[Wrenmae's Scrap] Reanimated Affections

[Wrenmae]

I've enjoyed a mottled career on Mizahar, ever since I stumbled on it by luck through the mindless medley of clicking through roleplay topsites. I found the idea enticing (if but a bit expansive) and set myself to reading the lore for near two days before deciding on a character.

I'm approaching a year anniversary on the forum in a few months and I thought I'd give some time to look back on what I've accomplished here, and a few thoughts on the whole whirlwind experience of it all.

First, I procrastinated a long time on posting. My first entry was poor enough for me to vaporize it with little mercy and with a new title and new first post, I want to make some sort of a statement on who I am...at least in the limited respect by which these letters define my personality. To that effect, has anyone noticed how, sometimes, our personalities change based on the perceptions of others? We like to say that we are who we are, but sometimes we change in imperceptible ways in accordance with how we are viewed by others. Before I wrote this, my interactions with some of the members on Mizahar was a sort of abrasive insistent, always asking questions or for clarifications on rules, or even to the progress of a quest. I realize how annoying that can be, but for some reason I didn't make the connection that what I was doing was necessarily wrong. There was an intention behind communication, a desire to know the typist behind the words...and to that extent I've always been that way. People are people, and I enjoy interacting and knowing them. On the other sites I frequent, my reputation is not nearly so poor nor my mannerisms so persistent...only here.

I wonder at that sometimes, how I managed to forge an identity that was so adverse to how I wanted to be perceived, and how difficult it is to ask someone to give you another chance without sounding desperate. So, I suppose I'm learning the lesson of letting things go. Sometimes you can't change what you've done, cannot amend or edit the actions taken. Some people are going to think the worst of you, maintain you aren't worth speaking to or knowing based on some preconceived notion, or even from the difficult position of being someone relied on before. I've lost friends, here, to assuming I could speak frankly about how I felt, expecting in some part a reaction of humanity to follow.

Was I wrong? Perhaps. It could have been how I communicated, or a hundred other possibilities...and only some of them my fault, but now doesn't seem pertinent to decide how it all came to be...but rather what to do.

For the most part, I enjoy everyone on Mizahar. I've had great experiences roleplaying and although my style cannot compare to some of the greats among the writers here, I like to think I can hold my own in a way that makes me an interesting partner to thread off of. I realize that my reputation is an issue, that I vanished for two months during the summer...that I lost a lot of confidence then. Regrettably, I cannot change what transpired, only hope that by staying current and trying to hold everything together, that I'll somehow re-earn what I lost.

And if not? Ah well. I'm here to write, to expand, to explore, to create, and collaborate with those who are interested in working with me. Mizahar is about the narrative, the world in which you can take a piece and shape it with the actions of your character. We all want stories, we all want purpose, and so we build it with each thread and interaction we have. I cannot change any minds, and a friend once told me not to apologize so much...so I won't.

Instead I'll affectionately reanimate and do my best in the future.

With the storm comes changes to the face of Mizahar...we will all adapt, change, or fall to the wayside.

Let's see what we all become.




Much reanimated love all.

[Wrenmae]

I hate what alcohol does to people. I truly, truly do. Of course I understand the social implications of imbibing, and sure, I've even kicked back a Mike's Hard Lemonade or two myself...but it was really only the social occasion, and I never drink much, not even to the point of a fuzzy warmth. I always attributed it to a loss of control, my own fear of not being at the wheel directing my path through social hurdles...but there is another reason, buried beneath all the 'moral self righteousness' I didn't think I exuded.

I just hate what it does.

It airs our secrets and feelings in the worst ways, it lowers walls we put into place for reasons, it can mess up friendships and ruin reputations. But perhaps even more uncomfortable? It's poison...literal poison. It kills people. Hell, I guess a lot of stuff kills people these days. Can't pick up a cell phone without blowing up a gas station or causing a brain tumor...but I mean, of all the ways to go...drinking to death?

Sigh. I'll get off my soapbox. I know a lot of people know how to handle moderation and can even maintain their behavior in the worst of their inebriated stumbles, and maybe I seem like some sort of stuck up prude, preaching hellfire and damnation for the inequities of mankind.

But...I dunno. I've lost people to the brew and it's always made me uncomfortable. I dislike to use the word 'hate', but people who don't know their limits should not continuously drink, especially to treat their depression. Alcohol isn't a crutch, it's a wet rag to damp out the world around you for a little while. It's all an illusion.

Anywhos, I've ranted enough. I've said my piece. Tonight is just another nail in the coffin...another log to the fire of this building crucible of strong dislike. I can't say hate, I won't say hate. Absolutes make me jittery and I can't really say I hate it if I have a drink or two at friend gatherings once in awhile...right?

So, brains for thought.

Stumble on reads, stumble on.

[Musca]

I'm in a mission to infect everyone's scrap with gif-ness. I thought it would be inappropriate if I didn't contaminate your coherent and long winded scrapbook with a cool gif. ... this may or may not be some sort of misdirected revenge. *flails*

[Wrenmae]

Lately I've felt discouraged when I return to Mizahar, a strong sense of lethargy attacking my fingers when I set them on the keys to clack out a post. At first I suffered from a deep set hatred of my character, his limited development, how I wrote, all the petty insecurities of someone who really suffered from a lack of confidence in self. Under that guise of flailing esteem I alienated people...probably through a distinct developing loathing toward my need for assurance. Hell, I'd ostracize MYSELF for that sort of behavior, but that isn't really why I wanted to write this scrap.

The past few days have passed like broken glass, both in character and out. My own life is edging toward the shift between college and real life, my feet digging into the ground as much as I can to resist the metaphysical earth from moving, but I am pulled ever closer to that precipice of choice. Perhaps that aided my frustrations online, but I find more and more that I'm more rooted in the resolute fear that nothing can be changed when it comes to some events on the forum. What began as an altercation of in character events turned into a powderkeg of hurt feelings and bruised egos. Did I intend this when I set my character to a task my character would take? No. I expected a story.

I suppose the lesson to be learned from the cavalcade of events is perspective. Some people would rather chew nails than put their characters into a dangerous situation they don't somewhat control themselves. Static is a word that comes up a lot in these ruminations, a need to maintain a status quo while slowly developing a character toward an end...but all controlled, all maintained. To some, stories aren't exciting when unpredictable, they're terrifying, and I've made the mistake of thinking everyone loved plot twists or putting the fire on beneath the plot. As a writer I seek to challenge, at times, the state of things. I want to shake up the normality, make events happen, do more than dance from social thread to training thread to killing thread, all moderated at the player behest and saving any real danger to facing the Storytellers of the area.

We are players, the storytellers usually are and were also players, we all have the ability to create plot.

I wish no ill will on anyone in the forum, only pursue goals defined by the nature of my character and his progression. Sure, he isn't a nice guy, but it's hard to be sometimes in Sunberth. I find that there's a strong correlation between in character events and misunderstanding or misconstruing them for some sort of Out of Character aggression. I only seek to challenge other players, have them challenge me, and build a dynamic and interesting story. It isn't to headhunt anyone...and I still maintain that character death is one of the more boring outcomes of an altercation. Rather life on both parts (scarred perhaps) but continued existence in order to meet again, escalate conflict, build the idea.

But, it was my mistake to assume my style was someone else's style.

Ultimately, I just dislike the barely bared fangs of friends drive apart by an event in character. Most of us aren't playing ourselves and the feelings or actions we pretend to do while in the skin of a fantasy construct should never be something born out of malicious ill will (lest developed in character).

I want us to get along and build interesting plots, develop our stories, give us reasons to want or not want to see eachother IC again. If you make a mistake in character that comes to haunt you later, use it! I encourage the use of the event to influence some sort of conflict that must be dealt with, some sort of penance paid with blood or sweat. Otherwise, the point of the tale is lost...a conflict is ignored, a storyline voided.

Why not use it?

I suppose I'm just babbling...confused in some cases, sad that people were offended out of character over the debacle as well. At this point it seems easier to just forget the whole thing and return to the safest route of interaction...but it sometimes seems so scripted.

Anywhos, I have nothing but respect and affection for those I've posted with, who have given me brief windows of interaction with their characters to use as development or build a relationship. I look forward to quite some more time of posting.

Just feel in a rut sometimes, and I'm afraid the moment I suggest an in character action that disadvantages another character...I'll be shot done and forced to bend my character away from a path I've felt he would take.

Perhaps it's better that way? Compromising collaboration?

Opinions?

[Eridanus]

People just have to realize that OOC aren't IC. Your PC isn't you. You aren't your PC. You're the writer, your PC the character. Once people make that distinction clearly enough, there should be no correlation between IC and OOC feelings.

I talk about killing Kale and Wren all the time, because that is what Eri would probably do should he ever find out their true natures. But I still think you guys are awesome. There you go, IC and OOC difference.

Haters gonna hate. If people want safe storytelling, go do solos. Write a novel. Be in a world controlled purely by themselves, where they direct the NPCs, the world, and everything in it. By participating in open threads, by opening up their threads to others, they are in effect submitting to (for good or bad) collaborative storytelling.

If I open a social thread for everyone to drink tea, and a player joins in trying to kill Eri, I'm totally cool. That's what an open thread is for.\

Just be yourself, and keep challenging others and yourself. Have fun~

[Chamaeleon]

Wrenmae-

Dude. My character is secretly in love with your character, I insist. Let's not tell Roka and elope.

Lol. That was my stab at humour. Everyone should want to marry a sparkly Taylor Swift. The spidery half though? Yeah... No comment.

Okay, but seriously. I don't like hearing that you would consider having your character deviate from the path he would take. That's not real writing, you know. That's obeying the whims of another PC.

If your character is an asshole, play him as an asshole. This all started because of IC shit disturbing, and Wrenmae is acting according to himself. You can only write, but he knows what he wants to do. He isn't you, but you can affect his choices. Deviating so far though that you would honestly use him 'safely' would totally ruin him. Maybe you can write him being nice, but honestly, I imagine him making my angry Squidward face behind your back.

I don't mean to attack you and shake my finger at you. You're a cool person after all, and this has affected you too, and Wrenmae is cool too and we all know how this has affected him. It would almost seem like Wrenmae is a target IC, and now that his uh... His 'property'Denial much? was threatened, he is pissed off and rightfully so.

Write your character as HE would want to act. Don't sugarcoat him for our sakes. If it comes to it, he can run away to Syliras, or Ravok (hint hint) and hide out for a while.

So yeah. That's the end of my motivational rant.

[Eridanus]

Cham i totally agree with you. Except the last bit. Wren if you decide to hightail you get your ass to alvadas you hear?

[Wrenmae]

Heh, You bet. Alvadas is his true home. I can't see him sticking away from it long.

I appreciate the advice. I'll continue playing him as I see him being played...for better, or for worse.

[Wrenmae]

Confidence and some Praises In Highschool, shy, inexperienced, socially awkward, I was prompted to sign up for a talent show my freshman year. I cannot say that I was elated with the opportunity and, in fact, I found the prospect of standing in front of the student body nothing short of terrifying. Highschool me had little to offer in terms of performance oriented skills. I had a two-show experience run with theater and a history of reading cornerside during recess. The only ability I seemed to possess was an] aptitude for poetry…a thing spawned of the distinct inability to NORMALLY communicate with women in late junior highschool. (I played my cards in snippets of elementary couplets scribbled on note paper and stuffed unceremoniously through locker slits). Somehow I’d picked up performance poetry from late night HBO, Slam poetry as it’s sometimes called, an art so distinctly NOT me that it almost demanded I pick it up in private and tell no one. It was with one of these poems that I decided to present. I’m not sure what I thought of it, then. It seemed like some sort of daunting trial I just needed to do and step away from, the television series equivalent of ‘manning up’ in a full episode spread. I suppose there was a little bit of pride, then, the seedlings of disaster hopefully clenched to the left side of my ego. The Rehearsal went well, fantastic really. I was unique among the other performers and although that earned me some stares, I felt memorable. For a guy who never tried to make a game of the popularity racket, that meant something. Hell, I didn’t really care if half the student body didn’t stomach my performance…They’d sure as hell remember it. On the day of the talent show, time ticking downward from a collage of vaguely memorable classes, snippets of encouraging conversation, something greasy and regrettable for lunch, I was a mess. All the promises I’d made to myself the night before, the stages of apprehension I thought myself rid of, they all came back in the worst sort of re-run way. My name was in the program but I found myself considering a request of revoking, returning to an audience member rather than a center-stage performer. My friends talked me into staying, influential lot, and that night I stood before the 300 some students in the theater and performed this: http://tindeck.com/listen/xfnk (This is only a bit of the poem I read, didn't want to bore ya'll. Also couldn't find a non-youtube way to get this to play on the page. Apologies) But…due to a somehow unforeseen usage of cell phones, what came out could best be described as gibberish, inconsistent gibberish. I know everyone is familiar with the ‘laughed off the stage’ concept. But not many of us actually live through it. Crushing doesn’t come close to describing how I felt. I left the stage, packed my things, and went home…refused to come back for the evening performance. These days, I regret not giving it another chance. I’m sure the performance would have been different, the Mic guys would have compensated somehow for the cell phones. I can’t say I made the best decision when faced with embarrassment, but it certainly did teach me a bit about confidence. Confidence is that elusive ephemeral that can only be captured best in feeling. It cannot be measured, but it can be observed. A confident person has more presence, they walk upright, they look forward, and they speak with relaxed tones. A confident person has nothing to fear, because they have belief. Sometimes on Mizahar I’m awed and inspired by some of the writers I get the pleasure to post with. Other times I’m envious to the point of vexation. It’s the latter I have the most problem with. For awhile, I roleplayed not because it was fun, but because I wanted to write better than those I roleplayed with. Somewhere along that line I stopped HAVING fun roleplaying, let the dominant writer decide where I wrote, how I wrote, and sometimes what I wrote about. Today I can see it for what it was…mimicry. The very idea of writing ‘better’ or ‘worse’ than someone is a ludicrous standard to follow. With so many unique elements of narrative, trying to write ‘better’ just sounds juvenile. One must improve by observation, seeing how a writer exceeds in their given craft. Is it characterization? Dialogue? Setting? Identify what makes that writer interesting and then learn from it. Those who do not write scarcely get better, a property that could be applied to most activities. But there is a more elusive property, one absolutely essential for me to avoid the pitfalls of mimicry. Confidence. My confidence was damaged badly in the high school escapade. I tried to think of a more dramatic story, but this was the only one that came to mind. My freshman year is buried now, I think, and I’ve since gotten over the temporary stage fright that developed from that incident. But somehow confidence eluded me, even sometimes here. There are those on the site who do not care for me, people who I used to borderline obsess over winning the favor of. In retrospect, it was a wasted effort…the more I pushed, the more desperate I seemed. I remain on Mizahar because those I post with, those who share their characters and plots with me, they’re important. I enjoy the act of collaborative creation, exploring the stories both I and my partners develop. I thank them for their time, allowing me the opportunity to have fun with a character that I personally think is a little bland (Sorry Wrenmae). I continue to be astounded by the amount of talent and the sheer collaborative genius our writers can accomplish. I wanted to take this scrap post and, in a roundabout and clearly long winded way, thank everyone who has let me post with them. I’ve had a great time and enjoyed getting to know some of the writers behind the characters. I look forward to many more seasons on Mizahar and many more plots with anyone and everyone interested. I’ll be in Zeltiva summertime, so those of you with characters thereabouts…we shall soon be in contact. Till then, best wishes and thanks for reading the scrap -Wrenmae

[Wrenmae]

The point of this scrap is to not have a point. I have to repeat that to myself as I write this, doing my very best not to stand on a soapbox or whisper insidious peanut gallery opinions at those who stop to listen. Of course, in writing this, I already consign myself to some sort of a message, no matter how convoluted…so I’ll crumple up my title and forge a new one. The point of this scrap is to not stab someone with my point. A little better, you think? It isn’t hard to write a scrap without targeting someone using barely veiled obscurity, and honestly I find the practice a little…unnerving. Each and every action we have reciprocates some sort of reaction. We live on the edge of that exchange and play party to its whims. We cannot please everyone, nor can we be friends with everyone (Or even most people if we’re really being honest with ourselves), and frankly the process of trying to be is contrived in falsity. I played that banjo once, second fiddle to reality, and ratatating the drumline of delusion (Instrument comparisons getting a little old?). Once I thought I could get along with everyone on Mizahar. I can’t. The plain and simple truth is that I will offend people sometimes, mostly unintentionally, and in the past I practically set myself on fire in a sacrificial pyre to make things right again. No more. We don’t have much in this world. If the afterlife is a continuation of conscious, the likelihood we can tote our cars and laptops with us to the great beyond is a bit on the questionable side (not that I’m not crossing my fingers to hold onto my old comic collection). Given that our possessions are the equivalent of slightly longer lasting smoke in the wind…what DO we have? Well, we have that which makes us, us…our personalities, our beings, our integrity, and our honor. I can’t say that I’m the picture perfect example of a remarkable human being. I’ve squandered most of my talents on straddling the middle road, never ambitious enough to try something great but never lazy enough to truly fall short. I have my flaws, my curses, and my skeletal remains clinging to the closet door…and I think, in a way, we all do. My flaws manifest in a low self-esteem and a limiting paranoia of success. Compliments, especially to my writing, always hit me like the metaphorical sack of bricks and I rarely know how to respond. I ask too many questions, I pry too deep. These are my flaws, my challenges to overcome. I’ve alienated friends before, for stupid reasons. Some still maintain their distance for similar inexplicably outdated reasons…and at one time I tried to bridge the gap I felt I had inadvertently created. If anything, that stuff only pushes people farther away. Now I just live with it, as we all must at some points. Not all problems can be fixed from one end. People settle into their opinions like plushy couches and never stand up again, comfortable with how it fits. I may be guilty of the same thing, and know how frustrating that can be. My point is not to point at anyone. Nor will I. This isn’t about aggressively attacking someone in particular, or referring to them in ways that make it obvious in all but name. I mean to make a case for myself, tell you all a little bit about my insecurities, and remind you that this point is not impale anyone with a point. Ultimately, I’m one person. I feel frustration, anger, sadness, joy, much like most of you. I am capable and have been culpable to faults and mistakes. I likely will continue to make mistakes…my ardent desire is that I do not make the same mistakes. Sometimes we lose sight of our fellow man, that all of us have that little ‘voice of opinion’ knock-knock-knockin on mankind’s door. Few of us express it, or when we do, it’s angry, misdirected or TOO directed and we end up hurting people. People hurting people, and the cycle continues. Personally, I signed on Mizahar to write. So often desires to ‘write’ become ‘involved in the community’ become ‘involved in the drama’ become ‘being the drama’ become ‘burned out and exiting stage right’. We’re all gonna disagree at some point about a whole mix of things. Can we at least agree that we want to do something here? We, writers, are little gods who bend reality into spinning characters, entities we want to be believable, entities we want to feel existed and do exist, at least in the parameters of this world. There’s the similarity. We are all here to write. Let’s expand that…we’re not so different after all. I have my own troubles, trying to turn interview into internship into indeterminable stay into independent(Financially)…so getting grabbed and beaten curbside with misdirected drama is never my go-to coming online. It shouldn’t be anyone’s. Like I said. This scrap is not about anyone…it comes closest to being about me. Just some thoughts. Thanks for dropping in to listen.