[Caelum's Scrapbook] Use Your Words.

[Caelum]

A place to leave my frustration. I grew up privileged. Both of my parents were highly involved in my life and welfare. I went to private schools. I had a car to drive when I was a teenager. If my parents ever worried about how they were going to feed me one week before they got paid, then I never knew about it. I always had shoes that fit and warm coats in winter and my parents paid for me to have braces and be involved in extracurricular activities. I went to college and when I was broke my first two years there my parents would put money in my bank account to help me out and they never expected to be paid back. That time at twenty-one and broken hearted when I lost my mind for a little while and dug a financial hole for myself, my parents bailed me out, helped me get back on my feet, reminded me how very loved I was. I grew up rich in comparison to many people, and from the other side I grew up pinching pennies according to some. My mother went back to work full time and that combined with scholarships are what paid for my private school tuition. Where we lived, public schools were so bad back then that everyone who could make it work sent their kids to private. That’s why there are a ton of them in my city and most of them are the less costly religious affiliated ones. My highschool was literally a convent. I babysat and petsat from age eleven to sixteen and at age sixteen I got a job waiting tables and have never not had a job (on purpose, at least) since. My money was used to buy clothes and pay for my gas and car insurance and my cell phone when I decided to buy one. My parents paid for my school uniforms and any dress clothes they felt I needed for church or whatever. When my father lost his job my senior year of highschool, the Hope scholarship had just rolled out in Georgia a year or two previous and my mother thanked God I had the GPA to let it pay for my in-state tuition. I wanted to go this other college, out of state and private, and at the time not being able to afford to felt awful. Now I know the real miracle was having the ability to go to any college at all. What’s my point? My point is that I’m frustrated because despite the fact that both my husband and I work full time jobs and I also do a part time freelance thing on the side, due to some government bullshit, a poor decision my husband made four years ago, and Christmas we have almost no money until the Friday after Christmas. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I’m the idiot who made a miscalculation on a check last month that I then forgot about until it cleared our bank account today and screwed us. Things have been tight and I have been trying so very hard to budget right and well and for the past hour I’ve been trying not to cry or throw something at the wall. I only have myself to blame. This is one of those things that was “doable” until I miscalculated. And it’s still doable. It has to be and I will figure it out. So, again, what’s my point? My point is that times like these really drive home the fact that there are many people in the world a great deal less well off than me. There is no doubt some woman, probably in my same city, sitting down with a pen and paper to figure out how make half the amount of money I have left get her through until her paycheck. This reminds me that I am privileged, and that I am fortunate, and that if that nameless woman can do it on less then I can do it on what we have. Hell, at least I know that I have a paycheck coming at all.

[Caelum]

The do or die of storytelling. This weekend a friend and I, in an hour of high geekdom, discussed why we both like Bilbo way more than Frodo in the movies. Of course, I’m referring to the LoTR trilogy and The Hobbit trilogy, the second of which recently came out in theatres. Eric mentioned that he was already a Martin Freeman fan due to Sherlock. He brought up the cinematography, the adaptions, etc et alia. He was trying to figure out why exactly it was he liked Bilbo as a character so much more than Frodo. So I told him why. Bilbo is an active character in his trilogy. Frodo is a passive character in his. Say what? Frodo’s not passive! Frodo brought the ring to the fires of Mordor! Frodo did this, Frodo did that. Guess what, ya’ll, it doesn’t actually matter from a storytelling point of view what happened to Frodo or even so much how Frodo reacted to things. The only thing of real importance in three really long movies that Frodo chose to do was take the ring to Mordor. But that’s a BFD, you say. Yeah, okay, so it set the entire story into motion but then Frodo stopped making decisions. Oh, well, so he made that one choice to go off on his own. So maybe there were 60 seconds rather than thirty in all three movies where Frodo made a choice and then acted on it versus just having things happen to him and reacting. Bilbo, on the other hand, is constantly making decisions in both of his movies so far. Deciding to listen, deciding to go, deciding to try and understand, to learn how to fight, to be a part of the people, to rescue ponies, whatever. The important thing is that he’s making choices and that, kids, is why I bet you like him way more than Frodo. What am I even talking about? I’m talking about how your protagonist and, in the case of Mizahar, PC can’t be passive. Passive PCs don’t move plot. Plot, at base just a series of events that culminate into a story, requires active, decision making characters to not only move but to sustain interest. Yes. You have here in Mizahar an absolute ton of cool things to use as plot fodder. The lore is packed full of it. The point is that you could have a god’s champion and lost magic disciplines and giant flying eagles or whatever the fuck all up and happening in your thread or thread series and it won’t do a damn thing for me if all your PC does is react to the crap happening to and around her. Lore is not plot. Lore is backstory and plot vehicles. Plot is goal + conflict, and it won’t do a damn bit of good if your PC has a goal but isn’t actually trying to obtain it. And that concludes my silly writing rant for the holidays. Do or die, kids. Have a merry Christmas or holiday or whatever you celebrate or do not. Just have fun and be kind to each other. -katie.

[Taylani]

Thank you for this! It sums up exactly the difference between a passive and active PC. ThoughI have to say I am more guilty of passiveness on Favchean then on Taylani or Shayna. This is because goofball me decided that the character I created was going to "stretch" my self....the thing is the stretching included so many areas.. Combat RP = I have never attempted before Favchean, Male character = I have never attempted before on Favchean , AND he has 2 male personalities go me!. hehe I am hoping to learn him a little better Winter so I can be more active.

[Elysium]

YES! Which further explains my undying love for Samwise Gamgee.

[Traverse]

Bilbo is BAMF, 'nough said.

[Tobias]

It is interesting that you should raise such a point. Only recently have I been thinking the very same thing about Tobias here. I mean, he has a clear-cut goal and all (well…maybe not exactly clear-cut) but has been passive so far about getting it. It is definitely something I am trying to change.

I agree with the ‘why Bilbo > Frodo’ argument as well, and feel as though Frodo’s flaw can be applied to my main problem with Harry Potter. Believe me, I loved the books and movies, but I feel as though Harry was far too passive. This was the case especially in the earlier installments; he would just bumble around until some Deus Ex Machina descended from the sky to save him. This was Dumbledore, mainly, but also included the power of love, or something with wands, or…and so on and so forth. Boy had everything decided for him, is basically what I’m trying to say.

So, essentially, thank you for finally giving me a term to describe this criticism I’ve had for so many years.

[Caelum]

A brief, amusing holiday anecdote. Among many other amusements this holiday, I almost earned a reputation as a thief. We spent the night at my in-law’s farm Christmas Eve, and I was rushing around making sure we had remembered everything on our way out the door when I grabbed a bottle of wine I wanted to bring. For lack of hands, I put it in my purse. (It’s a giant purse.) En route, we had to swing by the grocery store to pick up a thing for my mother-in-law. My brother called me while we were parking at the store and I climbed out, grabbed my purse while still on the phone with him, and headed into the store. It wasn’t until I was standing in the middle of an aisle that I realized why my purse was so heavy – the wine bottle was still in it. I froze, abruptly stricken with how bad this could look. Worse, the wine in my purse was a standard bottle and the grocery store sold the same kind. In fact, I had bought it from the same store a week previous and it still had the price sticker on it. I swear to Christ I stood there for nearly a minute trying to figure out a solution of the least embarrassing proportion. I couldn’t take it out of my purse, I imagined, because somebody would blink at that suspicious act and, furthermore, how was I supposed to walk out of the store with a bottle of wine in hand that I hadn’t paid for? Only, of course, I had paid for it. Just a week previous. On the flip side, if I left the bottle in my purse, someone might notice that I had a giant bottle of wine in my purse that I wasn’t paying for and once again assume I was stealing. I felt like the world’s most foolish drunk. Ultimately, I decided to leave the bottle in my purse and, should sometime notice it, then I would explain. If there even a shadow of a doubt, I would offer to pay for the bottle again. Thankfully, no one noticed. Or, if they did, no one mentioned it or stopped me on my way out of the store. Oh! And below is a picture of one of the doormats I made as Christmas gifts this year in the vein of saving a little money. I think they turned out beautifully. ps - I'm glad I helped ya'll with words.

[Gossamer]

You know, I love those. I would love a set for me and might make me some because they look easy if you have a drill and some patience in knot tying. I think what I'd do is take every other board and wash it with my house colors.. so like Caymen Isle Blue and White wood.. .not fully painted but just color washed then clear stained. Those are sooo cute though. They could be decorated ANY WAY "YOU WANTED. So cool. Thanks for sharing!! I love great craft ideas.

[Caelum]

I came down with death on Sunday and have been making my funeral preparations since. The doctor is trying to keep me here with excessive drugs and puppy cuddling. He thinks its just the flu and I'll be better in a few days. I still think I'm gonna die. But, yeah, that's why I'm not posting. I'm reading, but I lost the ability to write half way decently. Should I survive, I will return to my regular posting, er, schedule. Did I ever have a schedule? Nevermind. I can't remember. Lalala.

[Caelum]

Have you ever shot a charging lion? Shut up, Hemmingway. Disclaimer: I’m still on drugs. My world has broken down to half recollected wonderings of whether or not I showered yesterday and if I moved over three inches maybe the cat would stop hogging so much blankie. My own father, God bless him, wouldn’t set foot in the house. He shouted at me through my front door something about an electric sander and by the time I made it there all that was left of him was a can of Progresso soup and a note written on the back of a church bulletin: I didn’t have time to cook. Feel better soon. Love, Dad. I read this and wondered what he was sanding. What an adorable failure. This is what the plague does to you, guys. This is your brain on drugs. In the midst of my illness, I decided to join the Google Hangout I was scheduled to meet at for writerly discussions instead of emailing a rain check. I also, in my brilliance, decided that I deserved to have a glass of wine. I was sick of tea. I was sick of soup. I was sick of everything, just plain sick. Besides, it was a Let’s Break Your Goddamned Story sort of meeting and it is in fact impossible to survive such meetings without wine. One of the stupid cool people in this meeting was my friend Jenny. Some of you may remember her. She was, for a very brief moment in time, the player of Caelum’s interminably lost love, Lillis De’Nerys. We’ve known each other for a little over a decade and written ourselves through numerous scenes together. She is a playwright and a novelist and recently she’s been trying her hand at short stories. Interesting results. I’m a fan. In this particular meeting we were scheduled to break the story for her second novel. It’s addictive. I know already how good it’s going to be, and that’s very, very good. She delivered us her outline a few days previous and it’s fairly extensive. It’s detailed, elegantly constructed, and compelling. And I all but shredded it between my teeth. The climax was lost in a miasma. There was unnecessary motivation muddying the acuity of the protagonist’s goal. The antagonist played too large a role to be underdeveloped. Serious warnings were required due to the non-chronological nature of the novel’s layout versus the streamline of the actual plot. Etc. But it was still really wonderful. This is a veteran writer. She’s a very good veteran writer and that is not merely my opinion but that of an informed audience. And the best and the worst thing about being a veteran writer is that by the time you are one you have had your ass handed to you a million times. Your precious little art babies have been stolen out of your arms and served on a cold slab for the critique buffet. You have watched the work you slave over, sweat over, define yourself by, pour all time and effort and aspirations into be clinically consumed, chopped up into scenes, hacked into acts, your characters eviscerated, your backstory brutalized with hole punching, and all it just basically fucked up. And it happens over, and over, and over again. It isn’t just a matter of having a thick skin. It’s about being smart enough to realize that you aren’t perfect and nobody but Stephen King after book thirty has published a first draft. Nobody reads first drafts for a reason, and very limited people read second drafts. They all suck. Across the board. They’re terrible and painful and nobody’s going to buy you a drink for a copy let alone pay your house nine bucks on Kindle to read it. First drafts are horrible books. But they can be really, really excellent first drafts. Get my meaning? First drafts have a purpose that is not, in fact, “being a book”. And criticism has a purpose that is not, in fact, about making you feel like your soul is dying inch by mutilated inch. Jenny, as a veteran writer, both knows how to take criticism and how to give it. There’s such a thing as bad criticism, by the way, and it’s not just the “non constructive” kind. And criticism is also not really just a matter of opinion. There are hard lines in writing, and there are absolutely giant brick fucking walls in plot building. Basically, I guess what I’m trying to say is that criticism doesn’t mean you don’t love what a person is doing or has done. In fact, the best criticism comes from people who can’t get enough of your work. They’re into it. They’re excited. They’ve got ideas and directions and opinions and fucking vision, man. See? This concludes my dispatch on drugs. -k.