This morning, I had the weirdest string of phone calls. It was a number in my area code, but one that I didn't recognize. I didn't answer, because I usually don't when I don't know the number. When the machine picks up, I'll answer if it's somebody I know, and if it's not I won't. So, I waited until the call went to the answering machine. It was just measured beeping, for as long as it would record.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
On and on like that, until finally the answering machine would cut it off. And then, between forty-five seconds and two minutes later, the same number would appear. Over, and over, and over again. A couple times I picked up and tried to see if someone would come on, but that ear-piercing beep just continued. I put it on speakerphone hoping that would make waiting it out easier, but nobody ever came on. Two solid minutes of that beeping. Even when I attempted to call someone, they would call back again so quickly all I ever got was them.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I tried looking up the number, but got no information on it.
It just wouldn't stop. It actually started to get kind of scary. Every room I went to, I'd just hear them calling back again and again, with more of that meaningless, repetitive, ear-piercing beeping. Given that I've been on a bit of a creepypasta kick lately, it made it that much worse. I was beginning to feel like I was in one. Was I going to find the phone cord cut? Were the calls coming from inside the house? Were they coming from...somewhere else? Amazing how when you're home alone even during the day, your imagination can run wild. Rationally, I knew that there was nothing otherworldly or malevolent to it, just a really annoying, persistent caller. The relentlessness and the pointlessness of the calls made them seem like something they weren't.
Hell, even when I finally managed to make a phone call, they were still beeping in on the call waiting. I was fully expecting thick static and garbled human voices at this point. Possibly some tortured screaming. Rest assured that if that's what I got, I'd have chucked the phone out the window.
I remember once getting nothing but staticy beeps and vague voices from a number marked only as "Out of Area". Yeah. "Out of Area" indeed. Out of the area of sanity.
As for this caller, it only ended when I unplugged the phone for a few hours. Who knows how long it would have lasted if I didn't. I really don't want to know.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
So, about that Red Wedding...
Yeah, the one a couple weeks back. People made a really big stink about it as I recall, considering they all were under the impression Robb Stark was the hero of the series and would win out in the end. Nasty shock that he died horribly instead, right?
I won't go into my own feelings that Robb deserved to die for being an oathbreaker, because nobody wants to hear it. Also, that's not what I came here to talk about. No, what I want to talk about are some of the things I heard people say. Things like how writers "shouldn't be allowed" to kill off their characters, or accusing them of having "God complexes". I even came across somebody rallying people to "make a difference" by not buying novels in which good-guy characters die.
What. No, seriously, what? That's just really ridiculous, isn't it? I wonder if the Harry Potter fanbase got this distraught about it when Dumbledore died, or when anyone who was killed in the last book did. I don't know, but somehow I can't see them saying that Ms. Rowling should not have been allowed to do what she did.
A writer has the freedom to choose what happens to their characters. They created them. They decide what they look like, act like, speak like, and yes, even when and if they die in the story. It's their right as the creator of the character to do so. It has nothing to do with a "God complex". I'll bet you nobody's ever sitting there rubbing their hands and cackling fiendishly, going "Yes! I will kill my hero just to make the audience upset for weeks! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Saying a writer shouldn't be allowed to do things to their characters as they see fit really annoys me. Who are you to decide what I can and cannot do with the setting I created? Did you sit there and come up with them? No? Then you don't get to tell me that I can't do as I wish with them. When it's your story, you can do whatever you like, as is your right and privilege. If it's not, then you don't get a say. I'm working on a book myself, and, since people seem to need a warning about this sort of thing, I'll tell you right now. Allysdair, my main character, dies very early on. In fact, most of the story takes place after he dies. He's not the only one either; quite a few people get the axe besides him. There, now you know.
As to the "making a difference" crowd, all I can say is get over it. You're not doing good by trying to force people into only writing happy things that make you happy. I also really can't fathom being upset for weeks over a fictional character. There's people who still blubber about Aeris dying and Final Fantasy VII came out what, sixteen years ago? True, people get attached to their favorites, but at the end of the day they're not real. Nobody actually died, so there's no need for all this wailing and gnashing of teeth so long afterwards.
Also, admit it. Once a villainous character (like I dunno...Joffrey) dies, you'll be the same bunch that gloats for weeks on end.
Sometimes the hero dies. If every book, movie, or anything else only had the villains die, it would get dull and repetitive indeed. Good doesn't always triumph over evil in the real world. It doesn't have to in fiction either.
I won't go into my own feelings that Robb deserved to die for being an oathbreaker, because nobody wants to hear it. Also, that's not what I came here to talk about. No, what I want to talk about are some of the things I heard people say. Things like how writers "shouldn't be allowed" to kill off their characters, or accusing them of having "God complexes". I even came across somebody rallying people to "make a difference" by not buying novels in which good-guy characters die.
What. No, seriously, what? That's just really ridiculous, isn't it? I wonder if the Harry Potter fanbase got this distraught about it when Dumbledore died, or when anyone who was killed in the last book did. I don't know, but somehow I can't see them saying that Ms. Rowling should not have been allowed to do what she did.
A writer has the freedom to choose what happens to their characters. They created them. They decide what they look like, act like, speak like, and yes, even when and if they die in the story. It's their right as the creator of the character to do so. It has nothing to do with a "God complex". I'll bet you nobody's ever sitting there rubbing their hands and cackling fiendishly, going "Yes! I will kill my hero just to make the audience upset for weeks! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Saying a writer shouldn't be allowed to do things to their characters as they see fit really annoys me. Who are you to decide what I can and cannot do with the setting I created? Did you sit there and come up with them? No? Then you don't get to tell me that I can't do as I wish with them. When it's your story, you can do whatever you like, as is your right and privilege. If it's not, then you don't get a say. I'm working on a book myself, and, since people seem to need a warning about this sort of thing, I'll tell you right now. Allysdair, my main character, dies very early on. In fact, most of the story takes place after he dies. He's not the only one either; quite a few people get the axe besides him. There, now you know.
As to the "making a difference" crowd, all I can say is get over it. You're not doing good by trying to force people into only writing happy things that make you happy. I also really can't fathom being upset for weeks over a fictional character. There's people who still blubber about Aeris dying and Final Fantasy VII came out what, sixteen years ago? True, people get attached to their favorites, but at the end of the day they're not real. Nobody actually died, so there's no need for all this wailing and gnashing of teeth so long afterwards.
Also, admit it. Once a villainous character (like I dunno...Joffrey) dies, you'll be the same bunch that gloats for weeks on end.
Sometimes the hero dies. If every book, movie, or anything else only had the villains die, it would get dull and repetitive indeed. Good doesn't always triumph over evil in the real world. It doesn't have to in fiction either.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Single-Player Hide-and-Seek
Ever heard of Single-Player Hide-and Seek? It's not something you'd ever catch me trying, I'll tell you that. It's a variant of hide-and-seek that came out of Japan, in which you summon up a likely-malevolent spirit that will murder and/or possess you if you lose the game. Sounds fun, right? I thought not. However, if you really feel like taunting some otherworldly entity, here's what you do.
For this game, you'll need a doll. NOT a human doll. I can't stress that enough; every account I've read says to never use a human doll. The thing you're calling upon won't want to leave a human-shaped doll, and you do want it to leave. A teddy bear or similar stuffed animal is a good choice.
Aside from the doll, you'll need the following:
-Uncooked rice
-A needle and a long piece of red thread
-A glass of salt water or sake
-Something to stab the doll with. A pencil or needle would be safest; anything more dangerous will only make it easier for the doll to kill you.
-Something from your body (ex: fingernail clippings, hair, blood...)
-A bathtub full of water
-A hiding place. I hear closets are good.
Pick your hiding place first, and leave your glass of salt water or sake there so you don't forget it later. It's extremely important that you have it; without it the game won't end. Well, not in your favor anyway.
Name your doll. Naming the doll gives it an identity, and allows a spirit to inhabit it. For the purposes of this post, let's call your hypothetical doll Spooky. Nothing I've ever seen says anything about avoiding giving it a normal human name, but you never know. I'm calling it Spooky.
Cut Spooky open and remove all the stuffing. Replace the removed stuffing with rice and whatever material from your body you're using. After that, sew Spooky back up with the red thread. Make sure it's a long piece of red thread so you can wrap the excess around its body. The red thread symbolizes blood and acts as a restraint for the spirit. You need every advantage you can get, after all.
Start at 3 AM, as this is the time when spirits are at their most active. Take Spooky into the bathroom and fill up the tub. Hold Spooky in both hands and say "For the first game, (Your name here) will be it". Say this loudly and firmly three times, then drop Spooky into the water.
Run around your house, shutting all the lights and electronics off. After that, close your eyes and count to ten. Open your eyes, grab your weapon, and go back to the bathroom. Say "I found Spooky!" and stab the doll three times. You win the first round. Now it's Spooky's turn.
Now say "Now Spooky is it," and leave the still-impaled doll in the bathroom. Run to your hiding place, where your glass of salt water (or sake) should already be. Take a mouthful of the glass' contents. The salt water's all that's protecting you from the spirit that's now inhabiting the doll. Don't swallow it. Just hold it in your mouth. Do not make a sound, because Spooky's coming for you.
People who have taken part in the game have reported various phenomena during play: the sound of laughter, the T.V. switching on, off, or changing channels, flickering lights, sharp drops in temperature, nasty smells, and other noises. If they had any pets, they could hear them cowering or crying.
To end the game, you need to find the doll. Don't be surprised if it's not where you left it. It might be on the floor in the bathroom, or in the hall, or maybe even close to where you've been hiding. When you find the doll, you need to spit the salt water on it. Dump whatever was left in your glass on it too.
After you've doused the doll in salt water, close your eyes and say once again in a loud and firm voice, "I win!" three times. The spirit will give up.
Never play longer than two hours. The spirit gets stronger the longer it remains in this world, and if you drag the game out for more than two hours, you won't be able to drive it out.
Lastly, burn the doll. While you may be safe from possession, spirits can be sore losers, and you did just screw with one for your own amusement. Don't be surprised if you feel like you're being followed for a while afterward. People who have played the game have said they've become ill afterward, gotten into accidents, or like I just said, felt like someone or something was still there.
After the game, it's a good idea to spread salt around all the corners of your home and in the areas where the doll was, just as an extra measure.
Most importantly, this game is meant to be played alone. If anyone else is in the house, they will be a participant whether they know it or not. If the doll finds them instead of you, they'll be possessed. And that will be on your head.
For this game, you'll need a doll. NOT a human doll. I can't stress that enough; every account I've read says to never use a human doll. The thing you're calling upon won't want to leave a human-shaped doll, and you do want it to leave. A teddy bear or similar stuffed animal is a good choice.
Aside from the doll, you'll need the following:
-Uncooked rice
-A needle and a long piece of red thread
-A glass of salt water or sake
-Something to stab the doll with. A pencil or needle would be safest; anything more dangerous will only make it easier for the doll to kill you.
-Something from your body (ex: fingernail clippings, hair, blood...)
-A bathtub full of water
-A hiding place. I hear closets are good.
Pick your hiding place first, and leave your glass of salt water or sake there so you don't forget it later. It's extremely important that you have it; without it the game won't end. Well, not in your favor anyway.
Name your doll. Naming the doll gives it an identity, and allows a spirit to inhabit it. For the purposes of this post, let's call your hypothetical doll Spooky. Nothing I've ever seen says anything about avoiding giving it a normal human name, but you never know. I'm calling it Spooky.
Cut Spooky open and remove all the stuffing. Replace the removed stuffing with rice and whatever material from your body you're using. After that, sew Spooky back up with the red thread. Make sure it's a long piece of red thread so you can wrap the excess around its body. The red thread symbolizes blood and acts as a restraint for the spirit. You need every advantage you can get, after all.
Start at 3 AM, as this is the time when spirits are at their most active. Take Spooky into the bathroom and fill up the tub. Hold Spooky in both hands and say "For the first game, (Your name here) will be it". Say this loudly and firmly three times, then drop Spooky into the water.
Run around your house, shutting all the lights and electronics off. After that, close your eyes and count to ten. Open your eyes, grab your weapon, and go back to the bathroom. Say "I found Spooky!" and stab the doll three times. You win the first round. Now it's Spooky's turn.
Now say "Now Spooky is it," and leave the still-impaled doll in the bathroom. Run to your hiding place, where your glass of salt water (or sake) should already be. Take a mouthful of the glass' contents. The salt water's all that's protecting you from the spirit that's now inhabiting the doll. Don't swallow it. Just hold it in your mouth. Do not make a sound, because Spooky's coming for you.
People who have taken part in the game have reported various phenomena during play: the sound of laughter, the T.V. switching on, off, or changing channels, flickering lights, sharp drops in temperature, nasty smells, and other noises. If they had any pets, they could hear them cowering or crying.
To end the game, you need to find the doll. Don't be surprised if it's not where you left it. It might be on the floor in the bathroom, or in the hall, or maybe even close to where you've been hiding. When you find the doll, you need to spit the salt water on it. Dump whatever was left in your glass on it too.
After you've doused the doll in salt water, close your eyes and say once again in a loud and firm voice, "I win!" three times. The spirit will give up.
Never play longer than two hours. The spirit gets stronger the longer it remains in this world, and if you drag the game out for more than two hours, you won't be able to drive it out.
Lastly, burn the doll. While you may be safe from possession, spirits can be sore losers, and you did just screw with one for your own amusement. Don't be surprised if you feel like you're being followed for a while afterward. People who have played the game have said they've become ill afterward, gotten into accidents, or like I just said, felt like someone or something was still there.
After the game, it's a good idea to spread salt around all the corners of your home and in the areas where the doll was, just as an extra measure.
Most importantly, this game is meant to be played alone. If anyone else is in the house, they will be a participant whether they know it or not. If the doll finds them instead of you, they'll be possessed. And that will be on your head.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Storytime with Lauren: Part 1
Every now and then, I'm going to post a short piece of fiction on here. I'll shoot for every week, but this may vary. Maybe it will be once a month, or every two weeks. Maybe twice a week if I'm feeling ambitious. We'll see how it goes. Anyway, here's the first one. I'm actually cheating a little because it's a piece I wrote a while back, but I still like it. Next one will be a fresh one. Hope you enjoy.
Unkindness
He told me he loved me. That's how he got me. Amazing how powerful that one little word is, "love" and sad how it can be --and often is-- used as a weapon.
I was a nerdy little college girl: mousy brown hair, brown eyes, thick glasses and not much to speak of in the way of a figure. My mother would try to console me by saying I had "a good personality". We all know what that's code for. Tell me how many guys are actually attracted to a woman on the basis of their personality. I'll wait.
...I thought as much.
Anyway, at the risk of sounding cliché, then he came into my life. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Right. He had these green eyes that were just to die for, and he was so kind, caring, intelligent, and most importantly, he was interested in me. Not any of the other girls on campus, me. Right then and there I should have figured something was wrong. You know how they always say that whenever something's too good to be true it probably is, right? I should have been at least a little bit suspicious, a little bit more wary...but I didn't want to be. I wanted this. I wanted somebody I could be happy with. I wanted somebody to want me. Hindsight may be 20/20, but I can't really blame myself.
I suppose I made an easy target. I didn't really have much in the way of friends, so I was often alone in a corner of the Student Commons reading a book or working on my laptop. I was always a little shy, and hardly ever was the type to start a conversation. No, actually, that's a lie. I was never the type to start a conversation. Ever. Giving presentations in class was always hell, what with thirty-something pairs of eyes boring into me and the professor telling me to speak up while I'm barely managing the little squeaky voice I'm speaking in. I always hated presentation days. But you'd think that if I couldn't speak in front of thirty people I could at least talk to one, right? Hahahaha, no. It was just as bad.
But there he was, this magnificent specimen of manhood. Like a god in the flesh, he'd descended from the heavens --or the stairs-- and sat himself down next to me. I just kept working, figuring that he was probably only taking a break for a few minutes and wasn't interested in a flyspeck like me at all. Why would he be? Then...then he spoke to me. It was only a simple "How are you?", but still. I managed a tiny response of "Good", and figured that would be it. Just polite small talk, and then he'd be on his way and forget I ever existed. Then he continued to talk to me. He didn't just go away. He actually seemed interested in me as a person, and the further it went on, the easier it became for me to speak. My usual anxiety when dealing with other people just melted away after a while, and I was terribly disappointed when I realized that my next class was in five minutes. I didn't want it to end. I figured he was some mythological creature, kind of like a unicorn, and if I left, he'd vanish in a poof of smoke never to be seen again.
But he asked for my number. Told me he'd like to see me again. You know very well that I gave it.
I don't remember what the day's lecture was in class. I wasn't paying very much attention, you see.
In the coming days, my new friend and I spent a lot of time together, chatting on the phone, through IMs, or in person. I was happy. Even in light of what he did to me, I have to admit he made me happy. It doesn't mean I want to admit it, especially as I know now it was all a sick game for him, but I'm not in the habit of lying. Maybe that's why I didn't kill him. Oh dear, I just gave part of the ending away, didn't I? Never you worry. There's still more.
In time, he asked me out. This was the first time anyone had asked me out ever, and I was half-convinced that this meant I'd really been in a coma all this time, and all this was probably a figment of my imagination, the delusions of an unconscious mind. Even if it was, there was no reason not to accept. Of course I said yes. I'll admit, I was a little worried that he might want to go farther than I was comfortable on the first date, but I really shouldn't have. He stayed within my limits, took me out for dinner and a movie, and didn't ask me to come back to his place. No, he took me back home, gave me a kiss, and told me he'd see me again tomorrow. I could have melted. Had I died right there, I would have died the happiest woman in the world.
We went on a lot of dates. Museums, a play once, more movies...he had money to throw away on me, I'll give him that. I had him meet my family, and my parents were happy that their little girl had finally found someone. Then, he closed the door of the trap. He said it. Those three little words. "I love you". Those three little words, and that was it. I would have walked into fire for him if he told me to. From that moment on he'd won, and he knew it. Those three little words had sealed my fate.
The day finally came when he asked me if I'd like to meet his family. They didn't live in this city, but rather in a quiet suburban area about a three hour's drive away. Of course I said yes. I said goodbye to my parents, told them I'd see them when I got home, and off we went. He'd remained as sweet and affectionate to me as ever as we drove out of the city and off into no-man's land. We'd been in the car about an hour and a half when he pulled over, and asked me to get out. There was something important he needed to show me. I obliged him, thinking it was a bit peculiar but not anything bad, right? Yes, it was clueless and stupid of me, but remember: I loved him, and I thought he felt the same way about me.
The thing he wanted to show me? A gun. A gun aimed directly at my head. I barely had time to process the danger, his smile, my imminent end. I didn't want to believe it. But in hindsight, I should have known.
Bang. Dead.
He left me there to rot, and eventually the ravens came. I'd never liked ravens. They always creeped me out, all big and black and always staring at you like they knew far more than they let on. As carrion birds are wont to do, they began to eat me. I don't know what happened or how, but my mind or soul or whatever you want to call it overwrote those of the birds. One moment nothing, the next I'm staring out of twelve pairs of eyes all focused on my dead body, in full 3D Gore-o-Vision. You never look good when you can see yourself from twelve different angles. More than that, I could taste myself in my mouth. Mouths. Beaks. I was effectively eating myself. I'm honestly surprised I didn't go stark raving mad right there.
The birds are many, but they're all me. They no longer have wills of their own. Each one is an extension of myself.
It took a while, but I found my way back home. Flying's a bit odd, and I was shaken by my ordeal and my new state, but I found my way back. And I found him, merrily going about his life like he'd never taken mine.
Do you know what a gathering of ravens is called? An unkindness. An unkindness of ravens. It never seemed appropriate until right then.
I descended upon him then like a goddess of vengeance. There's very little one frail, unarmed human can do against so many angry birds. I beat him with my wings, I screeched, I flapped, I ripped and tore. I pecked out his eyes, those perfect green eyes. My claws raked the skin of his face, his lips, his neck, anywhere I could find bare skin. I tore away his ears. I didn't kill him, I told you that. But I left him disfigured, hideous. He'd never be able to charm another girl ever again.
An unkindness for an unkindness.
Unkindness
He told me he loved me. That's how he got me. Amazing how powerful that one little word is, "love" and sad how it can be --and often is-- used as a weapon.
I was a nerdy little college girl: mousy brown hair, brown eyes, thick glasses and not much to speak of in the way of a figure. My mother would try to console me by saying I had "a good personality". We all know what that's code for. Tell me how many guys are actually attracted to a woman on the basis of their personality. I'll wait.
...I thought as much.
Anyway, at the risk of sounding cliché, then he came into my life. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Right. He had these green eyes that were just to die for, and he was so kind, caring, intelligent, and most importantly, he was interested in me. Not any of the other girls on campus, me. Right then and there I should have figured something was wrong. You know how they always say that whenever something's too good to be true it probably is, right? I should have been at least a little bit suspicious, a little bit more wary...but I didn't want to be. I wanted this. I wanted somebody I could be happy with. I wanted somebody to want me. Hindsight may be 20/20, but I can't really blame myself.
I suppose I made an easy target. I didn't really have much in the way of friends, so I was often alone in a corner of the Student Commons reading a book or working on my laptop. I was always a little shy, and hardly ever was the type to start a conversation. No, actually, that's a lie. I was never the type to start a conversation. Ever. Giving presentations in class was always hell, what with thirty-something pairs of eyes boring into me and the professor telling me to speak up while I'm barely managing the little squeaky voice I'm speaking in. I always hated presentation days. But you'd think that if I couldn't speak in front of thirty people I could at least talk to one, right? Hahahaha, no. It was just as bad.
But there he was, this magnificent specimen of manhood. Like a god in the flesh, he'd descended from the heavens --or the stairs-- and sat himself down next to me. I just kept working, figuring that he was probably only taking a break for a few minutes and wasn't interested in a flyspeck like me at all. Why would he be? Then...then he spoke to me. It was only a simple "How are you?", but still. I managed a tiny response of "Good", and figured that would be it. Just polite small talk, and then he'd be on his way and forget I ever existed. Then he continued to talk to me. He didn't just go away. He actually seemed interested in me as a person, and the further it went on, the easier it became for me to speak. My usual anxiety when dealing with other people just melted away after a while, and I was terribly disappointed when I realized that my next class was in five minutes. I didn't want it to end. I figured he was some mythological creature, kind of like a unicorn, and if I left, he'd vanish in a poof of smoke never to be seen again.
But he asked for my number. Told me he'd like to see me again. You know very well that I gave it.
I don't remember what the day's lecture was in class. I wasn't paying very much attention, you see.
In the coming days, my new friend and I spent a lot of time together, chatting on the phone, through IMs, or in person. I was happy. Even in light of what he did to me, I have to admit he made me happy. It doesn't mean I want to admit it, especially as I know now it was all a sick game for him, but I'm not in the habit of lying. Maybe that's why I didn't kill him. Oh dear, I just gave part of the ending away, didn't I? Never you worry. There's still more.
In time, he asked me out. This was the first time anyone had asked me out ever, and I was half-convinced that this meant I'd really been in a coma all this time, and all this was probably a figment of my imagination, the delusions of an unconscious mind. Even if it was, there was no reason not to accept. Of course I said yes. I'll admit, I was a little worried that he might want to go farther than I was comfortable on the first date, but I really shouldn't have. He stayed within my limits, took me out for dinner and a movie, and didn't ask me to come back to his place. No, he took me back home, gave me a kiss, and told me he'd see me again tomorrow. I could have melted. Had I died right there, I would have died the happiest woman in the world.
We went on a lot of dates. Museums, a play once, more movies...he had money to throw away on me, I'll give him that. I had him meet my family, and my parents were happy that their little girl had finally found someone. Then, he closed the door of the trap. He said it. Those three little words. "I love you". Those three little words, and that was it. I would have walked into fire for him if he told me to. From that moment on he'd won, and he knew it. Those three little words had sealed my fate.
The day finally came when he asked me if I'd like to meet his family. They didn't live in this city, but rather in a quiet suburban area about a three hour's drive away. Of course I said yes. I said goodbye to my parents, told them I'd see them when I got home, and off we went. He'd remained as sweet and affectionate to me as ever as we drove out of the city and off into no-man's land. We'd been in the car about an hour and a half when he pulled over, and asked me to get out. There was something important he needed to show me. I obliged him, thinking it was a bit peculiar but not anything bad, right? Yes, it was clueless and stupid of me, but remember: I loved him, and I thought he felt the same way about me.
The thing he wanted to show me? A gun. A gun aimed directly at my head. I barely had time to process the danger, his smile, my imminent end. I didn't want to believe it. But in hindsight, I should have known.
Bang. Dead.
He left me there to rot, and eventually the ravens came. I'd never liked ravens. They always creeped me out, all big and black and always staring at you like they knew far more than they let on. As carrion birds are wont to do, they began to eat me. I don't know what happened or how, but my mind or soul or whatever you want to call it overwrote those of the birds. One moment nothing, the next I'm staring out of twelve pairs of eyes all focused on my dead body, in full 3D Gore-o-Vision. You never look good when you can see yourself from twelve different angles. More than that, I could taste myself in my mouth. Mouths. Beaks. I was effectively eating myself. I'm honestly surprised I didn't go stark raving mad right there.
The birds are many, but they're all me. They no longer have wills of their own. Each one is an extension of myself.
It took a while, but I found my way back home. Flying's a bit odd, and I was shaken by my ordeal and my new state, but I found my way back. And I found him, merrily going about his life like he'd never taken mine.
Do you know what a gathering of ravens is called? An unkindness. An unkindness of ravens. It never seemed appropriate until right then.
I descended upon him then like a goddess of vengeance. There's very little one frail, unarmed human can do against so many angry birds. I beat him with my wings, I screeched, I flapped, I ripped and tore. I pecked out his eyes, those perfect green eyes. My claws raked the skin of his face, his lips, his neck, anywhere I could find bare skin. I tore away his ears. I didn't kill him, I told you that. But I left him disfigured, hideous. He'd never be able to charm another girl ever again.
An unkindness for an unkindness.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Fus Ro...Nah.
I'll be the dissenting voice in the crowd. I don't like Skyrim. I know this is heresy within the gamer hivemind, where general consensus is that Skyrim is the Best Game Ever (until a new "Best Game Ever" comes along, as always), but I just don't care for it.
Don't get me wrong. I wanted to like Skyrim. I tried very hard to like Skyrim, and in fact, it was fun for the first week or two after I got it, but the novelty of the game wore off shockingly fast. One can only hoard brooms and raise cows as undead minions to wreak havoc on small villages for so long before it gets old. And despite what you may think, yes, it does get old.
The scenery is lovely, yes, but it's also monotonous. Vast, open meadows, snowy mountains, the occasional ruin, castle town, or village, and that's it. Also given how far apart many places are the world feels quite empty indeed. I spent a lot of time running along or riding one of the slowest horses in all of creation in near-silence. Occasionally I had to deal with a few bandits, a wolf or two, or the random dragon and then back to nothing. The emptiness didn't create the same feel of loneliness that say...Shadow of the Colossus does. It's just boring.
Sighing and going "Am I there yet?" while progressing through a game is a bad thing, don't you think?
The NPCs are dull. I've met lobsters with more personality than just about anybody in the game. When you think of the characters as only "that guy" or "the other guy who's kind of a jerk", there's a problem. I couldn't find it in me to care about either the Imperials or Stormcloaks that much, since one's a generic military empire and the other's a generic band of rebels. They just happen to hate anyone who's not a Nord. I ended up siding with the Imperials solely because they didn't bash my character for being a cat.
The plot's also appallingly bare-bones and smacks of laziness. Destined hero kills evil dragon, saves world. End of story. Why? There's so much lore there to use! Why not bother writing a really good story with it that'll make the world more interesting?
...oh right. Because shiny graphics trump everything. Silly me.
Then there's obtaining materials for things like alchemy, blacksmithing and the like. Considering that I play World of Warcraft, I'm used to leveling crafting professions and gathering the required materials. Here's the thing though; WoW has a handy little feature that goes with the gathering professions, like "Track Herbs" or "Track Minerals". They'll appear as yellow dots on your minimap and sparkle in the field, like a big sign going "Hey! You can grab this!". There's no such thing in Skyrim. I had to learn to recognize different kinds of herbs by sight, or wander up to them and see if they were pickable if I was in an unfamiliar area.
I went through an entire dungeon once without realizing that there was mineable ore. It didn't grab my attention in any way, and it was only when I was trying to sneak around that I noticed that I could mine a chunk of iron ore. Once I'd slaughtered everything that moved, I went back and started looking for iron. The difference in the wall was ridiculously subtle, and it was no wonder I overlooked the mineable spots the first time.
One would also think that, with all the detail put into character creation, Bethesda could give you hair options that looked like hair and not lumps of clay. I can adjust the amount of dirt on my character's face and the color thereof. I can give them scars, wrinkles, war paint, make them taller, shorter, leaner or heavier and mold their facial features however I damn well please, but hair that looks like hair? Madness!
The two biggest offenders were the twin buns and pigtails. They looked like they were designed by someone who had never actually seen either style. No, scratch that. Whoever designed them had no idea how hair even works. I ended up rolling a Khajiit not only due to my love of cats, but because their short braided hairstyles were among the few that didn't look awful.
I suppose I learned my lesson with this game. Normally I don't go for games based on the hype surrounding them alone, or for seemingly-cool mechanics like fighting dragons as a werewolf. I did this time, and I hated it.
Don't get me wrong. I wanted to like Skyrim. I tried very hard to like Skyrim, and in fact, it was fun for the first week or two after I got it, but the novelty of the game wore off shockingly fast. One can only hoard brooms and raise cows as undead minions to wreak havoc on small villages for so long before it gets old. And despite what you may think, yes, it does get old.
The scenery is lovely, yes, but it's also monotonous. Vast, open meadows, snowy mountains, the occasional ruin, castle town, or village, and that's it. Also given how far apart many places are the world feels quite empty indeed. I spent a lot of time running along or riding one of the slowest horses in all of creation in near-silence. Occasionally I had to deal with a few bandits, a wolf or two, or the random dragon and then back to nothing. The emptiness didn't create the same feel of loneliness that say...Shadow of the Colossus does. It's just boring.
Sighing and going "Am I there yet?" while progressing through a game is a bad thing, don't you think?
The NPCs are dull. I've met lobsters with more personality than just about anybody in the game. When you think of the characters as only "that guy" or "the other guy who's kind of a jerk", there's a problem. I couldn't find it in me to care about either the Imperials or Stormcloaks that much, since one's a generic military empire and the other's a generic band of rebels. They just happen to hate anyone who's not a Nord. I ended up siding with the Imperials solely because they didn't bash my character for being a cat.
The plot's also appallingly bare-bones and smacks of laziness. Destined hero kills evil dragon, saves world. End of story. Why? There's so much lore there to use! Why not bother writing a really good story with it that'll make the world more interesting?
...oh right. Because shiny graphics trump everything. Silly me.
Then there's obtaining materials for things like alchemy, blacksmithing and the like. Considering that I play World of Warcraft, I'm used to leveling crafting professions and gathering the required materials. Here's the thing though; WoW has a handy little feature that goes with the gathering professions, like "Track Herbs" or "Track Minerals". They'll appear as yellow dots on your minimap and sparkle in the field, like a big sign going "Hey! You can grab this!". There's no such thing in Skyrim. I had to learn to recognize different kinds of herbs by sight, or wander up to them and see if they were pickable if I was in an unfamiliar area.
I went through an entire dungeon once without realizing that there was mineable ore. It didn't grab my attention in any way, and it was only when I was trying to sneak around that I noticed that I could mine a chunk of iron ore. Once I'd slaughtered everything that moved, I went back and started looking for iron. The difference in the wall was ridiculously subtle, and it was no wonder I overlooked the mineable spots the first time.
One would also think that, with all the detail put into character creation, Bethesda could give you hair options that looked like hair and not lumps of clay. I can adjust the amount of dirt on my character's face and the color thereof. I can give them scars, wrinkles, war paint, make them taller, shorter, leaner or heavier and mold their facial features however I damn well please, but hair that looks like hair? Madness!
The two biggest offenders were the twin buns and pigtails. They looked like they were designed by someone who had never actually seen either style. No, scratch that. Whoever designed them had no idea how hair even works. I ended up rolling a Khajiit not only due to my love of cats, but because their short braided hairstyles were among the few that didn't look awful.
I suppose I learned my lesson with this game. Normally I don't go for games based on the hype surrounding them alone, or for seemingly-cool mechanics like fighting dragons as a werewolf. I did this time, and I hated it.
More Lord Creepy than Prince Charming.
I really don't understand the appeal in possessive, controlling male leads in fiction. I wouldn't be swooning over a guy who pulls some of the crap they do, I'd be on the phone hysterically sobbing to the police about the stalker who's after me.
People have tried to explain this to to me by saying that women want to feel secure and protected, and thus they need this big, strong man to be at their side all the time. Okay first off, thank you for the irritating generalization. You will be receiving one face-punch in the mail. Secondly, how can anyone feel "safe" when the person who is supposed to be keeping you safe controls your life, tries to keep other people away from you, is prone to fits of jealousy, follows you wherever you go, and is a general creeper. It's like having a demanding child for a jailer.
The male wants you to associate with nobody but him. If you have other friends you want to spend time with, he throws a jealous temper tantrum, or tries to guilt you by moping that you "don't love him enough". He may remove the engine block from your car so you can't go anywhere, or watch you in your sleep. He may claim he was born to be your lover, and obsessively search for you. You may or may not still be a child when he begins this search, as I saw in one book.
This? This is not relationship material. This is the villain in a psychological thriller! There's nothing romantic about any of this and I can't fathom why anyone would think otherwise. If I were Bella Swan, I would have hired a vampire hunter the moment I saw Edward Cullen a'sparklin' my way. Or possibly taken a stake to him myself. Jacob would have been subsequently greeted with a faceful of silver bullets.
Come on, Bella as a hunter of the denizens of the night! Humanity's last bulwark against the undead scourge! Awesome, no? No? ...alright then.
I mentioned a man who searched for the heroine since she was a child, and claimed he was born to be her lover. I speak of Daemon Sadi, "hero" of the Black Jewels books and one of the creepiest male leads I've ever read about. He gives ol' Eddie Cullen up there a run for his money in sheer stalkerific lunacy. Honestly, I have many problems with the themes and implications in the Black Jewels trilogy. Daemon is just one of them, but boy is he a big problem.
To be accurate, Daemon's search actually began a thousand years before Jaenelle, the heroine, was even born. A witch prophesized the birth of Jaenelle, savior of the world, and well...Daemiepoo is obsessed with being her lover. Note that she doesn't actually seem to have a choice in the matter. He called dibs, now she's his whether she likes it or not (and of course she looooooves it). To that end, he spends most of his free time stalking her. Hunting her. Waiting for her to appear. He tracks her to her family's home for God's sake, and immediately begins hanging around her every chance he gets. Grooming her, one might argue, to feel affection for him.
This continues in the next two books when she's a teenager and later an adult, with a time gap in which Daemon is not present. It culminates in a contrived sex scene that occurred because Daemon was moping about Jaenelle not immediately doing the do with him when he recovered from insanity. Of course, one of the other characters has to make her feel bad about this.
I'll say it again. It's the sheer lack of choice that galls me. What would Daemon do if Jaenelle had fallen for another man in the interim period when he wasn't constantly hovering over her? Kill him? It doesn't seem to be beyond him to do so, considering the number of people he either kills or thinks of killing in the series. Kill all her potential suitors until every man within a thousand miles is afraid to venture near her, and only Daemon is left to comfort poor, sweet Jaenelle? If he were painted as a villain, that would be great. It's the fact that he's supposed to be a hero and would still do so that makes it weird.
Or, what if Jaenelle just flat-out said "Daemon, I don't love you. In fact, I find you frightening." What would he do then? Kill himself? Kill her? Kill both of them so he can have her forever in death? None of these sound too farfetched for a man who views violence and killing as acceptable solutions to most problems. I somehow doubt he'd reflect on his behavior, quietly apologize and be on his way. At the very least, she'd have a relationship with another man and he would be portrayed as laughably, stereotypically one-dimensional and cruel to make Daemon look good in comparison. They must be together because destiny wills it so!
Sad that men such as Daemon Sadi and Edward Cullen are portrayed as desirable. Ideal, even. Even worse is the fact that young girls are reading these books and thinking so.
People have tried to explain this to to me by saying that women want to feel secure and protected, and thus they need this big, strong man to be at their side all the time. Okay first off, thank you for the irritating generalization. You will be receiving one face-punch in the mail. Secondly, how can anyone feel "safe" when the person who is supposed to be keeping you safe controls your life, tries to keep other people away from you, is prone to fits of jealousy, follows you wherever you go, and is a general creeper. It's like having a demanding child for a jailer.
The male wants you to associate with nobody but him. If you have other friends you want to spend time with, he throws a jealous temper tantrum, or tries to guilt you by moping that you "don't love him enough". He may remove the engine block from your car so you can't go anywhere, or watch you in your sleep. He may claim he was born to be your lover, and obsessively search for you. You may or may not still be a child when he begins this search, as I saw in one book.
This? This is not relationship material. This is the villain in a psychological thriller! There's nothing romantic about any of this and I can't fathom why anyone would think otherwise. If I were Bella Swan, I would have hired a vampire hunter the moment I saw Edward Cullen a'sparklin' my way. Or possibly taken a stake to him myself. Jacob would have been subsequently greeted with a faceful of silver bullets.
Come on, Bella as a hunter of the denizens of the night! Humanity's last bulwark against the undead scourge! Awesome, no? No? ...alright then.
I mentioned a man who searched for the heroine since she was a child, and claimed he was born to be her lover. I speak of Daemon Sadi, "hero" of the Black Jewels books and one of the creepiest male leads I've ever read about. He gives ol' Eddie Cullen up there a run for his money in sheer stalkerific lunacy. Honestly, I have many problems with the themes and implications in the Black Jewels trilogy. Daemon is just one of them, but boy is he a big problem.
To be accurate, Daemon's search actually began a thousand years before Jaenelle, the heroine, was even born. A witch prophesized the birth of Jaenelle, savior of the world, and well...Daemiepoo is obsessed with being her lover. Note that she doesn't actually seem to have a choice in the matter. He called dibs, now she's his whether she likes it or not (and of course she looooooves it). To that end, he spends most of his free time stalking her. Hunting her. Waiting for her to appear. He tracks her to her family's home for God's sake, and immediately begins hanging around her every chance he gets. Grooming her, one might argue, to feel affection for him.
This continues in the next two books when she's a teenager and later an adult, with a time gap in which Daemon is not present. It culminates in a contrived sex scene that occurred because Daemon was moping about Jaenelle not immediately doing the do with him when he recovered from insanity. Of course, one of the other characters has to make her feel bad about this.
I'll say it again. It's the sheer lack of choice that galls me. What would Daemon do if Jaenelle had fallen for another man in the interim period when he wasn't constantly hovering over her? Kill him? It doesn't seem to be beyond him to do so, considering the number of people he either kills or thinks of killing in the series. Kill all her potential suitors until every man within a thousand miles is afraid to venture near her, and only Daemon is left to comfort poor, sweet Jaenelle? If he were painted as a villain, that would be great. It's the fact that he's supposed to be a hero and would still do so that makes it weird.
Or, what if Jaenelle just flat-out said "Daemon, I don't love you. In fact, I find you frightening." What would he do then? Kill himself? Kill her? Kill both of them so he can have her forever in death? None of these sound too farfetched for a man who views violence and killing as acceptable solutions to most problems. I somehow doubt he'd reflect on his behavior, quietly apologize and be on his way. At the very least, she'd have a relationship with another man and he would be portrayed as laughably, stereotypically one-dimensional and cruel to make Daemon look good in comparison. They must be together because destiny wills it so!
Sad that men such as Daemon Sadi and Edward Cullen are portrayed as desirable. Ideal, even. Even worse is the fact that young girls are reading these books and thinking so.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Objectification and why it sucks.
As a female geek, I'm subjected to overly-sexualized female characters wherever I go. Ridiculously big breasts, collagen lips and perpetual bedroom eyes, panty shots galore. Short skirts, scanty outfits, platekinis, you name it. It gets really tiresome after a while.
I'm really not so much of a comic book fan, but I've determined that there is some sort of rule in place that requires that women stand with their ass pointed towards the reader 95% of the time. That usually means horrible, spine-twisting positions that one wouldn't want to hold for more than a few seconds, if at all. Chiropractors must make a good living in superhero-land.
I'm much more of a gamer, but it's not really any better there. The whole selling point of Tomb Raider was Lara Croft's gigantic breasts. We've all heard the story of how one of the guys working on the game accidentally gave her those breasts and was told to keep them that way. Dead or Alive is known less for its gameplay and more for its ridiculous jiggle physics. Tifa's a strong, competent female character, but her victory pose still involves doing a stretch and sticking her chest way, way out. If Rayne so much as turns slightly to the left or right in a cutscene her breasts jiggle uncontrollably. There are so very many more examples, but I'd be writing an insanely long post if I tried to list them all.
It sometimes amazes me how armor (usually chainmail or plate) in World of Warcraft can magically change from full-body coverage on a male to a skimpy bikini on a female. The Outland gear is by far the worst, with my poor Death Knight running around wearing plate pants that looked like bright purple garters and stockings and a chestplate that resembled a bra. I'm a horrific undead abomination, once part of the Lich King's mighty army. I've cut down innocent townsfolk and seasoned warriors alike. Why the hell am I forced to prance about in lingerie? It doesn't make sense! Male or female, I still need the armor to protect me and it can't do that if it's barely covering me.
Of course, while the Wrath and Cataclysm sets are for the most part much better, some of them still make me shake my head. Much as I'm fond of my Saronite War Plate and use it for mogging purposes, I can't help but notice that males are fully covered while females have their midriff and upper arms showing. What, you just couldn't have an outfit without skin showing? Oh sure, she's a fearsome Scourge soldier, but we still have to show that she's a woman. Mmmmm, sexy necrotic skin. Never mind the fact that such a design would offer two nice vulnerable points. Skin! Sex! That's all that matters.
When it comes to some of the races, the sexual dimorphism is ridiculous. The males are huge, hulking beasts and the females are always curvaceous and pleasing to the eye. Even tauren women are perfect hourglasses. It's just the rule: men are large, powerful and imposing. Women must be sexy. Female trolls were originally going to be long-armed, ugly slouching monsters like the males, but the alpha testers whined so much that they and the tauren were not sexy enough that we got the models that are in-game today. If I'm going to be a troll, I want to be a slouchy monster and not a funny-looking elf with tusks, damn it.
It's very telling that male Blood Elves, who are normally considered the most aesthetically pleasing to women, are constantly derided and mocked as being "too feminine" by male gamers. The simple fact that they're a little smaller, less muscular, have nicer hair and don't act like chest-thumping ogres seems to upset these guys. Or, alternately, consider female orcs. Orc women are muscular. They have gruff voices. They're just as warrior as the males are. I always hear guys calling them unfavorable, derogatory terms whenever they're clogging up Trade with drivel on whichever race's women are the most "hot".
Imposing, strong woman = bad. Imposing, strong man = good. That's the basic attitude here.
People will claim that this is because most gamers are male and developers need to cater to their audience. Bull. Female gamers aren't nearly as much of a rarity as everyone likes to pretend. In fact, forty percent of the gaming population is female. Thirty-three percent of that are women over eighteen. This is significantly more than the eighteen percent that teenage boys make up. You know, the group that everyone loudly proclaims is the "majority" of gamers out there? Something to think about, huh?
The sad thing is that I know most guys won't actually think about it. They'll never go "Yeah, it is a little creepy how women are portrayed, isn't it?". No, they'll huff and puff and stomp their feet, fling insults and accuse women of being "too sensitive". I forget that we're supposed to like being treated like meat. We're supposed to like being ogled, groped, and pawed at. We're supposed to like the sleazy comments, the rape jokes, the obsessive focus on T&A. We're supposed to accept that a man's value lies in his capabilities, while a woman's is based on her appearance alone.
And if we don't like it, we're supposed to just shut up and take it, or else we're insecure prudes who "need to lighten up". Or of course, the classic "you're just a man-hater" retort.
It's somehow every woman on Earth's fault that these guys don't have a date, and in their eyes that makes it right to dehumanize all females. It never occurs to them that if they'd stop spewing misogynistic bile, or acting as if women somehow owe them sex, or dropped that damn "Nice Guy" act and treated us with some respect, then maybe they'd have somebody.
Unfortunately, as long as they continue to react with hostility to the notion that women are people, and as long as geek culture continues to propagate the idea that women = sex objects under the mistaken assumption that their audience is mostly male, this will never stop. And that's just really, really sad.
I'm really not so much of a comic book fan, but I've determined that there is some sort of rule in place that requires that women stand with their ass pointed towards the reader 95% of the time. That usually means horrible, spine-twisting positions that one wouldn't want to hold for more than a few seconds, if at all. Chiropractors must make a good living in superhero-land.
I'm much more of a gamer, but it's not really any better there. The whole selling point of Tomb Raider was Lara Croft's gigantic breasts. We've all heard the story of how one of the guys working on the game accidentally gave her those breasts and was told to keep them that way. Dead or Alive is known less for its gameplay and more for its ridiculous jiggle physics. Tifa's a strong, competent female character, but her victory pose still involves doing a stretch and sticking her chest way, way out. If Rayne so much as turns slightly to the left or right in a cutscene her breasts jiggle uncontrollably. There are so very many more examples, but I'd be writing an insanely long post if I tried to list them all.
It sometimes amazes me how armor (usually chainmail or plate) in World of Warcraft can magically change from full-body coverage on a male to a skimpy bikini on a female. The Outland gear is by far the worst, with my poor Death Knight running around wearing plate pants that looked like bright purple garters and stockings and a chestplate that resembled a bra. I'm a horrific undead abomination, once part of the Lich King's mighty army. I've cut down innocent townsfolk and seasoned warriors alike. Why the hell am I forced to prance about in lingerie? It doesn't make sense! Male or female, I still need the armor to protect me and it can't do that if it's barely covering me.
Of course, while the Wrath and Cataclysm sets are for the most part much better, some of them still make me shake my head. Much as I'm fond of my Saronite War Plate and use it for mogging purposes, I can't help but notice that males are fully covered while females have their midriff and upper arms showing. What, you just couldn't have an outfit without skin showing? Oh sure, she's a fearsome Scourge soldier, but we still have to show that she's a woman. Mmmmm, sexy necrotic skin. Never mind the fact that such a design would offer two nice vulnerable points. Skin! Sex! That's all that matters.
When it comes to some of the races, the sexual dimorphism is ridiculous. The males are huge, hulking beasts and the females are always curvaceous and pleasing to the eye. Even tauren women are perfect hourglasses. It's just the rule: men are large, powerful and imposing. Women must be sexy. Female trolls were originally going to be long-armed, ugly slouching monsters like the males, but the alpha testers whined so much that they and the tauren were not sexy enough that we got the models that are in-game today. If I'm going to be a troll, I want to be a slouchy monster and not a funny-looking elf with tusks, damn it.
It's very telling that male Blood Elves, who are normally considered the most aesthetically pleasing to women, are constantly derided and mocked as being "too feminine" by male gamers. The simple fact that they're a little smaller, less muscular, have nicer hair and don't act like chest-thumping ogres seems to upset these guys. Or, alternately, consider female orcs. Orc women are muscular. They have gruff voices. They're just as warrior as the males are. I always hear guys calling them unfavorable, derogatory terms whenever they're clogging up Trade with drivel on whichever race's women are the most "hot".
Imposing, strong woman = bad. Imposing, strong man = good. That's the basic attitude here.
People will claim that this is because most gamers are male and developers need to cater to their audience. Bull. Female gamers aren't nearly as much of a rarity as everyone likes to pretend. In fact, forty percent of the gaming population is female. Thirty-three percent of that are women over eighteen. This is significantly more than the eighteen percent that teenage boys make up. You know, the group that everyone loudly proclaims is the "majority" of gamers out there? Something to think about, huh?
The sad thing is that I know most guys won't actually think about it. They'll never go "Yeah, it is a little creepy how women are portrayed, isn't it?". No, they'll huff and puff and stomp their feet, fling insults and accuse women of being "too sensitive". I forget that we're supposed to like being treated like meat. We're supposed to like being ogled, groped, and pawed at. We're supposed to like the sleazy comments, the rape jokes, the obsessive focus on T&A. We're supposed to accept that a man's value lies in his capabilities, while a woman's is based on her appearance alone.
And if we don't like it, we're supposed to just shut up and take it, or else we're insecure prudes who "need to lighten up". Or of course, the classic "you're just a man-hater" retort.
It's somehow every woman on Earth's fault that these guys don't have a date, and in their eyes that makes it right to dehumanize all females. It never occurs to them that if they'd stop spewing misogynistic bile, or acting as if women somehow owe them sex, or dropped that damn "Nice Guy" act and treated us with some respect, then maybe they'd have somebody.
Unfortunately, as long as they continue to react with hostility to the notion that women are people, and as long as geek culture continues to propagate the idea that women = sex objects under the mistaken assumption that their audience is mostly male, this will never stop. And that's just really, really sad.
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