Showing posts with label about me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label about me. Show all posts

Thursday, June 26, 2014

Soul Sucking

There is simply no other way to describe it - moving can be an absolute and utter soul sucking exercise.  

Despite taking three days to pack, bag and box things with the help from my inlays and my wife's aunt and uncle, the process of dragging my family's stuff from one house to another was an effort I'd rather never repeat again.  I do believe that if ever there was an experience that would resemble the ripping of one's life essence from their body, I daresay I could now relate to it.  Vampires and soul leeching entities beware, I can now sense it happening before it is too late!

After living in our first home for eight years, we finally decided that, two children and their accoutrements and toys later, we had outgrown our semi-detached.  After four months of searching and dealing with the sale of our own house, we finally committed to and bought a new house.  I dare not say home, as I can't quite relate to it as "home" just yet.  Home is more the sense of belonging and familiarity you develop with your surroundings; you've developed your habits, tendencies and instinctively know where things are and when they out of place.  Less than a week in, we can't call it "home" yet.

My two girls took to the change remarkably well.  The first night was an absolute gong show, more so because of the fast food, lack of sleep and general over-tiredness that makes little kids into demon-djinni of immeasurable reserves of energy and equal amounts of dim-wittedness.  Don't get me wrong, I love my girls, they just picked the wrong two days to bananas on me.  I mean full blown B-A-N-A-N-A-S.  Parents with two kids under the age of five will instantly relate.  For those of you about to start, beware.  For those of you without kids, I have only scowls.

My wife had a more emotional response, which she is apt to have when lacking sleep.  For her, the old house was a near physical thing she had to detach from.  We bought the house, got married and raised our two girls there, making wonderful memories along the way.  To her, the move was more than a step up to a newer, larger home.  It was like ripping out a part of herself.  During our final clean and inspection, I found her crying no less than three times.  My consolations only went so far.

All this said, we now have many more memories waiting to be created, new discoveries and challenges to overcome.  For myself, I can't wait to make my house into a home, particularly the little niche in the basement I carved out for myself as my man-cave slash inspiration and typing room.


Friday, July 12, 2013

I Saw a Bug

An interesting event happened recently; I categorize it as interesting, because otherwise I’d have to call it a near crap-my-pants-in-abject-fear-in-front-of-my family event.  I’m a big enough guy and I am an infantry officer of the Canadian Forces.  A little macho masculine bravado is a stock standard expectation for guys in uniform.  Short of a life or death scenario, it’s somewhat bad form to be seen quivering in fear of something relatively benign, particularly if your rational brain knows better.  Such was the crux of this event.
 
I saw a bug on my deck.
 
A little history would seem apropos.  As a young boy, I lived in Arizona for two years and loved every minute of it.  I played with lizards (Gila Monsters and otherwise), used long sticks to poke and prod tarantulas, scorpions and black widow spiders.  I rode my dirt bike in washes and had no issues with insects of any kind.  Then we moved back to Canada and eventually found ourselves living in Kingston, Ontario.  I can trace the trigger to my issues to with bugs to two events.
 
The first was while playing guns in a wooded area.  I found the largest praying mantis I had ever seen sitting atop a boulder.  With my toy gun in hand, I moved within two meters to get a closer look.  It unfolded its arms, hissed at me and suddenly jumped on my face, like the Facehuggers from Aliens.  Throwing the damned thing off my face, it landed on the boulder.  Not to be outdone, I but stroked it.  Its thorax took the hit and juices squirted back up into my face.  My world goes black and apparently I run screaming for near two kilometers, my friends chasing after me the best they could.
 
The second incident occurred while mowing the grass.  I saw a massive queen hornet go into the siding of our house.  I thought, “I’ll be damned if I let this thing build a nest there.”  With a full can of Lysol spray, I place the nozel at the opening and start spraying.  I use near the whole can.  She comes out, wriggling and out of whack, flying directly onto my face.  She lands on my cheeks and twists a turn before zooming off. <shudder>  All this occurred while my arm is zooming to protect my face.
 
These two events lead to further incidents.  I once dreamed I was asleep in bed and a wasp crept up the foot of my bed under the blankets.  It made its way to my foot and stung my heel.  My leg jerks so hard I knee myself square in the mouth.  Yeah, loose teeth, blood and wounded pride.  In high school, my sister took to putting my mail over the mother’s National Geographic, the pages open to a macro shot of some insect’s head or some such.  She also once placed one of those paperclip butterflies with an elastic to make the wings spin into a card for my birthday.  When I opened the card, the twisted wings spun and launched the fake bug at me.  I nearly flip the table onto my mother sitting across from me.
 
When I was still dating my wife, we went to a zoo and I thought I’d face my fears and suffer the Insectarium.  I could not have put on a more desperate display of gut-reaction fear if I tried.  After 18 aquariums of stomach turning displays, we reach the Big Daddy; some kind of Brazilian tree-bird eating spider.  Big, angular armour looking bastard, completely tucked against the rear pane of glass.  I lean into catch a better view – in retrospect, a rather naive move.  All of a sudden, it scurries forward against the front pane, hissing loud enough my wife jumps a bit.  I “lose it.”  The door is right there, and I bolt.  I find myself flipping over the wheelchair ramp onto the path outside, hyperventilating in front of a family of four.  My wife exits, rather embarrassedly excusing my behaviour.
 
So we return to the scene on my deck.  I’ve made a conscious effort not to relay my fear of insects to my two kids.  On this day, I think I fail.  I sat down on a chair and turned my head to see something no less than four inches long, something that resembled a frikkin’ giant earwig with wings folded over its body.  It’s hiding maybe two feet from my head.  Before I even settle into the chair, I am in the house, ready to puke before my wife realizes what’s going on.  The kids are ushered in and I boil a full kettle of water.  I’m in full-kill-mode.  I toss the water and hit this thing square on.  It flops to the floor, sounding more like an overripe tomato than a creature with an exoskeleton.  I retreat back into the house.  Not until two hours later do I make it back out on to the deck.  The bug is gone.
 
Now, I have no idea what this thing was, nor will I Google it to find out.  Ignorance is bliss and I know for a fact I would not last 5 seconds skimming through Google images.
 
To wrap this all up, I can’t help but acknowledge the obvious, that a person’s point of view will determine their reaction to what they read.  For many, a scene involving bugs will likely not evoke the same emotions as I would experience; even a poorly written one.  Written well, most would be able to imagine themselves in the scenario, or at least empathize with the character and feel the emotions the author sought to induce; the concept of ‘show’ versus ‘tell’ kicks into refrain.  Telling a scene would not be nearly as powerful as showing – lace the emotions and reactions as opposed to a clinical observation of the action.  This is something that I often have to come to grips with when revising a scene – how do a ‘show’ more of what I want the reader to grasp?  No easy thing, or at least easier said than done.
 
I purposefully used a race of giant bugs in my fantasy manuscript, the kind that measure in size to a cow.  The scene involved a fair amount of squirming in my seat as I tried to create the atmosphere and emotions I would have faced (ahem, do face) when encountering a ridiculously over-sized insect.  The bug on my deck might as well have been cow-sized, given the reaction I had.  My rational-brain lost handily to my emotional-brain.  Maybe that’s the key to getting this ‘show’ versus ‘tell’ thing down?  If the emotional side of the brain can’t connect with the scene, maybe it’s time for a revision?  I’m sure that’s an oversimplification, but hey, my wife seems to be all for oversimplifications; she insists I get my head checked out.
 
 

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Can a Guy Have Too Many Hobbies?

I’ve spoken a number of times about some of my hobbies: Warhammer 40k (both painting the miniatures and playing), writing speculative fiction, science fiction and fantasy movies and television (well, good television of all stripes really), among others. A short while back, I was having a discussion with some colleagues and the topic somehow turned to television shows, who was watching what and whether a series was worth continuing or not, to be replaced by an interesting newcomer.  This got me to thinking about hobbies in general.

We all recognize that we can only watch so much television per week; there simply isn’t enough time to watch **every** program that interests us.  So we prioritize our time based on whatever arcane or heuristic methods we convince ourselves of using.  The advent of PVR certainly makes things easier, but it can lead to a steady and daunting accumulation of shows to watch.  You have to make time somewhere to watch them.  So, if we extend this to all hobbies, creative writing included, at one point you just reach a critical mass where something takes a hit – we reduce or replace a hobby to make room for another, or we start permeating our hobbies into other parts of our lives.

My life includes a number of roles and duties: officer and employee for the Army, husband, father of two children, son to my parents, and brother to my sister.  I must sleep, I must eat, I must work to support my family, I watch television and movies to relax, write to express myself, play games to enjoy my time off, et cetera.  All of these come with an elemental requirement of my time.  Could I sacrifice some family time to devote more to my hobbies?  What about sleep?  Maybe I could sneak some writing time in at work?  Those certainly are options, yet at what cost?  Spending more time writing means more chances to complete the works, get those submitted more often, thereby increasing my possibility of success and recognition.  Less sleep makes me more creative anyways…. Unfortunately it affects my family time, my productivity at work, makes my appetite go out of whack.

I say all this because I spent some considerable time re-editing my fantasy manuscript and started getting it vetted over at the Absolute Write forums.  What a great venue.  Then I started hearing things about a couple of games from the local gaming store.  I checked out both EveOnline and Warmachine.  Let me tell you, these stoked my curiosity enough that I completely ignored the writing aspects of my life for about a week.

EveOnline is a futuristic, sandbox, real-time strategy game; the science fiction version of World of Warcraft.  The irony that I would be more interested in a science fiction game versus fantasy is not lost on me.  But it wasn’t the space combat, or even the levelling up and commanding great fleets that caught my eye.  It was the option to be the economic and industrial powerhouse, working the in-game economy and markets to your favour.  It is the function as the facilitator that appealed to me, the guy who moves the pieces from the background.

Warmachine is a steam punk tabletop miniature game whereby two armies fight against each other.  The differences between it and Warhammer 40k are relatively extensive and the models are, in some ranges, top notch and really support the steam punk genre.  That the objective is to ultimately kill the opponent’s warcaster and/or complete the mission objectives is a new and refreshing twist.  That it follows a streamlined system and is from a fledgling company that, to be honest does not have GW’s previous history of “questionable” decisions, is a significant point.

When I look back on it, there are a number of hobbies and other activities that I have simply given up for newer ones.  Just like TV programs, a number simply weren’t interesting enough to maintain my interest, while others went by the wayside for other reasons; the life of a bachelor is certainly different than when married, more so after you have children.

Examining the cloud of activities above, I can honestly say that time management is almost an activity in and of itself.  To say that creative writing will remain one of the primary activities is an understatement.  In fact, I’d say it has become the newest and primary of my hobbies.  With the fantasy manuscript finished and now under review, I’ve the follow-on novels and a few new projects I’ve committed with verve and enthusiasm.
 

Friday, February 22, 2013

Get Your Geek On! Oh, And Write Too.

One of my favourite past-times, aside from writing speculative fiction, is playing table-top war games.  Warhammer 40k was the first one that caught my attention, back in grade 7 when one of my classmates brought in his older brother’s White Dwarf magazines.  White Dwarf is a Games Workshop publication for all their games, Warhammer 40k inclusive.  I saw the pictures and read the army descriptors and the various units and fell in love.
 
Not until years later did I get into the game.  Other game systems joined my repertoire of table-top gaming, now dwindled back down to just my 40k armies.  The cost of the game in terms of cash for the models and time to paint the miniatures certainly curtails how much I get to play, but I still game as much as I can.
 


 
 
The odd thing is how much my wife accuses me of being a closet gamer.  Frankly I consider myself a closet geek.  Being an officer in the military certainly doesn’t lend itself to bragging rights over playing games involving little painted plastic models, or writing thus far unpublished speculative fiction for that matter (aren’t I the optimist).  On that vein, it seems that a lot of writers keep their passion a secret, tucked away and reduced to when their friends or colleagues aren’t around.  Described as such, it almost sounds like an addiction.
 
Getting together with other gamers certainly lets me get my geek on; no pressure, same interests, etc.  The people certainly vary, in age, employment, income, you name it.  Great, now I’ve made my gaming group sound like a rehab session; group therapy for the gaming afflicted.  Living with a major military base nearby does draw more than its fair share of military personnel into the hobby.  There is a gaming club on base, primarily for tabletop gaming, which I unfortunately can’t participate in due to timings and distance.  The local gaming store is the only real venue, which includes a number of the base club players as well; I can say with certainty that I am one of the few officers that shows up to play.
 
I was more than a little surprised by the recent email and phone call from another captain that used to work in my Branch, asking whether I played Warhammer 40k.  The cryptic email was worded almost in code, or certainly would have looked that way to the uninitiated.  We talked and I discovered someone else with the same passion for tabletop gaming.
 
Then I wondered about how this reflects on my writing hobby.  Not everyone is open about this little part of their lives, almost embarrassed or afraid how others would react – especially so when you ask them to read your work, or they themselves ask.  What will be their reaction?  Will they enjoy it?  Will they hate it?  Agents and publishers are strangers, phantoms unknown at the other end of an email address that make a yes or (typically) no judgement.  When dealing with friends and family, things somehow seem more personal. 
 
I’ve never allowed anyone to read my fantasy manuscript, largely because it was far from finished, let alone polished.  Now that I’ve completed the final draft, I’ve started sending bits and pieces off to be reviewed, to see where it stands.  It’s soon off to either finding a beta reader or through the rounds with agents and publishers.  This leads me to wonder, how many others out there have closeted their ambitions to being a published author from friends and family?  Is it something you keep hushed away?
 
NB:  For the sake of clarity, I don’t want anyone to think I have minimized the trials of those with addiction.  In my position I am privy to the sometimes sordid and wretched results this may cause.  I would also like to applaud those who have beaten their particular ‘dragon’ or continue to fight their personal battles.

NB 2:  I feel I must make a statement about the recent and, in my personal opinion, atrocious handling of the whole 'Space Marine' is a trademarked term for book and e-book publications.  As you can imagine, most any reasonable person, typically a concept used in the basis for legal decisions, would find any credence to GW's claim.  I don't think they have a leg to stand on and am absolutely thrilled to see Amazon re-offer the book that caused the kerfuffle. 

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Summer Vacation – So This is What Living Feels Like…

What apparently was supposed to be about 4-6 weeks of a nutty workload (think 60+ work hours per week) ended up being closer to four months.  Finally ended are the two annual evaluation campaigns (military and civilian), the strategic intake plan for civilian hiring, the annual learning budgetary allocations, several HR-related studies, work force adjustment (euphemism for the job cuts to the federal public service), and finally, a change of command.  So now that this is all over, I literally have less than a week before summer vacation. 

Until then, I find myself still dealing with the increased stress levels, in some cases, wondering what the heck to do.  Procrastination and mindless activities are relatively novel concepts at the moment!  No doubt my wife and eldest daughter will have some thoughts on this; my youngest isn’t yet old enough to try and determine my daily routine and is content enough that you pay attention to her every once in a while as she plays in the same room.  No doubt, diving back into writing is certainly high on my priority list! 

I have the re-write of Days of Reckoning to accomplish, a project I intend to tackle during the two weeks at the in-laws’ family cabin.  Hopefully copious amounts of alcohol won’t set me too wonky.

I'll be back in 17 days or so.