Conversations Between Two Different People

I seem to be writing a lot of dialogue into my stories lately. While good dialogue is fine (and this is assuming that my dialogue lines are good), I'm aware that it brings along a couple of nasty aftereffects.

For one, dialogue compromises description. I suppose that I can blame my research into styles of comic scriptwriting for this; While the more visual media can get away with works that read almost entirely as dialogue, a plain short story needs the description in order to speed it along. At the moment, I'm probably using the dialogue to drop subtle hints for background and appearance every now and then, and although it does make the reader think more carefully, I don't want to have to use that for every story I write:

Gus sank into the chair, his weight deflating the cushions. "Look, Johnny," he said, "you're a good kid. Abner's a good kid. Sal's a good kid. Besides, what did I ever do to you?"

"You know what you did, Gus," Johnny said, playing with the crystal tiger he swiped from the display shelves. "You know what you did."

"Aw, that was ten years ago. I said I was sorry."

"Yeah? Well, sorry don't take the pain away, Gus."

Johnny let the tiger drop to the floor, where it shattered. Gus winced at the sound.

My second concern is that, the more I depend on dialogue, the more the stories tend to adopt a minimalist approach. I've written stories that were purely composed of dialogue, and while I think they qualify as creative approaches to writing, they're not very substantial to begin with. They don't help much with regards to imagination - a reader could just as well be listening to the speakers on the radio, for all I know. I want the reader to be able to see exactly what a character looks like - how he dresses, how he gestures, how he feels. I don't want the reader to get away with merely knowing what the character sounds like.

"So, whatcha gonna do about that, Gus?"

"Bastard. That tiger cost me an arm and a leg down in Panama."

"Well, that's what's left of it now, Gus. An arm and a leg."

"You bastard."

"I don't have all day, Gus. I need the money now."

"You never said anything about money!"

"I know you've got the money. Everybody knows ol' Gus's got the money."

Finally, writing dialogue takes a toll on the psyche. Good dialogue requires a writer to visualize two distinct characters at once, and then to somehow put both of them in the same thought and see how they interact with one another. Different characters will simply interact in different ways; While the motivation and methods are fairly standard - friendship, intimidation, violence, pacifism, mercy, rage, and so forth - the approaches and reactions are always different. I find myself having to speak as one character and then the other... and so forth, alternating as needed. It feels strangely schizophrenic that way, and I'm afraid of what might happen if I do it too often.

"Well, I ain't got no money," Gus said. "You think that if I had any money I'd still be living in this godforsaken house in this godforsaken town?"

"I don't have to get an answer out of you, Gus," Johnny said, taking a few steps towards him. "Even if you weren't around, I could've just torn up the whole place. But luckily for me, you were here, Gus. You were here."

The gun was in Johnny's hands before Gus could react. Cold metal pressed against the larger man's upper lip.

"You can make this easy for me, Gus," Johnny said, "or you can make it a little harder for me. You might end up dead, Gus, or you might not. But either way, I'm going to find the money."

I'm going to try a little hiatus from dialogue for the next few days. While my exercises in that field have been okay, I suppose that I can't stoop to using the same approach for every story I write. That would make me a bit of a one-trick pony. No, come to think of it, that would make me a schizophrenic one-trick pony, which is even more difficult to imagine.

Antaria: The Celebration

The royal palace of Lorendheim stands in the light of a hundred torches, its walls, windows and balconies laid with yards of bunting and soft colored cloth. Beneath its lofty gaze the nobles of Lorendheim enter, each carrying their finest clothes, holding their finest gifts, bearing their finest lies.

The knights of the Galenic standard hold their posts here and there, their faces a mixture of stoicism and indifference. Their armor shines, white and gold, reflecting the glow of the evening fires. The Galenics have retained the favor of King Frederick's family for decades, and this night is merely one in a long series of associations.

As for King Frederick, sovereign of Lorendheim himself, he sits on a raised throne looking out onto a cavernous ballroom, greeting the guests as they offer him their fealties and watching them mingle with each other afterwards.

At the moment, he is now quite bored.

"Lady Ophelia of Mendingham," he mutters, watching the massive woman exit his presence. "No manners or decorum whatsoever in the eight unfortunate years I have known her. Where is Mendingham, anyway?"

The young woman standing by his left hand gives no indication of a response.

"How many more?" King Frederick asks.

"Many more," the young woman answers.

The ruler of Lorendheim stretches in his seat. "I'm a King, Maia. I shouldn't have to go through this."

Maia shifts a little, her armor settling against the edges of Frederick's throne. "You're a King, my liege," she says. "This duty is yours alone."

"Spoken like a Galenic," King Frederick observes, "Not very sympathetic, but spoken like a true Galenic."

Three figures approach the throne, each one in heavy robes of varying colors: One ancient-looking man, one younger man, and one woman who is younger still.

King Frederick sits up. "Metrians," he whispers.

"Lord Atharus," Maia reminds him, "although I am unfamiliar with his followers, my liege."

"Are you sure that he didn't just conjure them up at a moment's notice? I hear that the Metrians can do anything, you know," King Frederick asks her, smiling.


***


"Atharus doesn't really like these parties, does he?"

"Seems like it," Gharen says, watching the room carefully.

Cerise looks around as well. "It looks like the Galenics went for a show of force this time. You could hardly walk around without bumping into someone in armor."

"Well," Gharen says, glancing at her, "it's not as though they would have all those coats of shine and not be able to resist showing them off."

"Gharen, Cerise," Atharus says, without glancing at either of them.

"Yes, sir?" Gharen answers.

"We're about to present ourselves to the King. Be quiet."

"Yes, sir," Gharen says.

They reach the front of the carpet, at the foot of the throne. Atharus gives an elaborate bow, appropriate for his age and his status. Gharen and Cerise give much simpler greetings.

"Lord Atharus," King Frederick says, studying the three of them carefully. "We are glad you could join us on this most festive occasion."

"I don't join parties, Frederick," Atharus starts, tapping his staff impatiently. "If you send me even one more invitation again, I'm going to come over here personally and bop you on the nose."

"Is that why my last messenger had that burnt smell about, Atharus?"

"He was rude. May I take my leave now, Frederick?"

King Frederick laughs, although the Galenic bodyguard at his side places one hand on her weapon. "You're never afraid of speaking your mind, are you, Atharus?" King Frederick remarks.

"No one should be afraid of speaking their minds, Frederick. It's one of the virtues of speech."

"Yes, yes," King Frederick muses, "Such wise words from the wisest of Metrians."

Atharus straightens. "If you need me, Frederick, then you know where I am. Don't send any more of your silly invitations."

"Of course," King Frederick laughs, "of course. Enjoy the celebration, Atharus."

Atharus gives him a sharp glare, and then begins storming off. Gharen and Cerise follow him after a quick apology.


***


"Men like Lord Atharus are refreshing, in a way," King Frederick observes.

"He is a dangerous man," Maia chides him, gently.

"He'll keep his temper in check," King Frederick says. "The invitations were a pittance, compared to the few things that do make Atharus angry."

Both of them watch as a small circle of riotous colors and strange designs crawl through the crowd in their general direction.

"Maquin Dreamweaver," King Frederick guesses, "and I believe that means that the Masquers have arrived. Did we double the guard as we agreed earlier, Maia?"

"Yes, my liege."

"Good," King Frederick says, leaning back and settling himself on the cushions. "I wouldn't want them to think that we're not giving them a challenge."


***


Maquin curtsies in a manner more suitable for a lady of the court than an eminent male fashion designer. His hand mask bobs a little to the side, carved in the fleeting expression of a merry jester.

"Your majesty," Maquin says.

"Lord Maquin," King Frederick nods. "You always add such... color to the proceedings."

"You must excuse our tardiness, your majesty," Maquin fawns, waving the mask at his entourage. "It always takes a little time to make oneself presentable."

"So I am sure," King Frederick notes. "What of your sire, Maquin? I have never heard of Lord Gallos failing to attend one of our celebrations."

"Oh, he's already here, your majesty."

King Frederick looks puzzled. "He has not presented himself yet."

"Lord Gallos shall present himself to the King in due time," Maquin says. "He so loves moving among the people."

"I see."

"I shall endeavor to find him, your majesty, if that is your wish."

"No, thank you, Lord Maquin," Kind Frederick says. "I am sure that Lord Gallos and I shall meet soon."

Maquin bows again, and replaces the hand mask upon his face. "By your leave, then, your majesty, I would impress the crowd with my rapier wit."

"Do that, Lord Maquin," King Frederick smiles, "Do just that."


***


King Frederick watches the colorful entourage scatter and disperse among the guests. "Sometimes I really can't stand mages. Too many things to keep track of," he mentions casually.

Then he catches Maia's watchful eye. "Present company excepted, of course," he adds.

"Are we really so complex?" Maia asks him, her voice completely neutral and even.

"Mages are more complex than anything within or beyond this world," King Frederick laughs. "Aran himself would find it difficult to compete."

"Aran would hardly appreciate your taking his name in vain."

"Let gods be gods, Maia. Aran has his own problems, as I have mine," King Frederick says.

There is a slight commotion near the front of the great hall. A loud murmur sweeps one end of the room to the other.

"More guests?" King Frederick asks, wearily.


***


The two of them bow before the King of Lorendheim, pausing only slightly to allow him the first chance to speak.

"Kharandon Greybane," King Frederick smiles, stepping down from his throne to acknowledge the healer personally. "I had not heard that you were back from Vanarum."

"I just arrived a few hours ago," Kharandon says, smiling back. "I would not have missed your celebration for anything."

"You never miss celebrations of this sort. You know the Festivals of Remembrance very well, old friend."

Kharandon glances at the young woman beside him. She remains calm and composed in her armor, but she looks at him for instruction.

"King Frederick," Kharandon says, "this is my sister. You may know each other already."

"Not as intimately as we think, but yes," King Frederick says, turning to her. "This is Octavia? The last we saw each other, you were only a little girl!"

Octavia smiles. "Time flies, your majesty."

"When did you become a knight, Lady Octavia?"

"Two years ago, your majesty."

"She was posted to the Northlands for that time," Kharandon explains, "but Lord Astaruc has transferred her here as a personal favor to us."

"Yes, he does hold you in high esteem," King Frederick says. "The three of us must meet for a private meal sometime within the next week. We sorely need to catch up on old times."

"Old times indeed, King Frederick," Kharandon answers.

"Good, good," King Frederick nods. "Go ahead and enjoy the celebration, then. I appear to have further 'duties' to dispense," he adds, glancing at the bodyguard standing next to his throne.

"I understand," Kharandon says, looking at the throne. "By your leave, then..."


***


"I haven't seen Kha in a while," King Frederick says. "It's good to have at least one person you trust in this room. Aside from you, of course."

"Lord Greybane is a Galenic," Maia says, "If you would not trust the Galenics, my liege, then who would you trust?"

"I admit that I would place more value in that statement if it did not come from you, Maia," King Frederick answers.

"I speak the truth, my liege."

"It is up to me to decide exactly what the truth is, and what the truth is not, Maia."

They remain silent, watching the crowd.

"It's depressing sometimes," King Frederick snorts.

"My liege?"

He glances at Maia, smiles, and then turns back towards the crowd.


"That's about all I can take, Maia. I wasn't made to sit on uncomfortable thrones and welcome people all night," King Frederick adds, standing and looking upon the boisterous guests.

"What of the others, my liege?"

"Let them enjoy the celebration," King Frederick says, "Just like I plan to do right now."


***


The royal palace of Lorendheim stands in the light of a hundred torches, its walls, windows and balconies laid with yards of bunting and soft colored cloth. Beneath its lofty gaze the nobles of Lorendheim enter, each carrying their finest clothes, holding their finest gifts, bearing their finest lies.

Gallos contemplates the evening sky, looking out upon the obsidian ruins that the palace has been built on. Beside him, Rhias scans the night for unwelcome intruders.

"We haven't gone inside yet," Rhias finally says.

"I sent Lord Maquin ahead," Gallos tells her. "He knows what to say."

Rhias does not question her lord. She gives a passing Galenic knight a suspicious glance.

"What do you think of the King of Lorendheim, Rhias?" Gallos asks her.

She considers his question for a moment. "Youngish and restless," she finally says.

"A threat?" Gallos asks casually.

"No," Rhias says unhesitatingly, "but one who merits close watch in case he does become one."

"Indeed," Gallos says.

The Lord of Masks slowly crosses to a nearby doorway, motioning for Rhias to follow.

"Perhaps, then, it is time for us to enter," he says.

Disclaimer: May 2005

Oooooh. All tapped out.

Yesterday was the deadline for the 2005 Palanca Awards, and I went on a merry little run trying to get my entry collated and notarized in time for the midnight deadline. Then, in order to vent my frustration at the funk I'm in, I wrote a mad little conversation with myself in time to send it out as my 12:00 birthday message to all concerned. (If you were one of the lucky(?) recipients, then I hope you got a little laugh out of it at least - I know that some of you might sorely need one right now.)

Okay, okay... official text now. All entries posted on this blog are entirely original, having been written solely by me except where noted. I will not post anything from other sources without making express mention or linkage to their point of origin. The presences of the original articles in this blog constitute an informal Internet-based copyright, which, although not official, will most definitely give me the advantage once I take their plagiarists to a court of law. Hoo-hah!

I've long been aware that I have a distinct style of writing (hey, virtually everyone does), so if you steal anything from this site and try to pass it off as your own work, then believe me, somebody's going to figure you out, which will preclude my coming over and wailing on you. Well, I won't actually wail on you, of course, but I'll find something that befits the circumstances. I say you do yourself a favor and write something yourself, instead of trolling the Net and stealing from people - that way, you'll have a piece of work that you can be proud of one day. And it's better than having a bunch of legal scars that you'll eventually have to explain to your kids sooner or later. :)

On the Nature of Power

No, I'm not going to give you that crap about absolute power corrupting absolutely. You've probably heard it a thousand times already. It's lost all meaning for you.

I've resolved for this blog to be as angst-less as possible, so I'm going to try to keep this more as a lecture and less as a rant. Please excuse me if I turn out not to be entirely successful.

Each one of us holds power in a certain way. It could be a physical method of dealing with things. It could be something that's tied into social influence. It could be some skill that you hold over everyone else. Regardless of who you are or what you do, you have power in some way.

It is exactly how you wield this power that determines which side of the moral fabric you're on.

I say that power exists to help people. The fact that you have greater access and control over your circle of abilities implies that others do not have the same degree of skill or influence as you do. The moral conclusion dictates that you use your power to fill these out - to cover such 'gaps' and achieve a sort of equilibrium by fulfilling others' needs.

In the event that there is no such need for the power you wield, the prudent course of action would be to wait, perhaps to continue practicing. There would be a right time to wield the power that you have, and the right move would be to await that moment.

Using your power and influence purely for the purpose of getting what you want puts you squarely on the immoral side. A bully who beats kids up for their lunch money is immoral. A politician who stiffs pensioners of their monthly payments just to increase his wealth is immoral. A man who rapes the woman he is infatuated with is immoral. We may say as much as we want that only the acts themselves are immoral, but no matter how many times we say it, those acts still make their perpetrators evil in our eyes.

Wielding what power you have just for the sake of expressing it is also by itself evil. If you look for other kids to steal money from, then you are evil. If you look for other illicit sources of wealth to siphon, then you are evil. If you constantly taunt and harass a woman with the intention of rape, then damn it, you are evil in every sense of the word.

I see little difference between immorality and evil. Immorality leads to evil by view of the common man, and it is difficult to return from that path no matter what you do.

I write of heroes and villains, and I know that it is the wielding of power that differentiates them more than anything else. I hold knowledge that heroes are, when the chips are down and all hell is breaking loose, fully willing to use everything at their hands to set things right. I hold knowledge that villains are, when the world is still and the silence is passing, fully willing to shatter the peace with their own baseless needs and desires.

Everyone must stand somewhere. On which side are you on?

Complex: We Have a Winner

In an e-mail sent on 10:30:37 am, April 29, 2005, a four-man team submitted the correct solution to the Complex metapuzzle. They've chosen to take P500 worth of gift certificates from Powerbooks for their efforts. (Powerbooks isn't an official sponsor of this contest, but hey, we like 'em anyway.)

Congratulations to Switch, elf, Rain Man, and Vector for their efforts. (Their mutual sites are here and here.) Sorry about all the sleepless nights, guys. :)

The solutions for each puzzle are as follows. As before, I won't be posting any hints in the body of this message in case you still want to try your hand at solving the puzzles.

3:00 - Marketing (puzzle and solution)
4:00 - Administration (puzzle and solution)
4:00 - Accounting (puzzle and solution)
6:00 - Design (puzzle and solution)
9:00 - Copywriting (puzzle and solution)
Metapuzzle (puzzle and solution)

Now that things are over and that I've got about an hour till I head off to Powerbooks, I'm going to lie back and relax for a while... and think of what I can put together for next time. Hwahahahah! :)

Perchance, to Dream

Sometimes I'm too tired to sleep.

Deep within our minds, the many tales both written and unwritten vie for the right to enter our dreams. Among them lie our desires and our aspirations, our memories and our regrets, our mysteries and our revelations. They nest in the cortical folds; the alpha waves; the id, the ego and superego. There they sit, unsatisfied by their lot in life, searching for the few chances where they may transcend existence and gain fulfillment.

They are, however, woefully unaware that the subconscious is a dangerous place for raw ideas. The battlefield claims more casualties than the ideas themselves - while some of them take credit for striking down others of their kind, it remains a fact that most of the interlopers are blasted into oblivion by the sheer force of whim or fate. Or, surviving that, they may simply be sucked into the singularity created by our first awakening, never to be seen again.

It is a rare idea that crosses the dream country and takes root within our very consciousnesses. But its struggle only becomes more difficult then. There, it must stand against the constant assaults of logic, and continue to protect itself against the winds of chance (which blow even in this arid region, yes). It must remember all this, and at the same time know to raise a single tendril to catch even a small piece of the soul that floats by every so often.

It is only the most special of ideas that learn to harness logic and seize chance as opportunity, to no longer snipe at the soul's passing but instead gain its friendship through sweetened promises and charged emotions. The soul holds the greatest love for these ideas, enveloping them in an overwhelming cloud of passions until the combined soul-entity emerges, and only the grateful spectre of the idea remains.

Sometimes I'm too tired to sleep.

The Appliance Store

I was at the local appliance store the other day, clutching a wad of bills in hand and looking critically at the displays.

I hate buying wedding presents. There are a number of present-giving occasions that provide plenty of opportunities for innovation (Birthdays, Christmas, and so forth), but a wedding just isn't one of them. Whoever dictated that you can only give appliances as wedding presents must have been one of the most boring persons on the face of the earth.

I suppose that it is possible to give an innovative wedding present, but it's a risky prospect. Either the bride and groom turn out to have no use for strange new appliances, or the present doesn't quite have the correct impact. I remember watching one unfortunate married couple open a present to find a set of strobe lights underneath all the paper. The creative gift-giving was there, yes, but strobe lights? Was the giver expecting them to turn their bedroom into a little nightclub or something?

I finally settled on a nice-looking model just inside my price range and got one of the salespeople over. I like dealing with salespeople nowadays - they're a constant reminder that how they act with me is pretty much how I have to act with my own clients. For that reason, I lapse into my personal patented approach whenever I deal with salespeople:

1. Act surly. Not "angry" surly, but merely "quiet" surly. Frown, but don't scowl.
2. Speak in perfect English. Add the American or British accent if you can.
3. Make a show of inspecting the product. Check it for dust if you have to.
4. Ask questions. Nothing nonsensical, but enough to catch them off guard.

What usually happens when I do this little patented approach is that the salespeople usually handle me carefully, as though I were an anthrax-laden package wired to explode. They even ask me to inspect the box they package my purchase in.

While this does seem like a mean thing to do, I get impressed a lot by salespeople who handle me perfectly. They look me in the eyes despite the fierce frown, they talk to me in their best English, they answer my questions without that memorized-this-from-the-manual accent. It's worth it just to find the good ones, and even if I don't, I at least get treated to the sight of someone squirming under simulated pressure. You'd better improve your skills there, sir.

Their display piece happened to be their last stock in that model, so I waited patiently as they cleaned, boxed and bagged the whole thing. I watched them the whole time, refusing a seat in favor of maintaining the masquerade.

So there I was, stuck in a landscape of flat-screen television sets and stainless-steel refrigerators. I checked out the prices on one or two of them - perhaps one day I'll be making enough money to buy one as a wedding present. I mean, if the whole logic of wedding presents involves getting the married couple started on the right foot, then we should really be giving them things beyond mere rice cookers, water heaters, and - heaven forbid - strobe lights. I know a lot of people who could use a car, for example. :)

Once it was all over, I shouldered my package and walked out the door. Although I was relatively satisfied with both the purchase and the service, I figured that I was unlikely to pass by the place until the next wedding rolled along.

On the other hand, I took one look at the bare-box appliance I was holding and decided that it would be a good time to get it gift-wrapped. Here we go again, then.

Antaria: Profile: Vordan

Vordan, Grandmaster of the Druids

For all of nature's concerns, it is the problems of society that have become all too familiar to the current Druid Grandmaster. Prior to his ascension, Vordan served his gathering of mages as a diplomat, forging and negotiating ties between the Druids and the other influential forces in Antaria. He finds it most untastefully ironic that such unities do not exist within his own order.

While the argument on the modern world's place in nature has occupied Druid sentiments for generations, it was only recently that the bickering has escalated into violence. The most traditional school of thought rejected the possibility outright, and continued their crusade against "nature's nemeses." The more liberal Druids, however, subscribed to the notion of the modern world as being a part of nature itself, and welcomed new influences into their lifestyles. Vordan takes neither of these sides; In fact, he has become rather sick of their constant fighting.

What irritates Vordan the most is that his predecessor, the young upstart Gideon Briargreen, revelled in the division between the Druids. Briargreen's rationale, as Vordan had personally heard from the inexperienced young man, was that natural law itself was a mass of opposing forces: Birth and Death, Summer and Winter, Predator and Prey. While certainly worthy of thought, Briargreen's philosophy easily widened the rift between his fellows; Vordan was named Grandmaster immediately after the young man was killed trying to pacify two warring fanatics.

So far, Vordan has indeed remained neutral in the face of a growing conflict between the traditionalist and the modernist Druids. Some say that his impartiality belies his true wisdom; Others say that he is merely afraid to make any significant moves against the delicate balance. From his own corner, Vordan merely considers how to get out of his precarious position, but he has yet to produce any results.

I.Q.

I've just fired off an e-mail to Mensa Philippines in order to pre-register for their qualifying exam on May 7. Hopefully they'll receive and confirm it before I change my mind.

Mensa, for those who are unfamiliar with it, is an international organization of people who have IQs that lie within the top 2 percent of the world's population. With such an elite circle of membership, it is somehow remarkable that Mensa, for the most part, actually does nothing at all. Mensa has very little political, social or cultural influence to speak of, and has had no bearing in any important events to date.

Mensa, however, creates some very nice puzzles. And, as everyone probably already knows by now, I'm a sucker for creative puzzles.

I am, however, hesitant to pay significant amounts just to enjoy these aforementioned puzzles, which is why I keep putting off taking the qualifying exam. There's a P400 entry fee associated with it, you see. Earlier exams cost P500 and only bought you membership for a year, and I figured then (probably correctly) that I could get more enjoyment out of the back shelves of various bookstores.

Times have changed, it seems. It looks like Mensa Philippines now has more volunteers running the organization, enough at least for them to be able to set up a small mailing list. That, and I've got a substantially larger salary this time. I suppose that if I can afford to offer a P500 prize for a small metapuzzle on this blog, then I can give this membership a try.

I'm still at a loss at to what Mensa Philippines actually does, though. It's hard to conceive of them swapping puzzles all the time, and it's even harder to imagine myself participating in some of the overly intellectual discussions.

If I pass the exam, I wonder if I can put the Mensa membership on my resume.

Then again, any potential bosses probably wouldn't know what the heck Mensa is. I wouldn't want to have to explain it to them either:

HR: So, you're part of this international group.
Me: Yes.
HR: And they're composed of the smartest people in the world?
Me: You could say that, yes.
HR: So... what do you do?
Me: Well, we, um... sit around and talk a lot. And do puzzles.
HR: Uh-huh. What else?
Me: Well, um... we don't do much else, actually.
HR: Nothing else? You mean, you don't do anything that smart people are supposed to do, like produce controversial social analyses, create revolutionary new operating systems, or cure cancer?
Me: Uhh... no. We, uhh... talk. And do puzzles. (Worried smile.)
HR: NEXT!

At the moment, I cannot stress how important it is that Mensa Philippines receive and confirm my pre-registration. It's just too easy for me to change my mind.

Or even worse, I might completely forget about it. For all I know, I could be at home that day, trying to solve the latest teaser on somebody's site.

Complex: Extension

Seeing that a lot of people seem to be busy this week (as well as the fact that no one's handed in a final solution yet despite a couple of close calls), I'm extending the deadline for Complex. Solutions will be accepted until 6:00 pm (Manila time) on Friday, April 29, 2005.

If, by that time, we still have no correct solutions, I'll be posting the solutions and keeping my gift certificates. It seems that this one really is harder than the first. :)

Complex: One More Week to Go...

Lest you think that my little metapuzzle competition is out of the picture, I must remind you that you've still got until Friday this week to send in your solutions. The puzzle is right here; Go get 'em, boys.

The prize is still up for grabs - P500 in a combination of gift certificates. While a few people have already gotten some correct solutions, no one's given me an answer to the metapuzzle yet. Everything's still wide open.

Besides, you owe it to yourself to try to secure the bragging rights. This is a puzzle that makes you feel good if you manage to solve even a little piece of it. Don't deny yourself the pleasure. :)

Three-Letter Words

People who know me as a writer have noticed that I have this annoying habit of making up my own words. What amuses me, however, isn't the fact that I certainly do make up my own words, but rather the fact that I sometimes use real words that people accuse me of making up.

If you think that I'm just being some random oik about this, then you can find some other poor sot's blog to read. Feh.

I think I picked up "oik" from Terry Pratchett, probably from one of his Rincewind novels. Pratchett used it to describe a person you wouldn't lend money to, and I can only find a single online reference for it, which describes "oik" as "(British slang): a disparaging term for someone regarded as inferior".

I don't know why I use "oik", really. Maybe it just rolls off the tongue so well. Maybe the nature of the word is such that you immediately know that it's a somewhat derogatory term. Maybe the word just sounds so funny that you can't help but laugh despite the fact that it's technically an insult.

"Sot", on the other hand, I learned from Scrabble. I've lost more than a few viable slots on the board to "sot", which would eventually turn up in the dictionary to stymie my challenges. It apparently refers to an alcoholic or a drunkard, although I'm not sure if it's insulting or not. "Sot" doesn't roll off the tongue as well as "oik" does, mind you, but the beauty of the word shows when you combine it with an adjective. I like using "arrogant sot" for some reason, and I tend to lapse into the phrase "some poor sot" when I'm not paying attention.

Now "feh" - that's a more derogatory turn of phrase. I think that it's technically onomatopoeia - a word that's spoken like the sound effect it describes - because it's an exclamation that denotes an idea or concept that one thinks is beneath his or her standards. "Feh" sounds pretty much like the contemptuous release of spittle onto the nearest curb. Not that I specifically use "feh" to insult anyone, mind you - I'm more likely to say it as an expression of disgust, usually at my own ineptitude.

No, you probably won't find "feh" in your standard dictionary. Does this mean that I've lied and completely made up a word again? Well, no - "feh" can be defined in Scrabble as "a jewish coin", and although that doesn't describe the way I use it, it's good enough for me. "Feh" is still a legitimate word. :)

Odd, though, that the three three-letter words that came to mind here are all derogatory turns of phrase in one way or another. At least now I can see why people refer to the unmentionable realms of literal profanity as "four-letter words".

It's remarkably minimalist, in a way. It just goes to show you that you don't need as many as four letters to show someone or something exactly how you feel.

Feh.

Antaria: The Druids

It is not surpising to say that Nature exerts a heavy influence on the Druids. As stewards of the land, the Druids almost completely immerse themselves in a natural environment at all times. To say that they have developed an aversion to human dominance may be more than a minor understatement.

Exactly how far Nature influences each Druid is another matter altogether, though. Some Druids accept a compromise between the human and the natural world, and this allows them to associate with other human beings moderately well. The majority of the class, however, is significantly more militant - clutching at the more tooth-and-claw aspects of Nature in order to reclaim what the human world has "stolen". Both ideologies constantly antagonize each other within the sect, which leaves the Druids somewhat paranoid and suspicious of outsiders.

Regardless of belief, however, Druids have the powers of Nature at their disposal, and have no compunctions about unleashing those abilities on those who displease them. Experienced Druids are not only able to call upon the natural environment to fulfill their wishes, but may also take on its aspects if they so desire. There have been stories of Druids rending opponents with sharp claws, or tracking interlopers with extraordinary senses of smell.

In an increasingly civilized Antaria, however, the Druids have largely relegated themselves to the more untouched areas. Two things are said about the Druids in this regard - first, that they know evey rock and blade of grass by name, and second, that any unknowing figure who intrudes upon their forested sanctuary expects swift and earnest retribution. It is, of course, of great importance to seek the Druids' side in matters that concern their domain... but the Druids choose their allies sparingly.

Sister Reodica, and Other Such Concerns

Hmmm.

Sistr Reodica predicted d tsunamis. Shes nw predictng ther wil be an ntnsity 9 earthquake @ 5pm. April 14, 2005 in mnla. Pls. pray hard. bettr safe than sori

I got this text message right in the middle of the first of two corporate presentations, and it irritated the heck out of me. Just an Intensity 9 earthquake? You'd think we'd rate at least a ten or so.

However, I have to admit that Sister Reodica - whoever she is - is smarter than we'd probably give her credit for. In articles posted around the Net, she admits that the prophecy wasn't her own, but was given to her by a passing 'visionary'. I suppose that that way, if Manila didn't fall screaming into the sea, she could always tell people that the guy was probably cracked in the head, and that she didn't believe it for even a second.

It's marvelous, the way life and religion go so well together. So many people make so many predictions in the name of one god or another (although God - the one with the capital "G" - seems to get the lion's share) that we essentially content ourselves with excuses as to why these predictions fail. In the case of Sister Reodica and her visionary's earthquake, we're told that prayer and repentance will allow the catastrophic event to pass us over. Considering that it's past five and I haven't felt the earth shatter underneath my feet yet, then the rest of the country must have dropped to their knees in religious ecstasy in the last hour.

Or maybe the prediction was full of crap in the first place. But we're not going to go in that direction, are we? We'll probably blame the alleged 'visionary', who will never be properly identified. Or we'll praise the sudden devoutness of the nation in the last few minutes. Or we'll grumble a bit, and then go about our daily lives without doing anything about it.

I'm eating a cheeseburger right now. After spending four hours trotting between two straight meetings, our marketing team decided that it was worth passing by McDonalds before heading back to the office, and I agree whole-heartedly. Besides, if a major earthquake really was going to happen, I was going to face it with a cheeseburger, fries and a Coke in hand.

It's half an hour past five. The earthquake's late. I guess you just can't trust earthquakes nowadays.

I'm still eating my cheeseburger, albeit a little more slowly now. Maybe Sister Reodica's visionary's god is on Daylight Savings Time or something.

Anatomy of an April Fools Day Message

When Elbert Or (he who administers countless people with regular doses of Cast) announced an April Fools Day contest on the Nautilus mailing list, I was immediately intrigued. The only thing that the contest required was a treatise on the origin of April Fools Day, and I figured that if a ten-year-old essay on Beta Carotene could make it into the pages of Cast, then what more for a freshly-written entry?

So I went and did my research; There's certainly no shortage of data on the origins of April Fools Day on the Internet. Apparently, the basis for the "holiday" came about as a result of the creation of the Gregorian Calendar in the late 16th century. Prior to that, Europeans based the first day of the new year on the vernal equinox (the "official" start of spring, in a way). When the Gregorian Calendar was adopted to compensate for minute differences between the statistical year and the solar year, January 1 was designated to be the formal New Years Day. People who persisted in celebrating New Years on the vernal equinox (sometime in the beginning of April) were widely derided as "April Fools".

That's the long and the short of it, really. I've conveniently left out the opposing theories, the minor details, and the occasional Kick-Me sign.

What matters more is that, about an hour after I enthusiastically started writing, I found the essay and explanation to be as dull as dishwater. It was most definitely not what I wanted to submit for a contest, much less for something centered around April Fools Day. I tried spicing it up a couple of times, only to give up after a few lines. I simply did not feel very funny that day.

That's when it hit me - why not write something whose tone was totally serious, and yet by its very nature was a joke? Such a thing would certainly qualify for April Fools Day. And as for exactly what to write, I only had to ask myself who Elbert Or least expected to submit an entry for his contest.

The result? Here.

Considering that I was writing to a person who probably didn't know who the heck I was, I felt that it was important that the letter look like an obvious April Fools prank. If I downplayed the joke too much, there was the possibly that it could be mistaken for spam and consequently thrown away. The Back to the Future series of movies got a lot of references in the letter for this reason - I wanted to ground it on a pop-culture work that people would recognize as pure fiction. With this setup, I could then put in all the improbable wackiness I could think of.

The character of Nerus Salamanca came into the picture when I started worrying that the letter wouldn't be counted as a proper submission for the contest. As a result, the future Elbert Or predicted that a young man named Nerus Salamanca would be submitting the winning entry, with dire consequences for the future. By noting that, I figured that I could submit a more serious treatise later in the same week under Salamanca's name. If Salamanca won, then I would be happy. If Salamanca lost, then Elbert Or would save the world. That's a win-win situation right there. :)

For the final touch, I registered a brand-new Yahoo account so that the letter would appear in Elbert Or's inbox under the name "Elbert Or". I also felt that it was important for the letter to have an April 1 date for the sake of credibility, so it was all dashed off within a couple of hours.

I realized that I had underestimated the impact of the letter only when it appeared on Elbert Or's blog, although I did get a good laugh when people speculated that Elbert had written the piece himself.

Over the last number of days, I've considered the possibility of hiding my involvement in this creative exercise. That way, I could continue to write similar pieces for different people over the years. The nature of Nerus Salamanca convinced me otherwise, though; Now that the concept of the future overlord was out in the open, there was the possibility that some other writer would claim ownership of him, and utilize him in any number of other nasty pranks.

So here I am, everyone. I'm right in front of you. Feel free to throw whatever stones you've got in hand. (I just know that I'm almost certainly going to get one of these pranks in return when I least expect it.)

Oh, yeah... I almost forgot about the actual entry. On the Friday deadline of the April Fools Day contest, I planted myself in front of my computer, went through my research once again... and proceeded to get bored. It was as though the sow's ear was resisting my abilities to turn it into a silk purse.

So, in a position where I simply couldn't write anything profound about April Fools Day, I took my cue from the alternative time-travel theories and submitted this, care of Nerus Salamanca himself. It was a lot less subtle than the first letter, but I feel that that's exactly how Salamanca would phrase it.

Stones ready? :)

Complex

About a month ago, I released a small homage to the MIT Mystery Hunt that was composed of three puzzles and their respective metapuzzle (with their solutions available at the end of the same week). I got quite a bit of reaction on those puzzles, which indicates a good number of 'closet-solvers' around here.

Seeing that my birthday's coming up, I might as well toss up a new set. To be honest, though, my birthday really has nothing to do with it - it just gives me an excuse to offer a small prize to the first person who sends me a correct solution. (More details below, yes.)

The solution to each of the puzzles below is a legible word or phrase, with exactly one correct solution per puzzle. All the solutions must be put together in order to produce one final, metapuzzle answer. Everything is laid out in a manner similar to the MIT Mystery Hunt puzzles, which means that this obviously won't be as easy as many people think.

Should you manage to find the answer to any one of the puzzles below, you can confirm that answer by e-mailing me at saito_ichikawa-at-yahoo.com. Please include your method of solving along with your answer itself. I will not give out any hints to the puzzles at hand, although I reserve the right to tantalize you as I see fit. :)

If you think you have the final metapuzzle answer, send it to me at the above address along with all your other puzzle solutions, as well as your method of solving for the metapuzzle. I won't give out hints here as well, and I will discard any incomplete solutions.

The first person to send me a correct and confirmed metapuzzle answer gets a total of P500 in gift certificates from some combination of fine establishments: Powerbooks, Yellow Cab Pizza, Bizu, Astrovision, Starbucks and a number of other places are possibilities. This 'winner' gets to choose exactly what gift certificates they want, as long as they're within my reach. If they're from the Philippines outside Metro Manila, I'll send these in the mail. Unfortunately, I can't really offer or provide this 'prize' to anyone outside the Philippines, but at least you get some good puzzles, right? :)

You have two weeks to solve this set of puzzles. Solutions will be accepted until 6:00 pm (Manila time) on Friday, April 22, 2005. (EDIT: This deadline has been extended to 6:00 pm - still Manila time - on Friday, April 29, 2005.)

You're free to work alone or in groups, just as long as you decide how to divide the prize beforehand. You're free to use any resources you have at your disposal to solve this, although I must warn you that my relatives and I are most definitely off-limits here.

If you have any questions, feel free to post a comment. I'll be placing updates on this main article, if applicable. A running timeline of all solvers' efforts at the puzzle is up here.

And now...


-----


There's nothing about as chaotic as office moving day, particularly when it's the last day in your old office and nobody's really packed yet.

To make matters even more complicated, your boss is on leave. In the message he left for you, he mentioned being needed to do something 'educational' and 'entertaining', which probably means that he's out playing golf.

He did leave you his planner, though, so perhaps he didn't leave you most of the heavy work after all. With a bit of luck, you can probably get your co-workers to stop playing around and move on.

3:00 - Marketing
4:00 - Administration
4:00 - Accounting
6:00 - Design
9:00 - Copywriting

Aside from your boss's relatively simplified schedule, there also seems to be something stuck on the back of the planner.


-----

Antaria: Talons

In the clearing, the doe paused. Something felt wrong; not just strange or new, just... wrong.

It raised one foreleg, as though nervously considering whether to run or not.

...

There was the soft sound of a branch snapping.

A terrifying roar split the air.

Rustag fell upon the deer, his teeth and claws tearing into unprotected flesh. The deer screamed in pain and surprise, and tried desperately to get away.

Rustag would have none of that. He slammed the deer's body to the canopied floor, and grasped its neck with both bloodied hands. The deer attempted to scream once more, but this time the sound came out as a faint wheeze from its constricted throat.

Rustag sat there, leaning his weight against the animal's chest, pinning it down as it slowly suffocated under his massive hands. He waited as patiently as the predator did, looking for the point when the light finally left his prey's eyes.

He let go. The deer's head made a dull thud as it hit the forest floor.

Rustag uttered a low growl, so low as to lie beyond the range of human comprehension. He laid his hands upon the doe's soft skin, wiping the traces of blood away. He stared at the dead, warm flesh for a few seconds.

Then he bared his teeth and began to feed.

"Rustag," a voice said, from a few yards away.

Rustag started, shifting his stance so that he had full view of the interloper. He snarled to mark the kill as his, and his alone. But the man standing across from him did not move an inch.

"Rustag," the man said, viewing the predator and his kill with interest, "I see now why they call you 'deer-killer'."

"Igos Wellspring," Rustag growled, straightening to stand on two feet. Even when standing as a normal human did, Rustag was an intimidating figure.

"We know each other, it seems," Igos smiled.

"How fortunate," Rustag spat. "What do you want, Igos?"

"Nothing, really," Igos said indifferently. "I merely wished to offer you a warning."

"A warning?" Rustag laughed. "And what sort of warning would be of consequence to me, little Igos?"

"You've been far too obvious, Rustag. Too much hunting."

"There is never such a thing as 'too much hunting'," Rustag said, flexing his claws.

"You left a trail of half-eaten carcasses from here to the Allandrian border. Rumors of wild beasts are running rampant among the Lorend peasantry. It's only a matter of time before the nobles send a military company to investigate."

"What do I care for peasants, nobles or soldiers?" Rustag growled, "They would never catch me. They would never dare catch me."

"What would you do then?" Igos asked. "Kill and eat them?"

"Don't tempt me, little man."

Igos gave Rustag a knowing smile. "You know how they are, Rustag. They prefer the sense of order that they themselves impose. Anything that compromises it will get their immediate attention."

Rustag frowned. "I like to hunt," he said.

"And I like to live," Igos answered. "Keep this up, and you'll have a company of knights on your trail in less than two days. Last I heard, Rustag, you can't bite through steel armor."

Rustag snarled, baring his long teeth in Igos's direction.

Igos smoothed the front of his robe, paying Rustag no attention. "You're not in Allandria any more, Rustag. The Lorends don't have as much respect for us, and they prefer that you keep off their game."

"I will hunt them. I will hunt them and feed on their blood."

Igos's gaze became more focused, more penetrating. "And what will you do once they come at you, almost a hundred to a man? What do you think Lord Vordan will do, once he learns of your transgressions? You may act as a beast does, Rustag, but for Aran's sake, think like a human."

Rustag remained silent.

Igos folded his hands together. "I've offered you a warning," he said. "Measure it well, Rustag. It may be the only thing that anyone shall offer you."

When Rustag next looked up, Igos was gone.

Rustag crouched over the deer's carcass once again. It had stiffened and gone cold by this time; the conversation had robbed it of its warmth. Rustag still tore at it, pausing only to wolf down the larger pieces.

Igos was right. The remains of each of Rustag's prey had been quite obvious. To tell the truth, Rustag was tired of chasing deer; they were far too easy for him now.

Rustag worried one end of a thigh bone, wondering how long it would take the scavengers to arrive.

Normally Rustag left nothing to mark his passing. Perhaps a scrap of flesh here, or a shard of bone there. For a hunter, Rustag was an extremely practical person... practical enough to know that leaving behind a carcass made it -

"Bait," Rustag said, and smiled a feral smile.

Perfect.

"Come to me, little humans," he whispered.

The Cortical Scrub

I just finished my initial draft of a new set of puzzles. This'll most likely be the last one I'll be doing for a while. I've found that they're getting more and more difficult to think up.

Why a new set of puzzles? Because my original post (solution here) got a greater response than I originally expected, that's why. Who knew that there were so many solvers out there?

Besides, my birthday's coming up, and as with most other birthdays, I'm going to be obligated to waste some of my savings anyway. I'll probably offer a few gift certificates to whoever solves the new set first. Powerbooks comes to mind. Maybe Yellow Cab Pizza, if they do offer gift certificates in the first place.

That, and I really want to offer an incentive because the new set of puzzles seems to be harder than the last one.

Any suggestions for what you might like for prizes?

Eulogy: Karol Wojtyla

In 1978, a Polish cardinal was elected to the highest position in the Catholic Church, the first non-Italian pope in over four centuries. Upon his ascension, Karol Wojtyla announced that he would be taking the name 'John Paul II' in remembrance of his predecessor, Pope John Paul I, who led the church for little more than one month.

Last Saturday, Pope John Paul II died after a 27-year pontificate that spanned visits to over a hundred countries, meetings with countless world leaders and ordinary Christians, and doctrines that moved the Catholic Church into the modern era while still retaining its most traditional practices.

The media, in its reflections on Pope John Paul II, has referred to his papacy as a study in revolutionary conservatism: On the one hand, he took hard-line stances on some of the most controversial church-related issues - condemning abortion and homosexuality, and denying any possibility of ordaining women as part of the clergy. On the other hand, he was a charismatic diplomat - waving to massive cheering crowds in some of the unlikeliest corners of the world, whispering a prayer at Jerusalem's Wailing Wall and speaking at a Syrian mosque, apologizing for the Vatican's silence at the murder of millions of Jews in World War II.

Yet, beyond that, the former Karol Wojtyla was remarkably human. He played soccer. He acted in a small theater. He loved skiing. He had a method of talking to people that was so disarming that few could help but like and respect him. He took two bullets from an assassin's gun, with one embedding itself in his abdomen and the other shattering one of his fingers. He said hello to the world from his hospital bed. He met with his would-be assassin and gave the man his forgiveness.

He fought Communism with words and gestures. He walked with a limp. He visited the United States and Cuba, and treated Fidel Castro and George Bush much the same way. He had a fantastic memory for people. He had an almost innate knowledge for when things were getting monotonous, and would invariably have the perfect quip in mind for such occasions. He was the kind of person who felt as though he should stop and talk to you, schedule be damned. And until one cold Easter Sunday in 2005, he addressed the loving crowds before him for every prominent religious ceremony of every year.

Pope John Paul II - or Karol Wojtyla, however you may think of him - was a rare man. He was the kind of man that few people are lucky enough to run across. And bless his soul, he made himself as available to each and every one of us as much as possible.

Ecclesiates 3:4 tells us that there is a time to laugh, and a time to weep. That there is a time to dance, and a time to mourn.

This is a time to mourn.

Vote for Jac!

Well, so much for trying to get peoples' attention for April Fools' Day.

Jac Ting Lim's up for contention in the Mr. and Mrs. Bikini Bodies 2005, a competition organized by Slimmers World International. The field of over 80 applicants has been narrowed down to 26 candidates, and now it's time for the SMS votes to decide who makes it and who doesn't. Jac has been gracious enough to post a picture from her photoshoot, and words fail me when trying to describe her there.

To put it in as frank a manner as possible, I'm fully expecting every single red-blooded male (and maybe a subset of the female population, but I won't go into that) out there to put in a vote for Jac. If you don't bother, then I'd probably start wondering what's wrong with your eyesight. The contest's on April 16 - you might want to have your vote in by then.

Geez, she looks really good, doesn't she? Now why can't I have a body like that?

Oh, wait - I'm a guy. (Forget I said anything.)

Ong Bak Rawks!

Hello friends!

Finally! Finished downloading Ong Bak! Damn ang galing nila makipagaway. Putcha yang Matrix bulok! 3d na nga mukha pang naka suspend sa wire! The artist who played in Ong Bak - Tony Jaa ay extra pala sa Mortal Kombat. Nalala nyo yung pelikulang yun? Naalala ko na nagfieldtrip pa kami nung highchool just to watch Mortal Kombat. The girl who played Kitana is hot! Speaking of hot the temperature today is insane! Just came back from lunch out and sheeeeeesh! "Makatas na tong kilikili ko" (a friend once qouted). Lucky im wearing this shirt that dosent easily stain or else i'll have thr rings of saturn in my armpits LOL!

Anyway looking back at highschool I remember my first crush. She was this cute little girl. Hindi ganun kaganda pero goddess ang dating sakin. Kamukha nya yung leading girl sa Ong Bak. Kaya pala parang ang "ganda niya kahit mukha siyang lalaki" (anotherqoute from my friend, he's a funny guy). Wonder where she is now. Hey! Night Shift Nurses just completed downloading. Guess i'll have something to do later tonight ;) DSL connection is da shiznitz!

Disclaimer: April 2005

Oooof. Too many posts coming at this time. I can't be too creative here, as I don't want this to take the shine off some of the more interesting entries. So I'll say it straight, and I'll make it up for you in the May disclaimer.

The entries posted in "To The Tale, And Other Such Concerns" are all original works by Sean, except where noted. Allusions or quotations given in these entries are given the appropriate references where possible. Sean is perfectly open to confirmed corrections wherever they may lie.

The availability of these entries for reading on the World Wide Web does not imply their free availability for the use of profit-oriented ventures, academic writings or other such items. Please request permission from Sean before using any of his work. As all works here are dated, Sean claims copyright on all original items as described above.

You heard that, plagiarists - screw with me, and you die. Have a nice day.

"I'm On My Way."

Dick Tracy's on my mind.

It's one of my favorite movies for a few reasons, despite the fact that it concerns a comic strip character that few people remember now, and that it's been accused in some quarters of being nothing but absolute camp.

Sooner or later you're gonna be mine,
Sooner or later you're gonna be fine.
Baby, it's time that you face it,
I always get my man.

I'll admit that the dialogue needs work, and that the casting director could have gotten some better actors in some cases - the makeup does most of the work anyway. But for me, a writer who tends to dwell on plot and characterization as the most important elements in a story, this movie is a revelation.

Sooner or later you're gonna decide,
Sooner or later there's nowhere to hide.
Baby, it's time, so why waste it in chatter?
Let's settle the matter.
Baby, you're mine on a platter,
I always get my man.

Dick Tracy is a unique movie in that it creates an atmosphere that has never been equaled. It's that atmosphere that makes it ultimately watchable, if only because you just can't help marvelling at everything. The set designers resolved to use only primary colors to set the tone of the gangster-era comic strip, and the extensive painted backgrounds only served to highlight the artistic feel of the set.

But if you insist, babe, the challenge delights me.
The more you resist, babe, the more it excites me.
And no one I've kissed, babe, ever fights me again.
If you're on my list, it's just a question of when.
When I get a yen,
Then baby, Amen.
I'm counting to ten, and then...

Adding to the visual atmosphere is - of all people - composer Stephen Sondheim, who is very well-known for his Broadway musicals. What makes his part in this movie interesting is that, where you expect a comic-based gangster-era movie to be fast-paced, Sondheim contributes a number of pieces that alternate between fast and slow, reckless and thoughtful, exultant and depressed. His pieces end up fleshing out the characters and the settings significantly, allowing them to laugh and cry just as we do.

Maybe it shows,
She's had clues, which she chose to ignore.
Maybe though she knows,
And just wants to go on as before.
As a friend, nothing more
So she closes the door.

Dick Tracy took home three Academy Awards, none in any of the acting categories: Best Song (in a category traditionally dominated by Disney), Best Art Direction / Set Design, and, appropriately, Best Makeup. To this day, I still look upon it as one of the best examples of effective mood and setting in live visual media.

Quite interesting, I think, for a movie that's actually an adaptation of a comic strip. Eat that, Garfield. :)

I'm gonna love you like nothing you've known,
I'm gonna love you, and you all alone.
Sooner is better than later but lover,
I'll hover, I'll plan.
This time I'm not only getting,
I'm holding...
My...
Man.


* "I'm On My Way" promotional poster from http://www.impawards.com .
* "Sooner or Later" lyrics by Stephen Sondheim. It's a nice song. Don't sue me.

Playing Catchup

Hey, I'm back.

Seeing that I was going out of town from Thursday to Saturday last week, I took some leave off work last Tuesday and Wednesday. All the preparations and packing I did - as well as the small vacation itself, which was in a place that didn't have Internet access - mean that today is literally the first time in a week that I've been able to go around the Net.

Wow.

That's not good, especially considering my level of entrenchment in the virtual lifestyle.

I had 12 messages waiting in my office inbox when I got back. This wasn't particularly impressive, but on the other hand, most of my company's clients go on leave for the Holy Week holidays, too.

I had almost 50 messages spread out over my two different public e-mail addresses, though, and only about one-fifth of that number was spam. Most of the e-mails centered around blogging, Alan Moore, and the triple-ko aspect of go, for some reason.

No new comments for blog entries... how sad. But then again, my last article came out quite some time ago.

The L5R boards offered up about 200 new card rulings, which took me about three hours to slog through. I'm beginning to believe that, contrary to popular opinion, the attraction of the L5R CCG isn't in the rich game, the creative deckbuilding or the vibrant community; The attraction of L5R is in knowing each and every one of the game's little nuances, which explains why I spent three hours of my life catching up on some of the strangest rules questions ever asked.

Some blog writers went out of town as well, but those who stuck around have updated their entries a bit: Sacha's out sick, Dominique has a review of The Vagina Monologues up, Clair's working on quite a few tanaga, and Jac is putting out a new webcomic starting tomorrow.

Speaking of webcomics, I'll have to get up to speed on them as well. Sitting high on my list are the manic Sluggy Freelance and creative Partially Clips, but I figure that Liberty Meadows and Wildguard - albeit not webcomics per se - will also be worth checking out.

Then there's the issue of pending projects. I still have that comic script to complete, for one, and then there's also the prospect of finishing up a second batch of puzzles in time for my birthday, which will come around in just over a month. I've also got to continue Antaria sometime, but that can wait till I finish catching up on the ways of the virtual world.

Casting Call

Finally got my hands on a copy of Nautilus Comics' Cast #4 a couple of days ago. I first mentioned the series in a previous blog entry, and back then I promised that I wouldn't do a review until I was relatively well into the story.

Admittedly, I'm not really well into the story yet. But I do have a few choice comments on how it's progressing so far.

The fourth issue of Cast follows multiple plot threads - a class field trip, a mall gimik, and a blind date all at the same time. We get to see how a number of characters relate to other people - parents, classmates, the cute girl sitting across the table - and it feels like an introduction, in a way. It's a strange arrangement, for a fourth issue.

I feel that the major weakness of Cast lies in the fact that it has too many characters for the reader to reference. At the moment, I still find it difficult to say how each of them thinks and feels because I'm simply not familiar with most of them. While the emotional situations presented in the series do have some impact, I find myself unable to empathize with whoever's going through whatever. The fact that the fourth issue's art duties were handled by a guest artist doesn't help much in this regard.

That assessment allows me to raise my justification for a review at this point: We're at the fourth issue, and we should be well into the story already. But we're not. Why? Because we're still making introductions. We've got too many characters to flesh out.

In addition, I think the comic really needs a better touch of detail in order to burn the stories into its readers' minds. Where was Janina going for her field trip? What's the name of the restaurant that Lel's (at least I think it's Lel's) family handles? What does Erica model for? Little details like these are important for making each of the characters distinct and coherent.

On the plus side, I think I can name all the characters on the cover of the issue now. But I still need a little help from the little guide that appears on the inside front cover.

Interestingly, though, the backup story was pretty good. We get a look at some characters outside the two schools, and we get a beautiful observation about what being in a relationship really means. While it didn't offer much in the way of specific introduction, it provided excellent character development.

The essay on Beta-Carotene didn't leave such a good impression on me, though. I'm actually familiar with it - I also entered the same Roche-sponsored contest back in 1994, although apparently Jaime Bautista's submission took it all home. The true issue there involved how to make a lecture on Beta-Carotene into an interesting, readable essay, and I think that Bautista deserved every inch of that first-place trophy. It's a very good piece of writing, easily comparable to making a silk purse from a sow's ear.

The trouble is that, even though it's a very good piece of writing, it's an old piece of writing - it's over ten years old. Why would Cast bother printing something that's over ten years old? I mean, it has little to do with the comic's subject matter to begin with. Does it look to resurrect old glories, perhaps? Bring us back to simpler times and more poignant writing exercises? Fill out a few more pages of the issue? The presence of the Beta-Carotene essay puzzles me.

So do I have anything good to say about the fourth issue? Sure. I love the Janina-Jem conversation, and Jem feels more fleshed out to me than any other character I've seen in the series. Will and Meg's first exchange is right on the money. And there are all these nagging questions about where Erica is, and how she feels now that she's been kicked out of the play.

However, I'd like to see a lot more with regards to the series. It's hardly been a story so far - it's been more of an endless character walkthrough, if you ask me. Unless Cast #5 does something pretty drastic about this, I might not be reading this series much longer. For a comic about high school students experiencing life as they prepare for a major production, I think that it may have some serious growing up to do.

The Demise of Dame Elemen

Elemen took a few steps forward, the words of the Frozen Orb burning themselves into her mind. Behind her, Iona nocked another arrow.

The shrine was just beyond a copse of trees, but if there was anything that Elemen knew, it was that shrines were never left unguarded. What could it possibly be this time - Quill Rats? Dark Spearwomen? Or perhaps a legion of those nigh-irritating Carvers once again?

The sharp cry of a Carver gave it away. Carvers never hunted alone.

Iona fired an arrow just beyond Elemen's line of sight. That was the signal; the little devils were getting too close. Elemen strode from the trees, unleashing a storm of ice shards, and then a second. Where the first few Carvers - those who survived the two waves - had fled in terror, the remainder immediately rushed forth from their rocky burrows to assault the sorceress and her guard. Behind them, their accursed Shamans screamed orders even as they cast their foul resurrection spells.

Elemen strained to reach the shrine even as the Carvers gathered in a malevolent swarm. Dodging their weapons, she brushed the ancient, petrified wood and felt its energy surge through her body. The energies of the Frozen Orb once again gathered between her fingers, and as she turned to face her enemies...

...the power went out, and the computer rebooted.

Darn it.

And I was only just getting used to a nice third-level Frozen Orb spell.

After ScanDisk completed, I gave the game a test. Diablo II started up fine, but loading the Elemen file gave me one of the most ominous messages I had ever seen in a piece of software: "Cannot load game. File may be corrupted."

I tried it a second time, and then a third. Same message.

There went years of play. Elemen had managed to hit 'Dame' status, and I guess that it was going to take me longer to find out how far I could take her.

I had a backup, yes, but it was from way before the first time I had finished the game, and I was definitely not eager to face Diablo again. Especially with Elemen. Diablo eats sorceresses for dinner, after all.

Maybe it's time to start a new game. Diablo II's been nice and all, but it's obviously overstayed its welcome. Besides, I can probably return to Elemen's world once my appetite for new games has been sated.

That said, I'm definitely getting that power source. If you'll excuse me...


-----


Elemen couldn't understand. One moment she was fighting Diablo's minions, the next...

She stood in total darkness. It was as though her slender form hung over the still void. There was absolutely nothing around her - no demons, no humans, nothing. She wasn't sure if there was even supposed to be a floor.

"Sean?" she called, expecting the echo that never came.

"Sean?" she asked, "Where are you?"

No one answered.

"Sean?" she asked again. "This isn't funny, Sean..."

Suppose That You Were a Cockroach...

...Then wouldn't you have aspirations of ruling the world by now?

I mean, it's a common perception that cockroaches are one of only two things that are likely to survive a nuclear holocaust scenario (the other being tupperware). You're also gifted with the ability to sense miniscule changes in air pressure and possibly chemical composition, so you'd be able to go to ground long before any other animal would realize that the shockwaves were coming.

Population problems? You'd reproduce quickly, especially with fewer roach-killers in the world. Food shortages? You're a scavenger anyway, and in the worst-case scenario, you could eat through anything. (Tupperware included, although it would probably taste terrible.)

In fact, you could probably just hollow out a little Tupperware palace of your own right now and wait for the moment. That would be tantamount to building your own underground bunker, wouldn't it? What could a nuclear winter possibly do to a cockroach who's safe and sound in his or her little Tupperware home?

Sometimes you wonder why the cockroaches who make their homes in the nuclear silos don't just wise up and push the launch buttons. The truth is that, despite your general hardiness, you haven't been able to grasp the concept of alphanumeric passwords quite yet. That, and you haven't quite figured out how to lift those little keys.

Not that it's all bad, mind you. You can wait a bit. You're a cockroach, after all. If some paranoid human decides to jump the gun and turn the planet into uninhabitable wasteland ahead of schedule (uninhabitable except for you, of course), then that's perfectly all right. More tupperware for you.

Perhaps one day, a couple million years after the day, you'll achieve full sentience and look back at the species that provided you with wonderful, wonderful tupperware shortly before blowing themselves to tiny bits. Perhaps, on that day, you'll wonder if you'll ever turn your own advancements upon yourselves, wiping the world clean and paving the way for the next evolutionary stage to take over the planet. Maybe it'll be moss and lichen this time.

But for now, you're just a cockroach. And you dream, deep down inside your little tupperware home.

You dream of the world.

The Hunt is Over

Solutions for the puzzles in my previous article, "The Hunt is On," are now available through the following links. I won't spoil them for you in this article if you're still solving.

Geller Building (puzzle and solution)
Apollo Street Theater (puzzle and solution)
Club Bubbles (puzzle and solution)
Metapuzzle solution

As of this writing, Pat is the only person to submit a correct answer to the metapuzzle, despite not being able to answer the Apollo Street Theater puzzle. (She was able to deduce her final answer based on the answers to the Geller Building and Club Bubbles puzzles alone.) In fact, no one has submitted a correct answer to the Apollo Street Theater puzzle yet.

The feedback I've received (through comments, instant messages and e-mail) has given insight into a lot of the logic involved in solving these puzzles. Many thanks to everyone who shared their thoughts.

I'm thinking that it would be nice to have another one of these again. Maybe I can offer up a prize next time...


[Edit: Roy and Switch posted a correct answer on the same day this solution came out. Congratulations, guys.]

Thoughts From the Back of My Head

I love plot twists. You know, those things that shock you out of your skin just as you're settling comfortably into the confines of a story? I love those.

While angst-filled, rant-based blog entries are readable, I have to say that they don't do anything for me. Maybe they provide some nice insight into human emotion, but sometimes they highlight those parts of the soul that I'd rather not see.

Maybe I should include my design notes for the puzzles along with their solutions tomorrow. That way, anybody could read through them and find a way to frustrate solvers even more.

Writing characters for a computer game feels good. Seeing those characters brought to life by animators and scripters looks even better. But finding out that some people are cosplaying the very characters you created? My jury's still out on how that feels.

I haven't been able to find a copy of Cast's 4th issue yet. If it's delayed any more, I'm going to lose interest in the series.

Tekken 5 is out. I don't play Tekken, mind you. I just know that it's out.

Given ninjas, zombies, and giant robots, how can I fit these three discrete elements into a single story? Can I possibly make it a romance comedy? Will it win the Oscar for Best Picture someday?

Geez, I need a shave.

Ficathon Blues II

Ah, yes... the 3rd L5R Ficathon. Whatever happened to that, anyway?

L5R Ficathon III entry, first draft
Conversation Overheard on the Deck of the Weeping Tiger (Final entry)

The production process this time was a lot shorter than my experience with the last Ficathon, mostly due to the fact that nothing good came to mind until the last two or three days. The final entry is totally different from the first draft, and it's based on a new idea that arrived at midnight on the evening of my deadline.

Again, my two seeds were:

1) A day after a kobune voyage begins, two passengers who have shared intense emotion (good or bad) discover that the other is on board.

2) A monk spends weeks meditating on the nature of Rokugan whilst travelling in the Burning Sands and is dying of hunger and thirst. Does he accept the aid of a strange traveller?

I started writing with a plot idea that was borne from the second seed, but after a couple of pages, I hit a point where the story was starting to drag. I gave myself around one or two days to come up with a better story idea; Otherwise I planned to head back to the draft and do a complete rewrite.

I toyed around with the first story seed in front of the computer for a while, wondering how best to approach it. The most obvious emotion for the two characters to share was Love, although I did consider Fear, Hate and Regret at times. Eventually I decided that romantic relationships weren't stereotypical of L5R fan fiction, and moved in that direction.

The problem, of course, is that I'm not very good at love stories, much less love-and-regret stories. So I figured that the only way I could get to the bottom of the deal was to have the two characters talk to each other, and then take it from there. (I first tried this approach for "Untitled", and it worked fine then.)

The result was surprisingly minimalist, and is currently up at the Rokugan Fan Fiction Resource Forum. I'm not sure how I was able to flesh out both Saeko and Minoru with mere dialogue, though, so I'll have to chalk it up to the possibility that literary characters have a mind of their own sometimes.

If there was anything that frustrated me about this work, though, it was the lack of proper treatment for dialogue silence. I mean, if you're writing a short story that's made out of pure dialogue, how do you express a moment of silence to the reader?

Maybe I'll write an article on that sometime. I use silence a lot in my works; it would be interesting to analyze the proper use, timing and syntax for such a device.

The Hunt is On

I'm making games and puzzles now. Must be one of those days.

I'm a huge fan of the MIT Mystery Hunt puzzles. You see, every year, students of the Massachussetts Institute of Technology run a 72-hour, non-stop puzzle marathon where all participants compete for the mere privilege of hosting the next year's contest. Don't take my word for it if I make it sound mundane - the puzzles are some of the most difficult things you'll ever see in your life, and every year tends to be more creative than the last.

Aside from being more difficult than their more conventional counterparts, the MIT Mystery Hunt puzzles operate on a "metapuzzle"-type arrangement. That is to say, puzzles are grouped into categories, and all the solutions for a certain category will collectively make up one last "metapuzzle" that gives the final answer. Get that final answer somehow, and you count yourself among an elite circle of solvers.

If you still don't understand how it works, maybe it's best that I show you by means of example.

I've enclosed a miniature version of the Mystery Hunt below. The solution to each puzzle is a legible word or phrase, and when put together, should be able to clue you in on a final answer. I've purposely laid everything out in a manner similar to the Mystery Hunt puzzles, but I've tried to tone the difficulty down a bit so you don't end up tearing your hair out.

Now, let us begin...


-----


Quincy took a long drag on his cigarette. "So, who dis guy again?"

"I don't know. We might have to find that out ourselves."

"Peh," Quincy spat. "We ain't gonna get nobody if we don't know who he is."

"We'll find out," I told him. "We've got a few leads already."

Geller Building
Apollo Street Theater
Club Bubbles

[Edit: A copy of the Greek alphabet might come in handy. It'll be useful for bringing about some form of order to the Apollo Street Theater puzzle, and that's saying plenty already.]

Disclaimer: March 2005

I guess people should really know the drill right now, and it should really be obvious to anyone who regularly browses content on the web: Everything posted on this weblog is the original work of Sean, except where noted. Anything here that isn't my work is given the appropriate reference where applicable.

The presence of online disclaimers like these is a necessity nowadays, because a number of unsavory elements have recently been ripping off some sources of web content. Blogs have been a... favorite target, since they're usually run by individuals and can only produce... limited... small... reactions to the theft.

Despite repeated... warnings, however, some people just don't get it. Sean has... not been victim yet. But... possi... possibility of it happen to Sean still... here.

If it... happen to Sean, Sean get ANGRY. And you don't like Sean get ANGRY.

RRRRAAARRGH! SEAN SMASH!

Wonderland (v1.0)

Disclaimer: Technically, putting this up on the blog already constitutes a legitimate copyright claim. So no funny stuff, if you get what I mean.


Wonderland

The Queen of Hearts is rather proud of her garden hedges. For the past few years, she's struggled to cultivate a special breed of red rose, and it's only recently that she's able to enjoy the fruits of her labor - the hedges are in full bloom this season.

On the other hand, that's where the problem lies. During the planting, the Queen's retainers accidentally planted sprigs of perfectly ordinary silver roses instead of the Queen's special seeds. So when the flowers finally bloomed this season, many retainers stared in horror, remembering the Queen's favorite saying: "Off with their heads!"

With the Queen now touring her many gardens, there's only one alternative - paint the roses red before she notices.

Ironically, the Queen actually doesn't mind having silver roses. What she does mind, though, is anyone caught slathering her beautiful flowers with ugly red paint. If she does manage to catch somebody who's gone as far as to paint her lovely roses, then they're going to wish that they'd never been born.


Setup

Remove all face cards from a standard deck of playing cards and shuffle. Deal five cards face-up to each player. Each player must arrange those five cards face up in a row in front of him or her, from left to right. This row will act as the player's "garden", and each card represents the rose hedges that have to be painted. The gardens are connected, so each player's rightmost hedge connects to the next player's leftmost hedge, and vice-versa.

Now reshuffle the face cards back into the deck, and deal six cards face-down to each player. Each player selects one card from their six, and places that card face-up on top of the central hedge of their garden. That card will be considered to be your "guardsman", the personality who you have tasked to paint the roses. The remaining five cards are then considered to be that player's "hand".

Place all undealt cards into a draw pile, which should be accessible to all players.


Turn Sequence

The Dealer starts play. Turns then proceed clockwise around the table.

During your turn, you may have your guardsman perform any of the following actions, in any order:

1. Once per turn, move to a new hedge.
2. Once per turn, paint the roses on the current hedge.
3. Once per turn, play a face card.

If you do not have a guardsman in play, you may choose one non-face card in your hand and play it on your central hedge as a guardsman. You may not perform any other actions during that turn.

At the end of each of your turns, you must perform the following actions in order:

1. Draw two cards. Discard down to five cards, if applicable.
2. Check the top card of the draw pile for the Queen of Hearts.
3. If you are the Dealer, reshuffle all cards from the discard pile back into the draw pile.


Moving Around the Gardens

Each guardsman has got it bad. They've got to move around, find and paint each and every one of the roses, and they've got to do it before any of the royals spot them, too.

During your turn, you may discard a non-face card from your hand to have your guardsman move a number of steps equal to the value of that card. If your guardsman's path takes him to the leftmost or rightmost hedge on a garden, he simply continues moving along the next player's garden, and so forth.


Painting the Roses Red

Some hedges will have more roses than others, as evidenced by the value of each hedge. Your guardsman will have to work quickly in order to get everything painted.

During your turn, if your guardsman is currently standing on an unpainted hedge, you may "paint" it by discarding a card from your hand with an equal or higher rank than the rank of the hedge. If you do so, turn that hedge card face-down in order to mark that it has already been painted. Your guardsman may not paint an already-painted hedge, nor may he "un-paint" a hedge.


Playing Face Cards

Face cards represent the members of the Wonderland royalty. While they're actually rather a frivolous sort, they're all about as potentially dangerous as the Queen of Hearts. Fortunately, you can always sic 'em on your opponents to take some of the heat off yourself.

During your turn, you may play a face card from your hand to produce any of the following specific effects:

Jack - Jacks are willing to do anything to pique the Queen. If another player's guardsman is currently standing on an unpainted hedge in your garden, you may play a Jack to automatically paint that hedge.

Queen - The other Queens run in the same circle as the Queen of Hearts, although they're not quite as much of a threat. When you play a Queen, choose a painted hedge in play and turn it face-up and unpainted. The Queen of Hearts has additional uses aside from this. (See below.)

King - While not as strong as the Queens, the Kings can nevertheless provide suitable distraction. When you play a King, place it face-up in front of you. If you have a King in front of you, you may discard it the next time somebody plays a face card in order to cancel that card's effects.


Unleashing the Queen of Hearts

The Queen of Hearts is notorious for her temper, and if strongly irritated, she'll stalk the area in a fit of rage until she finds somebody to pay for their transgressions.

When you play the Queen of Hearts, you may choose to instead put her right into play on your garden's central hedge. As long as the Queen is in play, any player may spend their move action to move the Queen of Hearts instead of their guardsman.

Every time the Queen lands on a painted hedge, then that hedge automatically turns face-up and unpainted. ("Who's been painting my roses red?!" the Queen screams.)

If the Queen ever lands on a painted hedge that has at least one guardsman on it, then that hedge automatically turns face up and unpainted. Remove all guardsmen on that hedge from the game, and discard the Queen. (No, those guardsmen can never come back. You don't want to know what happens to them.)

No face-up card can cancel the Queen of Hearts' effects while she is stalking the table. No one's even going to want to get near her while she's in this state.


Ending Your Turn

At the end of your turn, draw two cards from the top of the draw pile, then discard down to five cards if you have more than five cards in hand.

Afterwards, reveal the top card of the draw pile. If that card is the Queen of Hearts, immediately put her into play on the central hedge of your garden. She'll start looking for victims from there. If otherwise, discard it.

Finally, if you are the Dealer, then at the end of each of your turns, you must reshuffle all cards from the discard pile back into the draw pile. Cards that have been removed from the game stay removed from the game.

The next player to the left (clockwise direction, in other words) then takes his or her turn.


Winning the Game

Easier said than done. If all of your hedges are painted (face-down) at any time during your turn, then you win the game.