I beg to differ...

For me, the most effective distraction from writing is more writing. I am still working on the short story I mentioned in my last post, but something has stolen my attention for today. Surfing the internet today I came across a headline on a news site (link no longer available): Top Cardinal Blasts 'Da Vinci Code' as 'Cheap Lies'. Now, generally I will not discuss matters of faith in such a public forum, but this article intrigued me and guaranteed this post.

For those of you who did not get to read the article, let me summarize. Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone, formerly of the Vatican's office on doctrinal orthodoxy, urges Christians to steer clear of Dan Brown's bestselling novel The Da Vinci Code, citing it's raving success as proof of "a great anti-Catholic prejudice".

I, personally, have read the book. After doing so I watched the debate ricochet back and forth between two fronts. There were, and are, those who speculated that the information contained within the pages of the book was an epiphanous compilation of factual evidence to support the validity of the plot's climactic revelation. There were yet others who were furiously incited against the author for presenting it as such. I belong to neither of these groups.

I thought the book was entertaining as a work of fiction, because that's all it was...fiction. Yes, Dan Brown did set up the story pooling various actual settings and presenting certain facts that meshed uncannily with the underlying story. The author also claims that during his research he learned of compelling circumstantial evidence that made him a believer.

But let's face it folks, it's a novel. Regardless of how much factual info Mr. Brown may have used, any reader with a lick of common sense can tell where Dan was stretching things for the purposes of entertainment. He can no more tell people the true history of Jesus' life than I can. I find it fascinating that something like this can so invoke the ire of the upper echelons of the Catholic clergy.

Cardinal Bertone states that the "allegations" presented in the novel are "cheap lies". Yes, everyone, welcome to the revelation of the century: fiction is a lie. Now, I certainly understand if the cardinal is offended by the material in the book, though I can't help but wonder if he's actually read it. What bothers me is that he is appealing to the Christian masses to keep away.

He warns that there is a "strategy of persuasion - that one isn't an adult Christian if you don't read this book". I would never propose to tell anyone about the validity of his faith based upon whether or not he's read a book, just like I would never simply assume that reading a book would so shake someone's faith.

Bertone speaks of being an "adult Christian", but how can anyone feel like an adult when some parental figure attempts to censor her because he feels her faith, one of the few things that is uniquely hers, will be tested. In the bible, God tested Job's faith. How did Job fare? And God didn't throw down no copy of The Da Vinci Code for Job to read. No, he gave the devil free reign to do all but kill the man. And what about Abraham? You want to talk about a test of faith? THAT, my friends, is a test. And the Catholic hierarchy, for whom these stories help to define their doctrine of faith, is worried about their followers reading a fictional book? Well, the clergy may have faith in Christ, but it doesn't seem like they have much faith in His flock.

Another comment the cardinal makes is "if a similar book was written, full of lies about Buddha, Mohamed, or, even, for example, if a novel came out which manipulated all the history of the Holocaust or of the Shoah, what would have happened?"

Okay, sure, some people would be offended, possibly including me, but let's make a distinction here. Horrific events like the Holocaust are still fresh in the memories of people who are living today. The Holocaust and the Shoah as historical events are not a matter of faith. There can be little debate as to their occurrence and validity. Buddhism, Islam, Judaism, Christianity, Taoism, Shintoism, Paganism, Shamanism, and all of the religions of the world and their adjoining historical doctrine ARE matters of faith. Of course, I only make this distinction because the cardinal did not seem to, not because one side deserves to be any more offended than the other at things that are an affront to its perceptions.

So, do I believe that the cardinal should have kept his opinions to himself? No, but I don't think his plea is as well-intentioned as it may seem to the like-minded. Let me share one of MY opinions with you. I believe that any good parent should know that explicit and indiscriminate censoring of materials and experiences is the most effective way to pique a child's interest in those things. If the cardinal was concerned that others might be offended as he was then he should have said, "For those sensitive to issues of faith, I would not recommend this book." By making the issue out of it that he did, Bertone guaranteed Dan Brown at least one more royalty check, probably several.

It's quiet...a little too quiet.

Again, it has been a few days, but I assure you they have not been unproductive. I am working on a little something right now to post here. I was waiting to get my haircut the other day, lamenting not having a little notebook, when an idea hit me. Of course, because I didn't have a notebook, I was trying to not think of something. Naturally, the muses thought this was the perfect time to sprinkle their magic dust on me.

Somehow I managed to be satisfied just scrawling a few things onto the back of a receipt I had in my pocket. What I've written so far definitely wouldn't fit on a receipt anymore. It's turning out to be much longer than I had intended, but I think it's good. It's a bit different than the stuff I usually write, but that's never a bad thing. In many areas of life it is always advisable to be open to new ways of doing things. Don't be afraid to explore a road you've never been down before; it may lead you to a place you've always wanted to go.

On being a writer...

Well, it has been a few days, though not by my own choice. If you are a writer, or if you've ever heard a writer speak about the craft, then you know what really being a writer actually means. You can write, even be pretty talented at writing, and not be a writer. To be a writer means that choice has been taken out of the equation. If you can choose to take a sabbatical from the language that ricochets around in your spirit, building up pressure until it erupts explosively from your fingertips, then the title of writer is not applicable.

I've met some people who are offended by that statement. I mean absolutely no disrespect by it. I make no assumptions about people's abilities or desires. You can be excellent at writing. You might even be a pretty good author (published or otherwise). But once choice enters into the equation, a writer you are not.

Trust me, it's not an insult or even a bad thing for you if you happen to fit the description of a non-writer. As I said, being a non-writer says nothing about your writing talent or your ability or likelihood to become an author. And there's nothing that says you can't become a writer, or that a writer can't become simply an author. I do, however, think it's more likely that we who write are born with the bug and will die with it.

Bug is a good way to describe it too. Or addiction. Yes, addiction is definitely accurate, clichéd though it may be. I have gotten up in the middle of the night, though I knew I would feel terrible the next day, to sate my need to scribe. It has made me late, forgetful, moody, ecstatic and has put me in a trance-like state that the outside world could not penetrate. There have been times when it has negatively impacted my work, school, and sometimes it irritates my wife, though she is generally very patient and supportive. Though it may not be nearly as debilitating as some more negative addictions, it is definitely a constant tap-tapping in my brain that only subsides when I let my fingers speak as they must.

So, next time a writer describes you as not one, be grateful. If you are a talented author you find yourself in an enviable position. You are blessed with our strength, but not cursed with our weakness. Of course, for us, our weakness reveals our strength. Not everything a writer writes is great, but a true writer is bound to create something of beauty sooner or later, for we do nothing less than bare our souls every time we put our words into a tangible medium, and in the universe, nothing is more beautiful than the soul.

Here is a pretty little muse I captured in a jar one evening. I hope you enjoy.


***** "Wha'd'ya reckon?" asked Buck, a tall, lanky human with a ridiculously brimmed cowboy hat and a six shooter at each hip, as he peered down the alleyway.

Ronald rolled his eyes as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Strictly speaking, I don't 'reckon' as you say," he said with a slight lisp as though his tongue were too big for his mouth. "I believe we should wait here for them to come out."

"Thtrickly thpeaking..." mocked Buck with a harsh whisper.

"Will you two stop!" hissed Lihoniel as she stepped between them and into the dark alley, cocking her slim and elegant custom rifle.

"Yeah, stop!" scolded Wilemina as she stepped by in the elf's wake, puffing her already chubby cheeks and pursing her lips in an exasperated sort of way. The moment would have been comedic, considering that the halfling barely stood higher than the two men's waists, but they were about serious business and no one laughed. Wilemina started to step down the alley when she noticed exactly how dark it was and scuttled out backward.

"After you," the minute rogue gestured to Buck, suddenly gracious. "But before you," she added to Ronald as she cautiously padded after the other two.

Ronald shook his head and pushed his glasses back up again. With a sigh he stepped into the alleyway. As he immersed himself in the darkness he immediately became aware of how tight it was. There was barely enough room for two men to walk abreast. He squinted into the blackness and could see a bit of light reflecting off of Lihoniel's golden hair and Buck's inappropriately obvious hat. He blinked a few times while he looked for some sign of Wilemina. As was often the case, he could find none. No matter what else he thought of the tiny thief, he had to admit she was brilliant when it came to disappearing.

As they went deeper into the alley the residual light from the street behind them faded, then went away altogether. Ronald began to have to feel his way along the wall. He wondered how Buck could possibly stand it. He probably had his hand on Lihoniel's shoulder, as she could likely see quite well with her elven eyes. A streak of jealousy crossed through Ronald's mind at the thought of Buck with his leathery, calloused hands touching the heavenly beauty that was Lihoniel, but he let it pass. He would prove himself soon enough and impress them all. Though they had been stepping carefully for only a few moments, the tense atmosphere made it feel like an eternity. Ronald was beginning to wonder how long this alley went on and why on earth anyone would erect buildings so close to one another when he heard someone whisper, "Ron..."

"Ronald!" he corrected quietly between clenched teeth.

"Would you just get over here!" Buck hissed at him.

He wanted badly to say 'over where?' but he just rolled his eyes and stumbled his way along the wall. He stopped when he bumped into someone. He broke into a cold sweat when he realized it was Lihoniel.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"Never mind that," she said shortly. "There's some kind of door. It requires a code to get in and there's a security camera up top."

"First thing's first, get rid of that camera," suggested Buck helpfully.

"I would if I could see it," Ronald answered flatly.

"Well, use light, or somethin'. Isn't this your thing?" Buck sighed.

"Sure, and let them all know we're here," Ronald shot back.

Out of nowhere came Wilemina's small whisper, "In this alley it's probably got night vision. I don't imagine it's ever light here."

"There, ya see?" said Buck. "Now you don't have to worry about it."

Ronald's heavy sigh was punctuated by a sudden snap and a little spark. Gradually the smell of electrical smoke wafted under each of their noses.

"There," said Lihoniel with a hint of aggravation. "Camera taken care of. Now, if we could shut the two of you up for a moment, maybe we wouldn't alert the whole building to our presence."

After a moment of abashed silence a small light suddenly appeared from seemingly nowhere. Ronald peered at the door, which was now plainly visible. He could see a small electronic keypad in the place where he would have expected a handle. He was a bit surprised at the level of sophistication hidden away in this back alley of the inner city. It suddenly occurred to him that these might not be common thugs they were dealing with.

He cleared his throat soberly. "I, uh, think I've seen one like this before," he said nodding to the keypad. "Should be just a few seconds." But a few seconds turned into a few minutes, then ten, then fifteen.

"How's it comin' there, buddy" came Buck's deep voice shattering the intense silence.

"It's coming," answered Ronald absently, truly too preoccupied to be irritated by the interruption. Suddenly there was a click and he added, "Ah, here we go!"

It was not Ronald's skill, however, that opened the door. The scrawny young man looked up at the enormous form of a half-orc in, of all things, a finely tailored suit. The massive humanoid grinned down at him and said, "Please, master, allow me to show you the way out."

As the huge creature reached for him there was a muffled crack and it suddenly leapt back howling. Ronald heard Lihoniel cock her rifle and recognized that she had just shot the half-orc with her silenced firearm. Not wanting to give their sudden opponent another chance, the young man jumped away from the door. He was not fast enough, though, as the half-orc came barreling into the alley brandishing a shiny chrome desert eagle. The shot reverberated back and forth between the walls making it sound like a much larger explosion. Ronald spun as the shot clipped him forcefully in the shoulder.
The half-orc yelled triumphantly and took aim at Buck next, but he did not get the shot off. He stumbled suddenly as Wilemina appeared out of the shadows and ran her wickedly-edged bowie through his thick hamstring. He half turned dumbly to see what trickery had befallen him when Buck began emptying his six shooters with surprising speed. Lihoniel's second shot whizzed over their challenger's head, barely missing him.
Ronald half sat up, wincing painfully at the hole in his shoulder. He was badly hurt, but he would not sit this fight out uselessly. He grit his teeth and fished something out of his pocket. He shouted out unintelligibly to the rest of them and threw what he was holding at the half-orc. A small dart bloomed from the creature's cheek, which started to smoke almost immediately.
The half-orc was truly enraged now. He leveled his massive hand cannon at the prone young man, but this second shot flew wide as the diminutive halfling once again tore into the beast with her now bloody blade. The once fancy suit he wore was now beyond salvage, riddled with holes and soaked with blood. The half-orc looked little better himself. He was moving sluggishly and the acid arrow was beginning to eat away his cheek. He looked like some kind of macabre zombie. This time Lihoniel's shot was true, and it seemed to be too much for the creature, who finally keeled over.

"Yee-haw!" Buck shouted loudly.

"Ssshh!" shushed Wilemina.

"Well, they already know we're here, darlin'," Buck pointed out. As if someone had heard this, the loud sound of an alarm emerged from the hallway beyond the door.

"Indeed," agreed Lihoniel. "We need to leave. Grab him," she commanded, pointing at Ronald who was still sitting up and wearing a dazed expression.

"C'mon little buddy," Buck said as he pulled the small man to his feet. He laid Ronald's good arm across his shoulders and helped him quickly down the alley with Wilemina in tow. They exited the dark crevice between buildings and were greeted by the sound of a siren very close by and getting closer.

"Who calls the police for gunshots in the ghetto?" Ronald asked weakly.

Buck chuckled, "Even more interestin', why would they come?"

The four of them hurried down the sidewalk and skirted around a corner to hide in another alley as the police drove by. Lihoniel looked extremely worried.

"We need to find a place to hide," the elf said breathlessly.

"I thought that's what we just did," Buck answered smartly.

"For a few days, jackass," she sighed irritably.

"Oh, right."

She sighed again, "This did not go at all how I planned."

"Don't worry, darlin'," Buck reassured her. "We'll work it out. In the meantime, let's find a place where we can fish this slug out.

Ronald laughed, though it was more of a sputtering cough. "You won't need to," he said. "I'm pretty sure it went straight through."

"Well, you still need to get that bandaged," said Wilemina giving him a severe look. "Might even need to see a doctor."

"I can see that ER paperwork now. 'Reason for visit: shootout'." Apparently Ronald was very funny when severely wounded.

End

Laziness begets efficiency.

This isn't the general rule, but sometimes figuring out how to work smarter rather than harder is rooted in nothing more than laziness. This is akin to "productive procrastination" (an Elgonism to those who have noticed that I posted links on the sidebar and who have followed at least one of them), but any form of procrastination is, by its very nature, anathema to efficiency.

This brings me to my time and space saving act of economic torpidity for the day. I recently sent an email to a friend, in which I ranted, as is my wont, for many lines. Now, I could simply open my email, copy it to notepad, edit it for trademark violations, open my blog, paste the edited email after a short intro, then post. Lethargy, however, has prompted otherwise. Since my friend was so kind to have done all that work for me in his blog, I will simply link to it. And please, while you're there, check out the rest of his stuff.

My email posted to oneoverxnews.blogspot.com

What kind of a dumb question...?

Ok so, when you sign up to create your very own blog, this particular site asks you a random question, the answer to which will be displayed in your profile, if you so desire. This was my question:

If you were a pirate, how would you avoid laughing when saying "poop deck"?

Fortunately, the site is more than happy to generate another question, should its original, seemingly random choice be not to your liking. I was torn when I saw this one. Surely the author of the query had a hearty chuckle to himself as it emerged from the quagmire of comedic sophistication that no doubt clogs the inner workings. I, however, said something to the effect of the title of this post.

Actually, that is not entirely true. I am somewhat glad this question was posed, and even more so because they offered a mere 150 characters for a response. My acceptance of the question originates from the admittance that I must confront an irrational hatred of a certain bit of vernacular, which, to my increasing ire, is used quite commonly. You'll see why I thought the size restriction of the answer was humorous as well, and why people like me need blogs.

So...how would I, were I a pirate and came upon an instance where the phrase "poop deck" was poised upon my salty, sea-air-chapped lips, avoid a mirthful outburst?

I would love to provide a smart-alec answer such as, "I'd simply remember how me daddy, First Mate Smythee McGeeman the Seaman, slipped on a bit of 'poop deck debris' and fell straight into the ocean where he became shark hors d'ouvres... Arrr!" Alas, there is something more sinister at work here preventing me from taking that simple route.

My real answer is that I would never have to come up with a way to avoid laughing because I wouldn't find it funny. In fact, I would probably avoid saying the phrase "poop deck" altogether, whatever inconvenience that might cause the rest of the crew. You see, the simple fact is that I despise the word "poop". And no, it is not because of what it represents; I have no problem with the word sh*t (and I only semi-censor it out of respect for those who do). It is just that particular assemblage of phonemes is like the scraping of fingernails across the linguistic chalkboard of my soul. I don't mind the word hoop. I find the word peep quite pleasant, quaint even. "Poop", however... See? I can't even write it without prophylactic quotations.

Anyhow, more about stupid questions. There are some who say there are no such things. There are yet others who follow that up with, "only stupid people." I am less inclined to agree with the former unless it is further clarified by the latter.

Now, I don't want to come off as a jerk, looking down my nose at everyone because I feel they are intellectually inferior. Really, I am hard pressed to call another human being stupid, no matter how frustrated I may get because he can't see something that seems obvious to me. So, in lieu of insulting all who happen to make the mistake of uttering an interrogative that embarrasses even them, let us all simply admit that there are indeed stupid questions.

Good. Now that we've taken this very therapeutic step towards recovering from this happy-shiny-there-are-no-stupid-questions stigma, let's identify some common types of genuinely idiotic queries so that we can recognize them in the future and separate them from the truly important inquiries that deserve answers.

There are generally two major classifications of stupid question, they are the hypothetical and the rhetorical. It should be pretty clear that the majority of stupid questions are rhetorical. After all, in most cases, why would you ask a question of someone that you did not expect her to answer (like this one)? Here are some examples:

1. "Are you ok?" (asked after the recipient has been injured in some way) - This is a fairly common one, and is generally only stupid when it invokes the ire of its victim. Human body language is usually pretty forthcoming when it comes to discomfort or pain. In general, it is this body language that triggers the question. Since the idiocy of this question is extremely variable, it should be used sparingly. A better question might be, "Will you be ok?" Any such questions should be avoided in the event of bleeding, convulsions, etc, until such occurrence of clearly "not being okay" subsides.

2. "Is it cold enough for ya?" (asked in an attempt to be humorous) - Unless you are fairly confident in your comedic talent, humorous rhetorical questions should be skipped. I know I am hardly the first person to point this example out, so I will not explain further. As a side note, though, if I ever hear that question directed at me, I will take my most convenient, dead, frostbitten limb and use it to beat the holy hell out of the jackass who thought asking that would be funnier than, say, getting me a blanket and turning up the heat so I could get the feeling back into my extremities, have some cocoa and trade anecdotes with him.

3. "How stupid do you think I am?" - Never ask a question that you will immediately follow up with, "Uh, don't answer that." Someone might hand you a sign.


Hypothetical questions are a bit trickier. A lot of times we ask them because we're seeking advice, but sometimes they're purpose isn't so noble. For example:

"If you were a hot dog, and you were starvin', would you eat yourself?"

Or...

"If you had a choice between bein' the top scientist in your field and gettin' mad cow disease, which would you choose?"

Of course, those examples were given because they were particularly amusing in their original context, but we've all heard similar queries, posed to presumably make us think or to elicit a response that will reveal something about our psyche. The question that prompted this post was one of this type. Some of these of questions are effective, just keep in mind that when a person has to choose between two undesirable options in the real world, she will typically select the third. And that is good advice.

Naissance

I would like to think, as I imagine most bloggers do, that this moment of conception is somehow significant. It is the birth of my very own blog, created by me to represent the very essence of blogging. Of course, it was not quite created by me alone. I have to thank Pyra, owners of blogger.com, for providing the womb in which this seed of my imagination can grow.

More importantly, however, it may very well be that this moment is not significant in the least. Go to http://www.google.com and type in the word "blog". Seeing what I am a part of makes me feel almost as insignificant as looking through the lens of my telescope and peering into an infinity so great that even the powerful optical assistance of my astronomical tool cannot begin to convey it. I know, though, that if it is significant to me then that is all that matters. Because, ultimately, my reality is what I perceive it to be. So, I will go on believing in the developing energy of my baby blog and have for it the aspirations one might expect any parent to have for his child.