this, the first rant of my brand new blog.
I considered politics, but that would take more than just the one and believe it or not I want handle that one properly, with research and everything that entails. So politics is out for now.
I thought that I could rant about sex, but I'm still trying to figure out how I tackle that subject without sounding like a) a cocky egotistical creep (in other words, like all men) and b) a bitter, under-sexed loser who wouldn't know a clitoris from a clematis. Tough problem. So I'll leave sex alone for a while.
Religion's always a good conversation starter, but as with politics is such a big subject that I'd need to sit and think for a long time about where to start, so let's shelf religion.
Then, this lunchtime I decided to go and buy a magazine. I failed. I simply couldn't find the magazine anywhere, so I gave up. But that's not my rant either.
Nope, my rant is actually about roads. Y'see, while I was waiting for a bus back home after my failed shopping trip, I witnessed a mini-gridlock in front of my eyes and I got to thinking. The gridlock was started by a herd of seven buses all trying to arrive at the same bus-stop (a stretch of road approximately thirty yards long, which is a big bus-stop for this city) at the same time. It's a regular occurrence in the city centre, and on any given day, if you stand near a stop for ten minutes, you'll be able to see it for yourself. Sometimes as many as a dozen buses can get involved. And why?
Well, the main reason it seems to happen so often is because the there are always too many buses trying to stop at the same five or six stops on some of the city centre's busiest streets. So whose fault is this?
The first suspect in this congestive crime is the city council. They're the ones who site the bus-stops and decide which roads the buses can use. They force the buses along certain paths and then make matters worse by closing off half of the road to perform some unexplained maintenance. I understand the need to do this work but there's never a sign saying exactly what the workmen are doing in the middle of the road. And in a lot of cases there aren't even workmen to ask. For weeks on end the traffic is filtered through a half-mile bottleneck, where buses compete with each other and cars to get to the stops, unload and take-on passengers, and finally pull back into the flow of traffic. Taxis and ignorant motorists use the bus-stops as drop-offs (and even more amazingly as parking spots sometimes), tying up the bus-stop and making things worse, until there's a gridlock.
The next in our list of ne'er-do-wells are the bus companies. They send almost every route through the city centre, and because of the one-way system they all have to follow the same roads to get from one side to the other. They run some routes every five minutes, so that in the space of just a single minute you can watch as many as ten buses from ten different routes sail past. Every minute. For nine hours a day. That's a lot of buses. And because they've only got a limited number of stops to use, they have as many as thirty different routes all stopping in the same place. If one stop has to serve just half-a-dozen routes, each running at five-minute intervals, then it's obvious there's going to be overlap. A bus simply cannot stop, unload, take-on new passengers and merge with the traffic in thirty seconds. Not in a city centre.
The more I thought about this problem, the more I started to see other causes. And then it struck me - the originator of this misdeed, the ones responsible for the problem in the first place. I was shocked to realise that the guilty party is none other than....
(Pause for emphasis)
...Us. The pedestrians and passengers. We are the ones who have, through our own laziness and lack of foresight, brought the city of Sheffield to it's knees. We are the bringers of our own doom. And it wouldn't surprise me if this scenario is playing in a town near you.
It goes like this. The bus companies want to carry as many passengers as possible. That's only fair; they are a business and we're their customers. So they listen to their customers' needs and act accordingly. We tell them that we want a bus route to place A and they give us just that. We all have reason to go to the city centre fairly regularly, so those routes become the most common and most frequent.
Next, the bus companies realise that to save money, and maybe satisfy a bunch of customers even more, they can merge two or more routes. For example, take route A and route B, both of which lead to and from the city centre, and merge them into route AB, passing through the city centre. Do this with enough routes and you have many fewer routes and the customers who have a need of route AB or any of it's cousins are happier because they don't need to get off of one bus and wait for another. With me so far?:
Okay, the next problem comes from us, and ultimately leads us to the cause of the regular gridlocks in the city. We, the customers, don't like to stand around in the cold waiting for buses. And we're too lazy to walk a couple of hundred yards to a bus-stop. So we complain to the bus companies. "Look," we say, "here are many bus-stops in the city centre, and yet my bus only goes to the station. Why must I walk two hundred yards from my place of work to the station, when my colleague only has to walk fifty yards? I want my bus to stop nearer to my place of work."
The bus company listens to it's customers, and if enough people are asking for the same thing, they'll do something about it. So eventually all of the buses that pass through the city centre are stopping at as many stops as possible, until the roads become over-used and traffic jams become the norm.
That's when we started complaining that we had to wait too long for the buses, so the bus company laid on more buses for us and the problem just snowballed from there. It's our own fault.
So here's the point. The next time you're standing at your bus-stop, waiting half-an-hour for a bus that's meant to run every five minutes, think before you start to complain. In the old days, before the bus company was nice enough to give us a bus every five minutes, they used to run on time (every ten minutes in some cases, but normally every fifteen). Fewer buses fighting for stop space, so less chances of a hold up. It's your fault the buses are late, and it's your fault there are so many jams. Don't you dare open your mouth to complain, you ungrateful bastard! You might make it worse.
Oh, and just for the record. I hate our public transport network. It's over-priced, over-supplied, under-serviced and very much under-quality. I try not to use it if I can help it. Not easy for a non-driver like myself.
That's all. Sleep well.
I just thought I'd give you a picture of me to look at. Nothing special, I'm afraid.
Be well.
Hey, I've got a blog!In case you hadn't figured it out, this is my first real attempt at keeping one of these things and for the time-being it's probably not going to make much sense. Over time, I'll be posting various things on here and who knows, it may even follow a pattern. For now, however, you'll just have to bear with me until I can organise my thoughts into something that's readable and publishable.
Thanks for dropping by, and please, feel free to add me to your feed list.
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