Mad Mondays: NaNoWriMo Update (Week 2)

If you look to the right, you'll see my word count meter. I'm nearly on target, but it seems I'm floundering a little.
Which is fine. I'm treading water and preparing to catch up soon. National Novel Writing Month, 2014, has been exciting so far!

First, it's my first time writing a mystery novel. Never mind that my plot is not suspenseful in any way, shape, or form, and that my characters are blander than brick walls--it's still been really fun so far. A step outside of the Science Fiction/Fantasy biosphere has proved to be a great step. It helps improve my writing and show me untold possibilities about what I can write.

Second, I haven't written fiction in bulk for quite a few months, and this is helping me get back on track to writer-dom.

Now, let's talk about Week Two. It always gets a bad rap from WriMos, specifically because it tends to be the week in which a lot of writers lose their will, their gumption, their motivation. To me, it's my week of epiphany. Week One is always dull and boring, an uninspired pile of drivel written to propel myself forward until the end. I start thinking, "This is a great concept!" but from the first page, I know it's going to be crap. But I write anyway, and inevitably, at the end of Week One I slack off. But then Week Two happens. I have to catch up and the fight or flight instinct kicks in and I find myself sprinting back to the goal line to slam the ball into the net. With the bulk of writing I'm doing to catch up, I grant myself new inspiration. My characters grow. I realize the concept, not in the mind, but on the page (well, word processor, not page).

And from then on, NaNoWriMo is pretty easy for me. Even now, I'm having more fun than in all of Week One. My advice is: let yourself give up, but then come back and try to catch up as hard as you can. Unless you're one of those people who's already over 20,000 words by Day 8. To those people, I have one thing to say: You are crazy mutant lizard aliens.

-JW

Quick Announcement: No Cat Monologue Tomorrow.

That's it. Read the title. Sorry.

Throwback Thursdays: The Fisherman

Welcome, readers, to Inkweb! It's Throwback Thursday, and today's poem from another century is Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's "The Fisherman." Enjoy (or don't, and comment telling me why).

The Fisherman

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The water rushed, the water swelled,

A fisherman sat by,

And gazed upon his dancing float

With tranquil-dreaming eye.

And as he sits, and as he looks,

The gurgling waves arise;

A maid, all bright with water drops,

Stands straight before his eyes.

She sang to him, she spake to him:

"My fish why dost thou snare,

With human wit and human guile,

Into the killing air?

Couldst see how happy fishes live

Under the stream so clear,

Thyself would plunge into the stream,

And live for ever there.

"Bathe not the lovely sun and moon

Within the cool, deep sea,

And with wave-breathing faces rise

In twofold witchery?

Lure not the misty heaven-deeps,

So beautiful and blue?

Lures not thine image, mirrored in

The Fresh eternal dew?

The water rushed, the water swelled,

It clasped his feet, I wis'

A thrill went through his yearning heart,

As when two lovers kiss!

She spake to him, she sang to him:

Resistless was her strain;

Half drew him in, half lured him in;

He ne'er was seen again.

Weird Wednesdays: 5 Facts About The Lord of the Rings

Welcome to Inkweb! Today is Wednesday, which means 25 Facts! Today's topic is The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. By this, I really mean The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, and The Silmarillion. Obviously, the following contains spoilers. I repeat:

The Following Contains SPOILERS for The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, & The Silmarillion! Beware!

Click below to read on. You have been warned.

Mad Mondays - When Robots Attack

One of my favorite theories for the end of humanity is the idea that robots will gain artificial intelligence and conquer the human race. Of course, this is highly unlikely, but an interesting concept, one that has been explored through years in all different sorts of media. I've compiled a list of movies, comics, TV shows, and books that concern what would happen when robots attack, so to speak. Let's start the countdown!

#5: 2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke (and the movie)
Just about no one has never heard of HAL, the rogue computer from 2001: A Space Odyssey.

#4: The Avengers: Age of Ultron (and the Marvel comics)
Ultron is a perfect example of a rogue AI. From the Marvel comics and in the upcoming movie Age of Ultron, he is deeply malevolent toward humanity.

#3: Blade Runner
Harrison Ford stars as the blade runner, working in the future to take down rogue AIs known as replicants, who appear human.

#2: The Matrix
In The Matrix, robots have taken control of humanity, enslaving them in a dream world known as the Matrix, and using their life force to power robokind.

#1: Battlestar Galactica (the newer series)
Battlestar Galactica is a TV show about what happens when a society that has already won a war against robots (the Cylons) has to face them again, in smarter, deadlier form. In this series, the different models of the Cylons either appear robotic or human, but the problem is that there's no way to find out if someone is a human-model Cylon or not.

So that's it for Mad Monday! Please note that The Matrix and Blade Runner are rated R. :)
-JW

Cat Monologue 6: The New Dog

It's been a long couple of months, my readers. I shall do my best to recount these events as if they have only just happened and are still fresh in my mind.
I took your advice, my readership, and the course of history has been unalterably changed accordingly.
To recap upon the last episode I published: along with Max the golden retriever, my daft owners planned to get a new dog, thus at least doubling the annoyance level in the house.
You advised me to stay and find a way to get rid of the new arrival to the house. Well, the beast arrived, the beast arrived!
A giant wobbling, idiotic, stupid, pea-brained, oafish, worthless, lump of puppy came through the door one afternoon, and I knew my golden days were over.
You see, Max and I have always somewhat had a truce. We ignored each other for the past four years, ever since they brought the big bumbling dolt through that front door, and went our separate ways. He didn't bother me; I didn't bother him. I sat typing up my memoirs in peace and tranquility while he--well, he did whatever it is that dogs do: bark, drool, vomit, defecate, dig.
But when Trixie walked through the door, everything changed. And I mean everything.
She's a freaking menace! She's chewed up everything in the house, pooped and peed all over my study, and nearly eaten me on various occasions! And I haven't been able to do anything to convince my owners that having the second dog is a bad idea.
And if you thought that was bad, just imagine my horror when Max forgot our long years of trusting truce, and instead helped little Trixie heckle me, hunt me, and chase me all over the place.
I've had to relocate my study. Now, I climb up into the attic through the top window when no one's paying attention, and I type my memoirs up here. It's stuffy, but it has its perks: namely, mice. They leave droppings everywhere and they're so easy to track. It's a great hunting ground. I can't believe I didn't think of this earlier.
Anyway, back to the narrative.
When they brought Trixie to the house that fateful afternoon, I got to work. I arranged traps of all sorts to make it look like she's been getting into tons of trouble, ripping things up, tracking in dirt, peeing and pooping everywhere.
My plans backfired. I'm about to hang myself out of desperation, my readers. I just don't know if I can take it.
You see, my strategies would only work if Trixie was generally well-behaved. As it is, she's done three times worse than I would have framed her for.
But the humans apparently don't give a flying hoop of CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED! They suffer through the torment of having this menace around to this day! I'm getting really sick and tired of this. They turn a blind eye to everything Trixie does, whereas if I step one foot into her kennel, they put me on the chopping block!
It appears that I cannot use any powers of persuasion upon my human owners. My subtle strategies aren't working, which leaves me with two options:
a) stick it out and suffer.
b) get rid of the dog myself, the old-fashioned way.
c) run away from home.

I contemplate these options every time I see that monstrous horror they call an animal.

-Signing off,
Chester Felix (the cat)

Throwback Thursdays: The Raven

Welcome, readers, to the very first Throwback Thursday, when I post a poem from a previous century. This week's pick is Edgar Allan Poe's very famous poem, "The Raven". Enjoy!

The Raven

Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

            Only this and nothing more.”

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

            Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

            This it is and nothing more.”

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—

            Darkness there and nothing more.

  Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—

            Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

            With such name as “Nevermore.”

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

  This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

            She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—

    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

            Shall be lifted—nevermore!