Ficathon Blues

I've just received my story seeds for the Legend of the Five Rings Ficathon III, and judging from my experience with the last one, it appears that I am truly a sucker for this kind of punishment.

Fortunately, I've got till the end of February to submit a finished work. That means that I'll probably have even more days to goof off before attempting to cram a month's writing into the span of six hours. (Ha, ha. Seriously, though, I've already started on a couple of concepts.)

The bad news is that the others decided to get a lot more creative for this one. My seeds are as follows:

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?

A "kobune", for those who aren't in the know, is the general term for a ship in the Legend of the Five Rings universe. "Rokugan" is the name of the pseudo-medieval Japanese empire that stretches across the peninsula, and the "Burning Sands" is the vast desert that cuts it off from the rest of the world.

There's normally an unspoken prize given to those entrants who manage to meld their two concepts into a single story. Seeing that one of these involves the sea and that the other involves the desert, it's obvious that somebody has it in for me. Unless I decide to come up with a character who has acid flashbacks that place him in both locales, I'm probably going to have to work with only one of these seeds.

I suppose that I decided to dig my own grave when I joined this friendly competition for the second time, so I guess I'll just have to see if it's comfortable when I finally lie in it.

Literary Dyslexia

Sobriety.

Sobriety.

Sobriety.

I've noticed that I've had a peculiar habit of switching or substituting letters lately. Sometimes I'll advance one or more letters in a word, and sometimes I'll replace certain random letters with whatever's next to them on the keyboard.

Sobriety.

Sobritey.

Spbroety.

Sometimes, for no reason at all, I'll even fail to punch in certain letters at all. Capitals are favorite.

Sobriety.

Sobeirty.

obriety.

I wonder if it's stress. I've been through the wringer at work lately, and the wall of upcoming projects for the year doesn't bode well for my circumstances. At worst, my mind could be in some gradual process of degradation, and maybe the basic pattern-and-sequence rules would be the first to go in that case.

Or maybe I just type too fast. Odd, for a man who almost flunked his grade-school Typing class.

I've noticed that it's already affected my writing speed, although in a purely psychological way. Nowadays, I tend to look back every few words or so, just to make sure that I haven't made any 'careless' spelling errors. I most definitely don't remember having that kind of habit from last year.

I've considered shifting to a Dvorak keyboard, but then I'd need some time to learn the new layout first. I can't set it up at home because I've got siblings who use the traditional keysets, and it might not be feasible to set it up at work because wrenching the keys off and putting them back on again will eat up a couple of hours. There's also the question of juggling familiarity between the two keysets - what if I have to use someone else's computer, for example? What if I take up a post in an Internet cafe?

All that, and the notion of switching to Dvorak may be a little presumptuous at this time. I'm not even sure what's causing me to switch all these letters at the moment.

I glad for my proofreading skills. Otherwise my writings would be a mere jumbled mess.

In the back of my mind, I think that maybe I should just chuck the whole technological bit out the window and go back to writing with pencil and paper. I haven't seen a good sample of my handwriting in years. That would certainly be a lot easier.

Digital Pinay: Damage Control

Sat in on a press conference for the Digital Pinay contest today, along with bloggers Clair, Xenia and Ranulf. Representatives from the media were there as well, with Inq7.Net's Joey Alarilla and Erwin Oliva among them. All in all, a nice eight-man audience.

If you haven't heard about the initial controversy surrounding the contest in the eyes of the online public, then my initial post is here. I would highly recommend that you read it first.

Go ahead. I'll wait.

*Hums*

...

Finished? Good.

The Digital Pinay application form and its contents has touched off a firestorm in the last few days. (Clair terms it a "blogstorm", and I won't argue.) After holding an emergency meeting yesterday, the contest organizers - the Philippine Computer Society (PCS) - gave their side of the story in a small press conference held earlier today.

During the conference, PCS stated that the released application form and contest mechanics were a mistake, and that the PCS never meant for the competition to be a "beauty contest" in the first place. PCS apologized for the unfortunate occurrence, thanked the audience for their vigilance, and gave indication that they were amenable to future discussion regarding not only the Digital Pinay issue, but perhaps future endeavors as well.

I am aware that the application forms have since been rectified, with the contest mechanics likely to be amended soon. That would make it fair damage control so far. I have to say that not many people have the guts to admit an error in the face of mounting outrage, and that their handling of the situation impressed me to a certain degree.

With regards to Digital Pinay, it has turned out as a contest that seeks potential IT executive material from the ranks of the females who are currently involved with the industry. The contest thus justifies a search for personality qualities as well as intelligence - after all, a potential CEO should know how to deal with people. The text votes themselves may be seen as indicative of a candidate's ability to raise support for her bid. I figure that the contest sounds relatively logical now, albeit still a little strange.

I have the impression that the contest gave rise to controversy when the Internet audience first noticed the fields for Bust Size, Waist Size, and other physical attributes in the original application form. That elevated certain parts of the contest mechanics to greater attention, most notably a 20% allotment towards a "beauty/presentability" quality and a coronation night that planned the contestants going through such events as a "Business Suit" category and a "Sportswear" category. It was easy for readers to make the comparison to a misogynist "beauty pageant".

At the moment, only the 20% "beauty/presentability" allotment remains, although I'm fairly certain that it'll still be heavily discussed among the public. Personally, I don't like the degree of emphasis that's been given to "beauty/presentability" either, but I'm willing to let this go in favor of seeing how the contest works with it. If the aspect turns out to be too frivolous, then it can always be lessened or removed in favor of the next Digital Pinay competition.

I think that it's good to see that PCS is at least willing to listen to the reactions to the controversy. Frankly, I also think that it's good to see that, despite the knowledge that the contest will forever be marred by this issue, PCS still initiated what damage control they could, and offered sincere apologies for the rest.

More updates to come, I suppose. I'd like to see what the rest of the local blogging community thinks about this. In particular, I'd like to see what Sacha's take on these developments are, once she gets back from her little Kobe excursion.

You're entitled to your own opinion on this issue, everybody. I just try to give you the basic facts.

Digital Pinay 2005

If I were to tell you that the Philippine Computer Society is organizing a contest in order to find a woman who best embodies the skills and values of the IT industry, then what would you think?

Interesting idea, right? A copy of the application form's over here, and it deserves a good read whether you're male or female, whether you're planning on joining or not. (The link is a copy hosted on Sacha Chua's site, and it may or may not be the most recent version of the application form.)

Sacha figures significantly into this story, but I'm not about to tell you the whole thing. I'd rather have you read things for yourself and make up your own minds afterwards. Sacha's reaction to the contest announcement and application is here, and it's being echoed by various quarters around the Net. But I'd recommend that you look through the contest application form first and see if you can spot the aspect that's causing the controversy.

Super Ultra Mega Light Battle Bikini Upgrade!

If that title doesn't get you reading this article, then nothing will.

It probably all started when I got my hands on Curse of the Azure Bonds, a rather forgettable Dungeons and Dragons adventure and novel. It was years later when I stumbled on a magazine article interviewing Clyde Caldwell, the artist of the Curse of the Azure Bonds cover. In a sidebar to the interview, Caldwell mentioned that the art for Azure Bonds was notable for him because the writer worked the female character and her depicted armor into the book itself.

That single sidebar got me to look at the cover once again. And the first thought that came to mind was, this is one of the most useless pieces of armor I've ever seen.

Now don't get me wrong. I respect skilled artists. I do a bit of drawing myself, so I know how much effort they put into their works. Heck, I'm familiar with the difficulties with drawing the female figure, so I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I reserve the most profound respect for artists who can take on the female figure and get fantastic results.

What I don't understand, however, is how such artists can effectively distort the meaning and function of armor. Khan Online, for example, has a set of armor that looks better suited to the Carnaval in Rio than it does to the battlefield. (One wonders how she could possibly move around in that thing.)

Granted, these are fantasy universes. And I'll agree that it's possible for a story to have female characters who are willing to wear such things. And, as a red-blooded male, I'll have to admit that it isn't all that bad to have a little fanservice every now and then. But taking what amounts to a mere chainmail bikini and touting it as effective armor just shatters all logical thought.

In other words, you can call it armor all you want, but if I can drive a sword right through that spot of cleavage or punch through that bare midriff, then it ain't armor.

I like to think that female characters can usually be written well beyond how much (how little?) armor they wear. To be more exact, I prefer strong female characters, which usually means that they'd be more than willing to strap on the same full plate that the males wear should the situation demand it. It would, at least, be a lot more intelligent than those female characters who think that a metal bustier is the ultimate in defensive technology.

Female characters are usually practical enough to realize that when they mean armor, they mean armor, not these skimpy bits that are the stuff of dreams. These artists can keep their visions to themselves; I prefer to write from a more realistic standpoint, thank you very much.

...

...

...

Oh, and the first guy to mention Conan's costume gets a whack on the side of the head.



(All images presented here are the property of their respective owners.)

Antaria: Knives

Sometimes Rhias couldn’t sleep. Sometimes the memories wouldn’t let her.

Behind her, safe in his own personal quarters, Gallos slept comfortably. Rhias, like many other people, wondered how a man who controlled the lives of half of Lorendheim’s population could possibly rest well at night. Rhias, unlike many other people, didn’t let such innate curiosity cloud her judgment.

Gallos was just a man, she knew. Deep inside his imperious demeanor, within his seeming heart of stone, behind the polished masks, she knew that he was just a man.

She reached inside one of the hidden pockets of her robes and found one of the knives there. Carefully, she tested the edge of the blade with her fingers. The magic of the Masquers would not only ensure that no one would ever notice the knives, but would also ensure that she wouldn’t be cut by her own weapons.

She remembered Haron, but it was just his name this time. And the sound of his voice, all raw and scratched.


Try as she might, she could not remember his face. For these small mercies, she was grateful.

She left the knife alone and leaned against the doors to Gallos’s chambers. There was a stillness in the air, and Rhias was the kind of woman who knew all too well when a stillness in the air would be perfectly out of the question.

She burst into the room, drawing two knives at the same time. The lone black-clad man climbing in through the window froze at her entrance, allowing Rhias a single moment to attack.

* * *

“What’z your name?” the tall man asked.

The girl looked up at him. “Rhia,” she said, doubtfully.

“Rhiazz?” the man asked.

“Rhia,” the girl said.

“Rhiaz,” the man decided. “Why you out here, Rhiaz?”

Rhia squinted in the falling snow. “Because,” she said.

The man smiled. “Becauze what?”

“Because,” Rhia said, and couldn’t get any further than that.

“Becauze you don’tz have a home,” the man concluded. “Why don’tz you have a home, Rhiaz?”

“Rhia,” Rhia corrected. “I ran away.”

“Oh?” the man said, feigning surprise.

“I don’t like the other kids. I don’t like the food. I don’t like Sister Ilihn. And Miseth doesn’t stop making fun of me.”

“Mizeth must be a very bad boy,” the man observed.

“I knocked out two of his teeth,” Rhia said, “and I pushed his face into the coal.” Then, in a much smaller voice, she added, “But Sister Ilihn saw me and locked me in my room. She said I had to stop acting like a child.”

“That’z why you ran away,” the man said.

“The window was open,” Rhia said, as though this was a logical excuse.

“Ah,” the man said, in an understanding tone.

Rhia shivered in the cold.

“You cold?” the man asked.

Rhia shook her head. “N-no,” she said.

The man looked at her, thinking very carefully as he did so.

“Would you like to come with me, Rhiaz?”

“Where are you going?” Rhia asked.

“Nowherez,” the man said. “Everywherez. I zee the world. I go wherez the money takez me.”

Rhia hesitated.

“Better than freezing to deathz out here,” the man said.

Rhia stared at the man’s outstretched hand for a few moments, and then took it with her own, shaking as she did so. The man pulled her up.

“My name is Haron,” the man said. “Good to meet you, Rhiaz.”

* * *

The black-clad man raised one hand, feeling the two knives buried in his chest, and the wet, sticky blood that oozed from the wounds. He dropped to one knee, still reaching for his sword with his other hand. Rhias buried a third knife in the man’s sternum, causing him to twitch and finally lie still.

On the bed in the far corner of the room, Gallos still slept. Rhias wondered whether Gallos was truly slumbering, or if he merely wanted her to handle everything in this situation.

She heard a rustling sound from the window, just in time to see a single black-clad leg step down onto the windowsill. She grabbed the second man’s ankle – earning a startled cry from its owner – and then twisted it forward, throwing the man off his precarious perch and onto the hard snow-covered pavement three stories below. The man screamed as he fell.

Rhias peered out the window, looking up towards the roof of the manor house and into the covered face of a third black-clad assassin. The man’s dark blue eyes radiated fear and surprise; Rhias’s eyes were nothing but dead pools of blackness.

The third man scrambled to his feet, fleeing across the roof.

Rhias reached up, grasping the rough wood lining the window and flipping herself onto the roof in a display that would have impressed the greatest circus acrobat. The assassin turned in surprise, and then desperately began his flight along the city’s rooftops.

* * *

“No,” Haron said, holding her arm carefully, “don’tz look at the target.”

Rhia squirmed in his grasp. She didn’t like it whenever Haron touched her. “How can I hit it if I can’t look at the target?” she said, frustrated.

“Not right if you look at the target,” Haron said. “Too many thingz to keep track of bezidez the target.”

“What’z… what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Thiz,” Haron said, pulling the knife from her fingers and throwing it – almost effortlessly – towards the tree stump. The knife thunked into the center of the crude circle Haron had drawn.

Rhia stopped squirming and simply stared.

“You pick a zpot,” Haron said. “Any zpot withzin your line of zight. You don’tz look at the target. You know wherez the target is compared to the zpot you chose.”

“But you’re not aiming!” Rhia said, confused.

“You don’tz have to aim mozt of the time,” Haron said. “Thzrowing knives iz hard. You think it waz eazy? But when zomebody throw a knife at you, you get zcared. You afraid the knife hit you. That’z all zomebody need.”

“But you hit the target!”

“Lucky zhot. You juzt pick a zpot and know where your targetz are, Rhiaz. You try to hit anythzing you want. But you let the godz handle everything elze.”

Rhia stared at him. He arm reached out in a random direction and found one of her practice knives. Still staring at Haron, she slowly brought her hand back and threw, all in one smooth motion.

Haron glanced at the target. Rhia’s knife was embedded in the stump beside his own knife. He scratched his head.

“Bonez of the moon,” he swore, “how’d you do that?”

“Lucky shot,” Rhia said, staring at the target.

* * *

The man screamed in panic as Rhias’s knife went flying overhead, and in his haste he stumbled on a pair of loose shingles. As Rhias watched, the man desperately grabbed onto the slippery roof, slowing what might have been a fatal descent.

Rhias didn’t miss; that’s what everyone said. Rhias didn’t miss unless she fully intended to do so.

She stood at the edge of the roof, watching the man regain his balance in midst of the gathering snowfall.

The would-be assassin drew his sword. Rhias drew a single knife. She only needed one.

The man lunged at her, his footsteps muffled by the drifts of snow. His sword silently cut through the night air.

Rhias bent backwards as though a reed in the wind, as the blade whistled mere inches from her face. And all the while, her expression did not change.

She sprung at the man, catching a glimpse of his startled face the moment before she drove the knife into his neck.

* * *

She was aware of Haron’s breath, bitter and fetid at the same time.

“No!” she screamed, trying to find the strength to push him off. He was too heavy for her.

Haron didn’t speak, but merely sought her face with glazed eyes. He kissed her more than once there; To Rhia, they felt like little bites.

She kicked and screamed, driving her fists into him before he slapped her hard across the face and left her stunned. Then he pushed his face against her neck, and she screamed again.

“No one hear us,” Haron said, his voice muffled by her clothes. “No one hear us, Rhiaz. Pleaze, I…”

Rhia screamed again. The names blurred in the corner of her mind. Rhia, Rhias, Rhiaz. Haron. Haron. Haron.

There was the sound of cloth tearing. Rhia closed her eyes, trying to stop the tears from coming.

Her right hand reached for something, anything, and found Haron’s old leather belt. She felt the buckle, worn and rusted under her fingers.

Something hurt. She bit her lip, trying to concentrate. Trying to choose a spot.

Her eyes were still closed tightly. She stared into the darkness there.

She felt her hand grip something… familiar. Something all too familiar.

Haron screamed as she drove the knife into his neck.

She stabbed, trying to make the screaming stop. On the fourth blow, Haron’s scream finally trailed off into an obscene gurgle, and he pitched forward. Rhia crawled out from underneath him.

She pulled her clothes tighter around herself, marking them with her red hands. And there, she watched as Haron’s blood coursed into the snow around them.

* * *

When she finally stepped back through the window, she found Gallos seated at the side of his bed, looking at her. Rhias bowed low before him.

“So formal tonight,” Gallos said, the mask expressionless upon his face.

Rhias straightened. She had only seen her lord without his mask once, and the event was of no consequence.

“How many were they?” Gallos asked.

Rhias paused. “Three, my lord.” she said.

“Skilled?”

“No,” Rhias said, almost automatically. “Amateurs. Experienced with burglary, it seems, but not with the killing.”

“I see,” Gallos said. “Remind me to call on Lady Tersianne tomorrow morning at first light. I am sure that this has been particularly inconvenient for you.”

Rhias knew her lord well enough not to ask how he knew of the Lady Tersianne’s involvement. “No, my lord.”

“Are you sure?” Gallos asked with uncharacteristic concern. “Surely you were asleep when they first arrived.”

“No, my lord.”

Gallos paused, considering the matter. He looked into Rhias’s eyes.

“Do you remember when we first met, Rhias?” he asked.

“Yes,” Rhias said. “You said that you were very impressed with my skills.”

“No,” Gallos said. “That was not the first thing I said.”

Rhias gave him a confused look. “I… do not follow, my lord.”

“I asked you what your name was,” Gallos said, looking at her eyes. “Do you remember?”

Rhias stared at him, wondering what he was expecting from her.

“I asked you what your name was, and you said…”

“Rhias,” Rhias said.

“Rhias,” Gallos said at the same time.

Rhias returned Gallos’s gaze for the longest time, and then turned away. Her face remained expressionless, yet her memory told a different story. Her eyes told a different story.

“You may take your leave of me, Rhias,” Gallos said. “Hopefully your services shall no longer be required for the rest of this evening.”

“You honor me, my lord,” Rhias said, bowing low once again, and moving towards the doors to his chamber. “Sleep well,” she said.

“Sleep well, my Rhias,” Gallos said quietly.

Behind his mask, he watched until the door finally closed behind her.

Anito Wins Gametunnel Award

'Independent Game of the Year 2004'. There's a nice ring to that, even if it's number 6 on the countdown.

Gametunnel loved the game a lot, it seems. It's praised the two-perspective storyline above everything else, which means that Niel Dagondon must be ecstatic at the moment. (Yes, he thought of the idea, and I must say that it turned out better than I originally thought.)

I'm proud to have played a part in the game, and I'd do it again if given the chance.

As I've said before, though, I'd make sure to approach it from a more organized fashion. Even the best storylines can still be improved further, after all.

Another MMORPG?

Page C-5 of yesterday's Philippine Star contains a notice for the Pristontale MMORPG: It's a large, obnoxious, and badly-worded ad that makes you wonder how much the company's paying an editor to look over their press releases.

Snide comments aside, MMORPGs seem to be mushrooming around here. The popularity of Ragnarok Online apparently took everybody by surprise, and more than a few of the local entrepreneurs have decided to throw their lot in with the online gaming crowd. In a country of growing IT awareness, Counterstrike addiction, and rampant bandwagoneering, this does not come as a surprise.

Still, it's hard not to do a double-take when one sees all of their ads posted on the display windows of the local (computer) hardware stores, or in the various pop-culture magazines: Ragnarok. MU. Tantra. Khan. And now Pristontale (which has the strangest-sounding name among all of them yet).

At the moment, I'm wondering how far we can go without saturating the market. I fear that, given the sheer number of new MMORPGs released within a short time, we may have saturated the market already. Most likely the local audience will end up providing two or three games with significant audiences (at the moment, Ragnarok and Tantra appear to be the most likely candidates), while the others will either get along with lower subscriber numbers, or fold up eventually. I'm inclined to dismiss any future MMORPG endeavors as potential failures unless they've got "Everquest" or "Warcraft" somewhere in their names.

So there's the question that the entrepreneurs really should be asking now: How to tap into a growing market of MMORPG players. There are a lot of internet cafes around, so there's no shortage of places to play. Getting into game merchandise might be lucrative, but the rights are probably being controlled by the distributors already. I'm not sure how to go about this part, so I'll leave my nose out of it for the moment. But if there's anything that I'm sure we don't need, it's investors taking a chance on a few more dubious-looking MMORPGs for a saturated market.

Eulogy: Will Eisner

Will Eisner has just passed away at 87, due to complications from heart surgery.

Non-comics readers will probably not recognize the name, but followers of the medium will immediately recognize the loss of a great man.

Eisner, in a sense, is credited with steering comics away from the direction of run-of-the-mill funnybooks, and more into the direction of a storytelling medium. He wrote and drew The Spirit, a comic mature enough for adults yet readable by kids, for twelve years. His efforts spurred the creation of 'graphic novels', proper character creation techniques, story pacing and other aspects of the modern comic.

Even at 87, he was still active in the community of writers and artists that he had himself inspired. For years he was the presenter for the Eisner Awards - the industry honors of quality, creativity and excellence that had been appropriately named after him. At the time of this writing, his latest work, "The Plot", should be landing in stores within the month.

The comics field has just lost one of its pioneers, a man well-respected by millions of writers, artists and readers across the world. He will be remembered in the many creations he inspired. His legacy lives on.

A Distant Death

I'm sure that everyone's aware of the tsunami that swept across South Asia recently. The first identified Filipino fatality of the disaster has turned out to be Sharleen May Ang Tan, a sophomore from Ateneo de Manila University, my alma mater.

Googling for her name hasn't been of much help - I keep getting redundant newspaper reports and casualty lists. It seems that Marcelle Fabie has mentioned a Sharleen Tan in his blog a few times, however, and although I still have to confirm whether they're the same person or not, I'm getting the impression that she was somewhat active in school events.

I offer her family my most sincere condolences for their loss, just as I reflect on the many others affected by the disaster. Life moves on, and eventually, so must we.

Disclaimer: January 2005

Out with the old and in with the new. Auld Lang Syne.

That's not to say that some things will change, though. I will continue to ensure that everything posted on this blog is entirely original in its writing, and that any items culled from external sources will be given proper reference. I wouldn't count myself among the legions of writers in the world if I wouldn't actually write.

Neither should you, for that matter. If you steal any of my writings from me, then I will come to your house, smoke in your bathroom, drink your beer, and kick your dog.

Then again, maybe not. I don't smoke, I don't drink, and I happen to like dogs.

But if you use any of the items on my site without my prior permission, or add your name to one of the writings that was definitely not one of our collaborations, then the lawyers are going to come in. There is nothing in this world that is scarier than a lawyer (although insurance salesmen tend to come pretty close). I currently make no profit on these writings so far, but if you're willing to provide me with my fortune, then I'm not going to complain. :)

You're welcome to try and hide, by the way. It makes the chase more interesting.

Happy new year, everybody.

Miscellany Redux

I haven't written anything here for nearly a week. I must be winding down the last days of the year, much like a lot of other people are. The next thing I know, it'll be time for another one of those Disclaimers...

Turns out that it really was a virus that hit the Anino Entertainment web site. Interestingly enough, it's a worm that specifically attacks phpbb discussion boards. Part of me wishes that I could get a sample of the virus to see exactly how it spreads, while the other parts of me just slap the first guy silly and tell it to shut up.

In the meantime, I'm looking around for samples of comic scripts. I've got a couple of plots in mind for one, but in order to write something within the field, I've got to look over a format and see what I can play around with. I wonder how far I can take the exaggeration technique. I wonder if the "rule of three" still works. I wonder if the significance of the writer will survive amidst the more noticeable art.

With regards to that last point, it's not that I don't have much confidence in my abilities. It's just that I know some pretty amazing artists...

That reminds me. I still need to rework that Metrian story. I've had Antaria on hiatus for a little too long. If I don't flesh it out soon, I'll never get around to it. And no one likes a hanging story, much less a hanging setting.

The trouble is that, despite the fact that Blogger's eaten my original piece, I think I've already mentally moved on. I've got something about Antarian mercenaries on the burner at this time, and I'm wondering if I should set it aside first. These decisions are never easy.

Someone's already asked me why I don't seem to be doing anything with my writing, even though it seems mildly interesting at least. I suppose I should be asking myself that, here on the cusp of a new year. Come to think of it, it would make a nice New Year's resolution...

Of course I've got to survive two more days of work first. And in my line of work, December isn't the time of year when you can sit back and watch the holidays go by. In my line of work, December happens to be the time of year when all the alarms are sounding, the workers are escaping through the emergency hatch, and Scotty is yelling into a communicator shouting his trademark "She's giving me all she's got, Captain! She canna hold on much longer!"

Okay, I'm rambling now. Time to stop before I lose it - my sanity, and your attention.

Hopefully I'll be able to have at least one more thing up before the curtains finally close on dear old 2004.

pwned

Hackers have apparently been hitting pretty close to home lately.

The Tantra online game is currently down, having suffered through a number of violations incurred by various individuals within its game. I would imagine that bots and packets would normally cause little or no damage to these online worlds, but in Tantra's case, the violations were particularly damning - they succeeded in breaking the economy of the virtual world. (Or so the Inquirer report says.)

The Anino Entertainment website is also down, although it looks like the work of a script kiddie in this case. The violation appears typical of a lot of website defacements, although I can't resist pointing out that the hacker's grammar appears to be a lot better than that of others I've seen. Interestingly enough, I haven't been able to google for anything regarding Anino's intruder, which , along with the grammar point, raises the possibility that this might be his first outing.

There's an odd contrast between the two incidents, mind you. I can resolve the Tantra issue with the fact that there are people out there who are naturally curious, and who use their free time checking to see if they can crack one aspect of these systems or another. In a way, I don't see it as any more different than my unwholesome attraction towards games. But I can't really see a good motivation behind disabling the Anino Entertainment site. The act of bypassing server security should be relatively easy for hackers now; Why would defacing a site be considered a major achievement for anyone other than a newbie?

On the other hand, saying that hackers deface sites for the intellectual satisfaction is like saying that people read the bible because it has a nice story - it's simply an illogical explanation. I'm inclined to believe that, if a non-newbie hacker defaces a site, it's more for the purpose rather than for the intellectual stimulation. I believe that these people deface sites because they have some sort of grudge against the local administrators, and that doing so is the best way of sticking it to them while remaining relatively anonymous in the process.

So the Anino site probably got hit by a grudger or a newbie. How odd.

I wonder how Anino's faring. They're probably pulling their backups together, grumbling all the while. It'll probably take them a few minutes (or a few days, depending on how good their organization is), and then they'll get back to normal operations after increasing the security a bit. Defacing a site makes a bit of a statement, yes, but nowadays it should be relatively easy to fix.

Exactly what Tantra's going to do is another matter altogether. I would imagine that the administrators should have already accepted by now that the hackers are a part of the game. In a sense, it's the game behind the scenes - while you're busy trying to get those last few points of experience needed to advance a level, some corporate watcher out there is trying to pinpoint the location of a couple of particularly nasty scammers. You can take a few of them out, but you can't stop the tide. Much like the Internet at large.

Why Aren't I Playing Scrabble Well?

Sacha Chua's recently posted the results of our most recent Scrabble game on her blog. It's the one where I lost to her by a measly 28 points.

What it doesn't say, though, is the fact that I've dropped two earlier games to her, the most significant win margin being a nasty 260 points. (She's pretty good at the game, yes.) And in an earlier game today against another skilled player, I bit the dust about 50 points behind my erstwhile opponent.

I find that odd, somehow. I'm a writer - aren't I supposed to be good with words?

I've already mentioned a few possible explanations during my games with Sacha: I'm less likely to challenge words based on the fact that I've seen and used quite a lot of them in my time, and I'm more likely to place words on the board that usually won't be found in the standard Scrabble dictionaries. (The very first word I ever placed, "Skirge", was promptly challenged and removed... not a good sign, if you ask me.)

That, and I seem to get too many vowels. But that's besides the point at the moment.

If there's anything I've noticed, there's a marked difference between my play style and that of my opponents'. I have a habit of finding words of five letters or more in my tiles, and tend to place those on the board. Sacha (as well as quite a few others, it seems) makes a lot of short words each turn by appending two or three letters alongside an existing row. Where I'm scoring 12 or 15 points a shot, they're getting 20 or more.

It could explain why I'm losing my games, I think. All the colored squares on the Scrabble board cluster together, yes, but almost never on the same row or column. The more I look at it, the more I see that placing a long word would obviously score less on average than placing a short entry that registers multiple words. Long words usually hit only one colored square. Multiple short words can easily hit two or more, jacking up the resulting score.

I've also realized that I tend to run into problems when my opponent is clustering his words together - the resulting mixture leaves me little room for which to connect my longer entries. I've been forced to discard potential seven-letter words more than once merely because I couldn't find a place to put them. And even if I do manage to place a long word, it gives my opponent an easy opening for her own entries.

Interestingly enough, I have to conclude that, in order to improve my Scrabble, I have to set aside my intuition for long words and concentrate on identifying the shorter words that can mesh with others of their kind. That'll have to include knowing which words actually exist (like "ti" and "qat"), and which don't (like "ut").

It's strange, how I've been playing this game for decades and yet never got around to looking at it from a more strategic angle.

If you're around the games.com website, do head for the Scrabble boards and see if 'wintermarch' is around. I'll be happy to oblige you with a game.

Just don't beat me by 3000 points or something. That would really damage my ego.

Creative Advertisement

I found a mention of a Gamewallpapers.com contest in Dominique Cimafranca's blog the other day, and I figured it was worth a shot. I don't have much of an interest in wallpaper - a desktop's a desktop, after all - but I do love the occasional competition. That, and it asked a very good question: What is the most creative way to advertise within an online videogame?

My succeeding reply is given below. You decide if it's a good idea or not.


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I only have one suggestion here, as I'm aware that a lot of the common marketing ideas will be raised.

My current assumption is that advertising in an online game has two pitfalls: First, that most users have a negative impression of Internet ads, considering them as being nothing but spam and pop-ups. Second, that atmosphere is a major consideration in some online games, and that simply introducing product placement in those games will merely result in blatant anachronism and public outcry.

In other words, a gamer who sees a 7-Up ad during a World of Warcraft game or notices a Star Wars Galaxies NPC walking around wearing a McDonalds signboard is more likely to leave the game than he is to even think about buying the advertised product.

I figure, therefore, that subtlety is the key to advertising within an online game.

Online games are still games. Their players still live in the real world, and will of course make natural, regular references to it. Why else would the Clarity spell in Everquest be nicknamed "Crack"? For what other reason would a specific type of player character be called a "Tank"? Game slang like this spreads quickly, is used for significant periods of time, and becomes familiar to a good number of players.

As a result, I would like to raise the possibility of companies recruiting players to spread game slang that references their own products. Imagine players being 'hired' to refer to the act of using a healing potion as "Miller Time", or of slimming down one's inventory as "doing the Subway diet". Companies can perform market research into a significant online gaming population, and can invest in good catchphrases this way.

If this sounds like a corporate sponsorship scenario, then that's because, in a way, it is. The main difference lies in the subtlety of the product promotion: If you plaster a blatant product ad on a gamer's screen or have a player walk around with a corporate logo plastered all over their weapons and armor, you're obviously more likely to get a negative response. But if you find a way to get your product to be part of the online gaming experience instead, then the players are a lot more likely to embrace it.

The best part, of course, is that the arrangement benefits all three parties: The players get paid for playing, the corporate sponsors enjoy effective product promotion for low costs and get new insights about the online communities, and the online games continue to gain profits without having to worry about customer complaints.

Advertisement doesn't have to be a loud and obnoxious endeavor. Sometimes subtlety rules, after all.

Rules of the Game

I like to think of a blog as a personal journal. Given the "weblog" context, though, it's a journal that a lot of people across the Net can potentially watch. But I still like to think of it as a personal journal.

That said, there are some lines I draw with this blog. I try not to express any personal angst, I try not to stick my nose into political and social commentary, and I try not to seriously offend anybody with lowdown, underhanded techniques.

I suspect that my instinct towards reader-friendliness is what gets those lines drawn and redrawn. Writing a story is as much an effort to keep the reader's attention as much as it is to express a good plot idea, after all. That's really the common thread between any endeavor that gets you to write for audiences.

Some of the more astute readers, of course, may point out that no one may actually be reading these posts, but I figure it's best to make sure.

I believe that you've all got problems enough, and I'm perfectly willing to listen to them. No sense in burdening you further with mine.

I believe that everybody's got the right to his or her own political and social opinion, and I'm not going to foist mine off on anybody just because I happen to be on some sort of mood swing. If I want to be heard, then I'll be heard. But if otherwise, then no.

And although I'm not sure that "lowdown, underhanded techniques" encompasses, you can bet that I believe that this blog should be worth the time and effort you invest in reading it. You may think it's serious, you may think it's funny, but at least you still read.

Kampai, everybody.

The Motley Crew

I've always figured that the secret to creating an effective cast of characters involves two things:

First, each character has to be unique, and consequently fleshed out in a logical and realistic manner. If readers are going to be stuck with the same group of people for a number of pages, they need to be able to relate to these characters in one way or another. Some characters are distinct in terms of height, weight, build or age. Some characters speak only certain languages, or in marked accents. Some characters have certain personality quirks, or physical enhancements, or physical limitations. Loading up on these differences basically ensures that the characters don't end up looking like a bunch of clones.

Second, the interaction between characters has to be played up without necessarily affecting the story itself. This might be seen as a corollary for character uniqueness, yes, but where uniqueness helps characters stand on their own, interaction allows the reader to see just where the characters stand with respect to each other. Character interaction also helps keep the storyline plausible - after all, there's got to be some reason why certain characters stick together, or why certain characters fly at each others' throats.

Generally, the more important the characters are to the storyline, the more important these tenets tend to be. Readers will probably look upon the supporting cast with various levels of interest, but they'll definitely end up putting the main characters under intense scrutiny.

I'll delve into an example from Antaria. Let's assume that we've got three mercenaries that appear as characters in the story.

If the three mercenaries only appear in a single scene, then I think we can safely ignore the rules here. In fact, the audience just has to know that they're mercenaries. Accordingly, they'd be known as First Mercenary, Second Mercenary and Third Mercenary in the closing credits. Heck, if they don't even get to chew scenery all that much, then we can even hold off on the "mercenary" label.

If they have non-prominent supporting roles, then a bit of description can come in. We can say, for example, that they're two males and one female. We can say that they're dressed in the leather armor that indicates that they're experienced mercenaries, or that they're difficult negotiators. We can even name them, say... Artrem, Roth, and Vién, although that's not really necessary.

If they're prominent supporting characters, then we'll have to start showing how they walk, talk, and otherwise schmooze with each other, although we can choose to leave out the finer details. Artrem acts as the group's scout and backup man, can spot inconsistencies from a mile away, and is handy with a crossbow. Roth holds the nickname "Bonecrusher", walks seven feet tall, and always speaks in the third person. Vién plays the smooth talker, takes more than her fair share of anything, and fights ferociously with two swords.

If they're main characters, then we can turn up the level of detail significantly. Artrem and Vién used to sleep with each other till their recent falling-out, and while Artrem would rather forget about the relationship completely, Vién takes a perverse delight in rubbing his nose in it. Roth tends to gravitate to advice from the others because he thinks that they're a lot smarter than him, although he's got a bit of a moral center and won't enter any needless fights. Vién thinks of Roth as something of her toy, and is not above ordering him around on seemingly innocent tasks.

The farther we go up the ladder, the more work that needs to be put into these characters. It takes a bit of a while to get just the right balance for each level of character usage, of course. If anything, though, as long as such efforts end up gaining the reader's attention, then crafting character detail should remain a worthwhile endeavor.

Performances

Leafed through the prequel as well as the first two issues of Nautilus Comics's Cast last Wednesday. I had the good fortune to stumble across Ramon de Veyra that evening, and, bless his heart, he told me that there was something interesting going on in the nearby Powerbooks branch. I ended up leaving the comic's launch party with the three issues in hand, my wallet a good two hundred pesos lighter.

I'll admit that I'm more of a written fiction person than I am a graphic novel person. That said, however, I pick up a few of the more interesting comics every now and then (Brian Michael Bendis's Powers has a place in my collection of odds and ends), have a few of them on my "buy" list (like Alan Moore and Len Wein's Watchmen), and go through some of the local publications (as with Cast). Given my experiences with Anino Entertainment's Anito, I'm more than happy to support any of the local endeavors as long as they're creatively sound.

Cast follows the times and tribulations of a group of high school students from two different schools (hooray for gender exclusivity) as they prepare for a massive stage performance. One character's nervous over the fact that he's one of the main characters in his first stage play, and that he's the 'new kid' in an in-crowd of accomplished stage performers. One character's recently reeling from a bad breakup. One character's got problems outside school, perhaps even outside the play itself. There are the Catholic priests and nuns who run everything with a cautious eye. There's the artiste, caricature-like director who throws the most vile insults this side of Michael Moore.

I think that a personal review of Cast at this point would be pointless. I believe that the story is still in its developing stages, and I would prefer to see how it all (ahem) plays out before I give a marked opinion on it. Fortunately for Nautilus Comics, this means that I'll most likely be picking up the next few issues as I find them.

Jaime Bautista, the writer of the series, happens to be from my high school alma mater, and I can see more than a few similarities between the comic and the 1997 stage performance that my exclusive boys' school and the exclusive girls' school across the street put on together. I've still got the program for that performance, mind you, and I got deja vu when I went through it afterwards. Back then I was too busy competing in the local Math contests to involve myself with the play, but it's not hard to imagine what Bautista was going through, and how he was able to translate his experiences into the comic.

In hindsight, I seem to have been reading a lot of comics lately. I figure that writing for a comic is a heck of a lot different than writing a short story, but maybe I can give it a try someday.

Watch this space, everyone. I'll put up a review for Cast as soon as I have one.

Hacks

theswanlake's comment from "Daggers of the Mind", below:

Wow, it's amazing to read your blog! You have a very nice one! I always admire people who can write very well... because that is what I want to become.

"Write very well"? Hah.

I'm just another hack, making his way in the world. No, wait, I'm not just a hack - I'm a hack with a blog. That should put me about three degrees lower than usual, I think.

In order to write well, I think that one has to recognize two things: First, you have to learn to read and recognize what others write. Second, no matter what masterpieces you manage to get your hands on and read, you have to realize that you can write stuff that's a lot better than what those hacks can come up with.

The first one is easy. The second one tends to be difficult, because it's easy to be deluded into the position that there are a lot of better writers out there.

I read Stephen King, but to me, he's a hack. His characters curse too much. His stories sometimes cross the line from believable to rip-snorting-out-of-touch-with-reality. I think I can do better than him.

I read J.R.R. Tolkien, but to me, he's a hack. His narration is ancient and sawdust-dry. I fall asleep reading his books, no matter how good the movies might have turned out. I think I can do better than him.

I read and love Terry Pratchett, but to me - ultimately - he's a hack. He stretches things a bit too far sometimes, pushing the limits of fantasy to try to fit technology yet not quite succeeding. And even he can't quite rescue the more boring settings. I think I can do better than him.

So I'm a hack. I'll admit it freely, and for your own good.

"Write very well"? Hah. I'm just a hack.

And I think you can do better than me. :)

Daggers of the Mind

Usually stories are complacent. You give them the "baa-ram-ewe" password and then lead them around the corral all you want, making sure to tell them how nice they were afterwards.

Every now and then, though, a story's going to go rogue, and usually in extreme fashion. These are the stories that feel that their time has come, and that they're going to see themselves in writing no matter what.

I have no idea what happened in the last three hours. I just know that my mind started wandering in the middle of work, and that all of a sudden, I had the story sitting in front of me. Not to mention almost half the workday wasted doing something that I hardly even remember.

Sometimes, when people ask me how I write, I describe it as a sort of madness. It's a dazedness that consumes me and gets me waking up next to some of the most interesting stories I've ever read, wondering where the time went. Sometimes I even wonder whether I'm actually the one writing these, or if it's some alternate personality who looks to take over my soul one day. God help me if that ever happens.

At the moment, I'm reading the new story, wondering if it'll be worth posting here. Perhaps it is, and perhaps it's not, but for the moment it might be best to let it stew for a while. Maybe I'll just sleep on it or something.