Kickstart your Idea.

This post is a little late, the greater portion of a day, but it covers a very interesting website I've found, and that everyone should check out.

The website is called Kickstarter and its a website where you can market your entrepreneurial idea, and ask for start-up money from the denizens of the internet. It presents an awesome alternative to raising capital via loans, as the capital raised can be paid back in favours, and comes from several local backers, who are actually interested in your project, rather than a blank and faceless bank.

How does it work? Well, I encourage you to check it out, but what it seems like to me, is one of those advertisements for Public Broadcasting, which ask for your donations, and offer rewards at each pledge level: it's a wonderful idea, which I hope to see blossom into a thriving community of idea making, and backing, individuals.

So take a gander, and back a project. In most cases, a dollar will get you a nifty mention, and bigger pledges often get you bonuses like prototype versions of the game, or early-release privileges. This is the meritocracy Confucius was talking about. I love the internet.

Kibin, expanding its services, and going live with proffesional editing. Check it out!

https://www.kibin.com/blog/2011/09/20/get-your-papers-edited-by-kibin-professionals/

Check out the Newest Blog for Kibin, and check out me, here: https://kibin.com/proediting.php

I'm fourth highest ranked! Daniel Moore, for those of you who don't know my name.

RaD Characters

Rumour has it that Kibin will be accepting paid commissions in the very near future, which is really cool! Check it out at: https://kibin.com/index.php

Additionally, school is back in, so I'm busy. First essay is due tomorrow, and covers The Taming of the Shrew, which is the most blatantly sexist piece of literature that I've read in a very long time, though that's not what my essay says at all.

So in keeping with a Shakespearean theme, I'd like to talk about Rosencrantz-and-Guildenstern characters.

For those of you who aren't quite sure what I'm talking about, or who haven't read Hamlet, which is where the characters I am referencing are from, I will make it very simple: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are two characters that are so inseparable, and so similar that they are for all intents and purposes, a single character in your narrative. The same can be said of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, and the fat pirate, and the pirate with the wooden eye in Pirates of the Caribbean.

There are a few reasons to use a Rosencrantz-and-Guildenstern (RaD) character. The first, and one I just discovered, is that it makes for an interesting acronym. The second, and on a more serious note, is that characters like this generate dialogue. Characters, and there are exceptions such as Alice in Lewis Carroll's works, do not normally speak to themselves as if they are two people, and thus if suspension of belief is to be maintained, then a character can be split into two physical components, without actually creating a new character.

RaD characters generate dialogue through the sheer expedient of having more voices to add to the melee. In the same way they open up possibilities for wordplay, and fill space in a scene with a lot of movement. Ever wish your character could be in two places at once, just for a scene? Well, a RaD character can, as long as you are careful to realign the characters at the end of the scene, and make them persistently similar.

Fred and George are another perfect example of RaD characters, taken from Harry Potter. These characters are twinned (pun intended) in a reader's mind, and so their connection is heightened. When one is killed, the other feels it more acutely, and readers implicitly understand the interaction between the two. It is a great way to remove a character with all the sympathies that such an action generates from the reader, while still having the character live on. I would call it a road between the Song of Ice and Fire's killing off willy-nilly of characters, and some author's inability to kill their characters. In essence, you can kill a character, without removing him/her from the plot, or from your reader's hearts!

That's all for me for today, but I'll post as frequently as I can.

Charity Work

What the fuck internet? What is the world coming to?

So here's the deal. I've been volunteering for the past week, and have obviously fell behind on posting for you lovely individuals, and because I know none of you would ever be this ass-nine, I feel its safe to call some of the individuals out on their idiotic red-tape.

Last week I was asked to collect for a charity called Shinerama, a great cause raising money for Research into Cystic Fibrosis. Hundreds of students participated in this charitable event, and we were organized into teams at McMaster University in the morning, and bussed out to spend some of our time raising money for a good cause throughout the day. We were given Shinerama shirts, we dressed in clear and recognizable uniforms; we were in no way easy to mistake for hoodlums. When hoodlums start dressing in bright matching mechanic's smocks, let me know.

For starters, and I heard this from a Science Representative: a large group of fundraisers were booted out of the Limeridge Mall in Hamilton. They weren't accosting anyone, or pressuring for donations: they were in no way out of order and I know they would have gone out of there way to make people feel comfortable whether they offered a donation of not. Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the Humanities group was given a small plaza with an LCBO, a Beer store and a Wal-Mart. We asked very politely in each case whether we could collect outside of these establishments. Only Wal-Mart would allow us to collect (which I should count as a point in its favour: who would have thought the face-less corporation had a sort-of hear?), which was a shame in the first place. I understand the need to limit solicitation by businesses, but honestly, I can't think of any reason Wal-Mart could make an exception where the other two could not.

Anyways: halfway through our time collecting donations, we were informed that two individuals had complained about our presence, and we were let know by management that if we got another complaint we would no longer be able to collect. And this was the exact time at which I asked myself what the world was coming to.

I and my fellow humanities reps went out of the way to accommodate every individual. I thanked everyone for their donation, and I was very understanding and positive towards those who did not offer a donation. I never asked an individual for a donation twice, and we handed out stickers to ensure that those who donated wouldn't be asked again. We smiled. We sang cheers for those who donated (S-U-P-E-R, super super that's what you are!) and generally we were a positive influence on our surroundings, and were met with warm receptions.

Now, I don't know if you are out there today, thinking 'I'm one of those who complained,' but rather than berate you if you are, I'd like to ask why you complained? Could there honestly be any more wholesome, constructive and positive use of highly motivated youths than charity work? And what right do a few individuals, and the bureaucratic power of business, have to limit charitable work? Now, I know we can be annoying, standing at the door when you don't want to donate: but suck it up! Bite the bullet, don't offer a donation, and go on with your day. Your discomfort for a few seconds means research for a cure, jobs for our graduating scientists, cheering and smiling customers!

In short: what charities do is the greatest good for the greatest number, and I for one couldn't give a damn whether two people had a problem with it.

*I am not in any way associated with Shinerama on a professional basis.

Drinking, in moderation.

So this week has been brutal! I'm loving it, but volunteering for full days since saturday has been both challenging and rewarding, and balancing groups of friends, all of who want to party after a full day of unpaid work is also interesting. So this post will be short, as I've just come back from a party, it's 12:30, I'm under the influence and struggling to keep this post coherent. My life is full, and its stressing me, but I'm handling it well, and for a while, over-working myself should pay off. Word later on if I push it too far.

Bias and Jolly Ranchers

So, internet, this week begins my volunteer work for the University, as a Humanities Rep. and McMaster Ambasador. What does this mean? Well, I'm welcoming first years to the university, getting them settled, moving their stuff, and living on cheap hot dogs. I'm doing all of this for free, or rather, at a cost to myself: 60$ for a rep suit, 10$ for blue hair dye, 10$ for fabric paints to decorate my rep suit. (Welcoming first years to the rest of their life? Priceless.)This all starts Saturday. Today, I have training, which I'm not terribly worried about, I'm more concerned with looking forward, to the impression first years will have of me.

I'm a guy, 20, and I have the longest hair of all my friends (not as long as it once was, mind you, but still respectably past shoulder length). Now, I have gone shorter more recently, but I still make a 'sketchy' first impression when meeting people, and I'm working very hard to fight against this bias when welcoming students to a new environment. No, I don't smoke pot, but I'm for its legalization. No, I don't listen to metal, but I have a solid appreciation for the instrumentals. No, I am not a hippy, a hobo or crazily extroverted.

In short, I'm 'mostly harmless' and I want to be approachable for first years, so they can ask questions, find food, and be comfortable entering a new era of their lives. I don't like the bias attached to me, but I understand it, and I'm working against it so that I can help all the first years who I know will be as nervous as I was starting university.

For starters, I'm wearing a giant name-tag, with a smiling goofy, poorly drawn frog on it. If people are scared by this frog-smiley, then I don't know what to do. Secondly, I'm dying my hair blue, and making it as crazy as possible so that others understand that I understand that they understand that we understand that everyone understands that people understand that I know my hair is sketchy.

Beyond that, I have to hope and pray that my first impression isn't a sour one, and that I can offer a little guidance and experience to these kids. And, speaking of biases, that's another one I need to avoid: its fair for me to say I have some experience on the first years, but I need to stop thinking of them as kids! Most of them are only a year or two younger than me, in rare cases, three years younger. So, just as I am judged by my appearance, I have to make sure I don't judge others by their age, or by their years in University.

In short, all this lack of communication could be lessened by a clear lack of bias, and, because it relates so nicely, I'll mention that the Swedes are helping to create just that situation in pre-schools: http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/parenting/banning-him-and-her-in-preschool-is-good-for-kids-2537090

So, next time you meet someone, and I know this is cliche: don't judge a book by its cover, might be you'll miss out making new connections, gaining experience, and leveling up. That guy in the van? If you're an adult, you better damn well check to see if there is candy before assuming he's a serial killer! Maybe you just missed out on a bucket of jolly ranchers. (Kids, ask your parents if its safe to consume a stranger's joly rancher.)

Dialogue + Use of quotations: general rules

So, I've been doing some editing on Kibin, and I've noticed that a lot of users, even those at the post-secondary level, have a lot of problems integrating quotes and using dialogue. I am going to quickly adress that issue, because I don't have all the free time now that I did when it was summer.

So here it is, in point form:

Punctuation goes inside the quotation marks: "The period should come at the end, like this."

When citing a work, punctuation comes after the citation: "Green Eggs and Ham" (Dr. Seuss).

When providing dialogue from multiple characters in a work of fiction, each gets their own line:
"Hi Jane, how's life?" Rob asked, eating a bagel.
"Not too bad, yourself?" Jane replied, plucking the bagel from his hand and dancing away from his reach.

Finally, if you are quoting, a character in a fiction, even if that character is a first-person protagonist, and is thus, 'you' in the story, use double quotes: "Like this." If you are quoting anyone in real life, directly or otherwise, use double quotes: "Like this." If you are quoting something you say often, or something that 'everyone' says often, or something that needs clarification, or that must be clarified from context within the society it is being written, then use single quotes, like this: 'everyone is a critic.' Bear in mind that when writing a narrative, if single quotes are used, then the author is speaking. If I break into a single quote dialogue in the middle of a fictional narrative, it is now me, as the author, speaking to the reader. You should never, ever do this, ever.

I feel this single quote, double quote conundrum could use further explanation, but I am too lazy to give it now, and I figure this is boring enough as is. On Friday, hopefuly, an interesting post! 

Kibin and my return from hiatus.

Picture unrelated. So, internet, do I get a big hug back from hiatus? No? No one? Okay, fine, then I'll just tell you about something cool I've discovered recently.

Ever wanted an extra pair of eyes on your writing? Like maybe, a free peer editing service? Which guarantees turn-around times? Where you can rate the reviewer, or pay to choose which reviewer you use? Sure you have, that's why Kibin exists.

Check this out: http://www.slideshare.net/500startups/kibin

So, because I really love this idea, I've put a lot of time into raising my Kibin level. I'm not sure it'll be worth it, but I figure the ability to list editing experience on my resume makes up for it. With Kibin, you are essentially a volunteer freelance editore, with the possibility of paid gigs down the road, and right now in my life, that works for me. So I'm almost level three, which I got to by reviewing a bunch of things, and the experience has been really cool. I've reviewed the work of fellow university students, of master's students, or individuals who speak English as a second languages, of a Proffesor in Linguistics, and quite a few works of fiction, and even one poem! Its been very interesting.

Anyways, check it out, it's a growing site but already very cool, and I expect it to jump in growth when summer ends. Link here, for people to lazy to type Kibin into Google: https://kibin.com/

The Little Words (Part 1)

A pirate bay = some water and some sand. The Pirate Bay = the world's most resilient torrent site.

There are some very small words in the English language which most often escape notice. The word ‘the’ for instance, the words ‘if,’ ‘of,’ and ‘or.’ These are words that as writers, we use, and need, but don’t take the time to really think about.

Dictionary.com gave me this, and it aligns well with what I already had in mind for the word’s definition:

     The 

definite article (used, especially before a noun, with a specifying or particularizing effect, as opposed to the indefinite or generalizing force of the indefinite article a or an )

The reason to use ‘the’ instead of ‘a’ or ‘an’, is to draw the reader’s imagination to the most readily, or most obvious comparison available to the idea you, as the author, are putting forward. For instance, by saying ‘the doctor’ you can pull the reader’s mind to any doctor previously mentioned, or at the front of the reader’s mind. This allows comparisons that would otherwise be obvious, to be more carefully hidden, while retaining their power to influence your reader’s perception of the narrative. After an obvious Frankenstein reference, saying ‘the doctor’ will call to mind not only Victor Frankenstein as an individual, but will also associate Mary Shelley’s  protagonist’s willingness to meddle with creation, or play God, with ‘the doctor’ in your own narrative. 

What ‘the’ does is cue the reader’s mind to search for the most readily available example of a specific noun. The difference between ‘a mansion’ and ‘the mansion’ is that the first is a large house, while the second is likely old and haunted. Where this is not always true, of course, it bears keeping in mind that the words haunted and mansion are closely associated. Where ‘the’ will attempt to maintain these associations, ‘a’ or ‘an’ will disassociate the object and allow you as the author to describe the piece.

The trick is using this word to your advantage, and removing it where it will conjure an image which conflicts with the one you are attempting to portray. If something is very specific to your narrative, it is important to describe it first, create an image in your reader’s mind, and later draw it forth by calling it ‘the noun.’ You have to be aware, that if you say ‘the zombie,’ you have accidentally conveyed to your audience that the creature is a decaying, slow-witted, flesh-hungry and evil creature. If your zombie is anything other than a ‘normal’ movie zombie, then saying a zombie lends itself more readily to explanation. The words will even flow more evenly into description if used in their proper manners:

1) “The zombie approached, a decaying, shambling thing, intestines trailing behind as it stumbled forward.” 

2)“A zombie broke from the clearing, strands of black sinew grown of the Helio virus webbed each leg and it bounded like an ape towards its prey.”

There are reasons for both the general and the specific: Where you don’t have time in the narrative to describe, a specific title such as ‘thejoker,’ or ‘the thief,’ can conjure a powerful image in the reader’s mind with little development required on your part. R.A. Salvatore’s works spring to mind as a perfect example of this narrative device: quite often, and I believe quite intentionally, Salvatore says ‘the Halfling,’ ‘the Drow,’ and ‘the barbarian’ when describing Regis, Drizzt and Wulfgar respectively. Each time these words are used they ask the reader to recall their most recent image of the character. 

By saying ‘The Drow approached,’ the reader is immediately made certain of the character’s identity; who could it be but Drizzt? If Salvatore was intending to introduce a new character, reintroduce a character who hasn’t been focused on in a while, or just keep the reader in suspense as to the Drow’s identity, then he would use the vague ‘a Drow.’ Or an even more vague example: ‘A dark figure appeared on the horizon and then vanished from sight.’ Again, if Salvatore said: ‘The dark figure appeared on the horizon and then vanished from sight,’ there would be no doubt in the reader’s mind who the dark figure was.

In short, there are a few things to take into account: 

‘a’ or ‘an’:  General: Should be used to described qualities of a narrative which you feel are unique to your writing. Should be used the first time something is described, planting an image to be retrieved later. Does not call other interpretations to mind, and essentially conjures a blank slate in your reader’s mind. For instance, ‘a drow’ might look like this:

(A fan drawn image, but of a random drow, rather than of Drizzt. I typed in: ‘a drow’.) Site: http://elvenawakening.blogspot.com/2006/01/drow-elve.html

 

‘the’:  Specific: Links the reader’s thoughts to other instances of similar nouns creating more depth in a character with less work. If the character has been earlier described, links the reader’s mind to that description, rather than outside descriptions. Does not leave much room for customization: when a writer says ‘the vampire’ there is a immediate assumption that the normal stereotypes of a vampire will apply to this character, regardless of how he is otherwise flavoured. ‘The’ calls to mind a specific entity; to Salvatore readers, it conjures this: 

Drizzt: the old picture didn't work.

Try it for yourself: throw ‘the X’ and ‘a X’ into a google image search, and see what you come up with.

Dealing with Writer's Block

Now, I understand this subject has been covered in detail by many other sites, but I'd like to add my two Cents. Having just come out of a bout of writer's block, I feel now is a great time to speak to it.

Here are things I try to bump myself out of the Writing blues:

1) Write on paper for a while. You wouldn't believe the results I've gotten just by jotting a few lines with my pen and taking a break from the computer.
2) Buy new pens, or a new notebook, or go online and download a new word program, or use a new word processor. Change it up a little and you'll be surprised how your mind rewards you.
3) Take a break, have a nap or eat something. Food and sleep are important motivators for thinking. Especially keep in mind that the brain runs on pure sugar, so drink a coke, eat a couple gummy worms or have an ice-cream cone.
4) Can't afford to take a break? Rest your mind in a constructive way: do some housework, read a book, have someone critique your writing, or do something else important to your life while you wait for your creative engine to kick into gear.
5) If all else fails, force yourself to write. If you must, if you simply have to get some writing done for NaNoWriMo, for work, for a dozen other reasons, then just do it. Don't worry about whether it's good, mediocre, or even worth reading, just write something, and later, when your creativity comes back to you, rewrite the blundering piece you've stumbled through.

And that's all I have to say on the matter. Its not rocket science, and sometimes you just have to force it, regardless of how much it hurts your creative sensibilities.

Reflections: an optimistic rant

I was recently asked about youth literature, its disconnect with our children, myself and my friend included, and where I am at in life at this moment in time: here is the answer I came up with. She also asked me to use a pseudonym, for her name, and for my own.

Dear Franzi,

You sealed your fate when you suggested I could rant about what I want, for the entirety of what is essentially, a creative writing assignment. How would I NOT do that? Also, I’ve always wanted to make a witty pseudonym for my writing, and this gives me an excuse for such horse play. Anyways: what to say? First I guess, about you. We’ve known each other for more than a year now, we met in first year university, and I am certainly glad that I met you. As far as I can, I’ll sum up what I think of you in two words: young + intelligent. What do I mean by that? Well, a few things. By intelligent, I mean mature enough to handle a situation, ie. university, in a way rare for someone so young. I mean sheer intellectual prowess: the ability to get the marks you do, and deal with the internships you’ve won through hard work, and cope with the pressure of one of the hardest university degrees offered. And I mean your ability to navigate the social minefield that is university with only mild glitches. By young I mean your energy, your ability to wake up in the morning, your enthusiasm for joining clubs, moving (when I’d far prefer to sit down, or sleep) and studying, working and advancing your station. But also, young in the way ice cream and chocolate eggs disappear in your vicinity. And finally, young in your willingness to try new things, meet new people, and cook new foods. All in all, you’re vibrant, bright and vital.

Now, back to the rant at hand, which is what I’m thinking about in life, about where I am: Well, a moment ago I was thinking about physics, chemistry and biology, and how to build those three strains of science into a working ‘magic system’ within a narrative, but that’s beside the point. Life for me is good, I’m happy, I have a wonderful girlfriend, brilliant marks, I’m optimistic, even though it doesn’t always come across that way, and I am very hopeful for my future. What I’m lacking is the motivation which I see behind you, behind Andrew, and the energy that I see from both of you. If you haven’t noticed by now I see a lot of similarities between you two, but that isn’t the point.  The point is, I see very clearly what I have, and the attributes both negative and positive of myself and those around me: I pride myself on being able to see my flaws, and see what I have going for me, and work to diminish the earlier and accentuate the latter. I know I’m arrogant, but I feel if I’m open about it, it lessens the negative impact of the failing. And I know I sometimes lack motivation, so I work to emulate you, and Andrew, and Pat, and Dana and even Victor, though admittedly he is more easily distracted than those mentioned earlier. I think, dragging this rant back towards your question about youth literature, that the reason – and here comes classic arrogance on my part – that the reason youth literature doesn’t appeal to us, is two-fold. One: we are exceptional, and two, we are quickly becoming adults. Youth literature: and this is coming from an English student, so I feel I can speak with some authority, is stagnant. Not because it is poorly written, or poorly considered, but because it fails to take into account the new generation of youths, and because it underestimates the 'masses'.

We are a primarily optimistic generation, and more educated then ever before. Despite the media trying to tell us we are depressed about global warming, overtaxed by school and going to carry the burden of our elderly, our generation is one that has never seen a lack of plenty. It is a generation that pursues higher education with vigour, and a generation old before its time. The new generation, who has googl’d everything they ever wanted to know, which is full and totally sated with intelligence, and won’t be satisfied with dumb narratives and flat characters. Furthermore: a generation that understands the limits placed on our education and will happily attempt to remove them. Now, I’m not sure whether this optimism is me projecting, or whether society actually wants a happy ending, but I’m willing to call out the lacklustre narratives we’ve been given, the lack of vibrancy in our literature, and the formulaic approach of sex and violence applied to all of our media. Now, I have to end this rant, but I’ll tell you why I can’t relate to most narratives: they follow a formula, they ‘understand’ what we want and try to give us that. Well, here is what I want:

I want a love story, where things die and everything goes wrong, where the characters are real, the losses and successes are real, and the resolution is real. I want literature that is like life, but does away with its boring aspects, its high school drama, its sparkling vampire nonsense, and puts some real back in our fiction. I want a flawed protagonist, and a flawed heroine, and I want them to live happily ever after. But I want something of substance to happen first. I want a story written because the writer wanted to express him or herself, not because the boys in marketing asked for it. In short, I want nothing less than perfection.

Anyways: I’ve already gone far and over the word limit, and off topic, but that’s my piece.

Very Sincerely,

AnEpicWittyAwesomeSoundingPseudonym

Robot Ninja Fights

 

 So, I found this picture on CGunit, and really liked it: y'know, if just kind of popped out at me. And since I have some time on my hands finally, I wrote a short story based on the picture. This relates to my previous post: here. Also, this artist has clearly found his awesome, as the piece is very simply titled Ninja. Again, ask any guy, and Ninjas are awesome.

Anyways. The purpose of this post is to adress fluff. Besides finding your awesome, take into consideration that not everything has to be deep. Not everything has to be meaningful in a work. Some things can just be increadibly fun to write. And this short, was incredibly fun for me to write, and I don't care if anyone thinks it's deep:

Ninja Fighting Robots:

Chaos. All the forethought poured into a warrior’s repose is meant to mitigate the chaos of battle. They’d surrounded him outside of New Tokyo. 

Buildings towered above him in the night sky, and rain fell thick and cold. The sharpness of streetlights glinted on the half inch of exposed blades either side of his neck, swords crossed in an ‘x’ on his back. A red scarf was tied about his head, bright blue eyes rheumy with cataracts peered out but the crimson cloth covered the remainder of his head.

There was a sharp snapping, and the soft sound of bare feet on pavement. Djinn could hear the whirring of gears, the quiet screaming of hydraulics and pneumatics. It wasn’t something human, the thing that followed him. It was the same he’d encountered earlier, damaged from the previous confrontation, limping behind him. Its eyes were bloodied and damaged.

It made no attempt to hide itself, shambling painfully behind him. The android looked human and wounded – those who stepped from its path in a swirling torrent of crowds turned heads towards it in pity. Djinn understood it didn’t deserve pity, didn’t understand the looks given it to ease its passing.

Both Djinn, his black robes swirling behind him, and his pursuer barely keeping pace in tattered clothes falling off of shoulders and dripping with blood, walked without stop or change of pace. It took hours, but they reached the outskirts of New Tokyo, passing under the last of the multi-lane highways and out into the dirt of the sub-city. The last rays of sun lanced, perforating the shadows, from the city above. The sunset lent a bright orange glow to the environment, the concrete pillars stood scattered about the desolation, carrying the city above. As Djinn and his lone pursuer left the city, other creatures of metal and sinew joined the shambling creature.

The light that filtered through to the sub-city turned orange, leftovers of richer society’s sunset. The night began to grow dark, the concrete and metal above stealing life from the sky. Djinn turned to face his pursuers. The first stood centered, flanked by greater monstrosities, creatures which had kept hidden in the streets of Tokyo, which wouldn’t have passed as human. Where the first was  sympathetic, near-human, the others were strange, strong and monstrous. The first’s right hand man was a towering creation, an industrial construction robot, draped with flayed skin and armed with a steel girder, crushed at one end to make a grip. Through his exoskeleton the second’s inner workings could be seen, armour of corrugated iron bolted over vital apparatuses.

The third was tall and lean, a maintenance drone reworked for combat. Its arms were long, plated with steel fish scales. They were far too long, disproportionate to the creature’s body, and they writhed like snakes, no joints, but rather built like vines. Finally, standing behind, broad about the chest, it’s face split like a grin, stood an assembly drone, a  heavy set monstrosity built for lifting, but with fingers on its forelimbs for assembling smaller parts. It stood on four taloned legs which had replaced the standard issue flat-bracers. It had four arms, two with hydraulic fists which grasped a great and wicked scythe, and two with more delicate manipulators, built in saws, scalpels, screwdrivers and laser-welder. It was a machine for making machines, and under its legs which raised it high above its brethren scurried several dozen half-human sized scrap drones, each armed with clumsily forged steel swords.

Djinn waited. There was no advantage to be gained by charging them as a group. He loosened his blades revealing a further half-inch of metal, and then reached within his cloak to pull out a flame lance. At this provocation the drones charged forward as one and the orange of the light slipped through the spectrum to a pale red, and then the entire sub-city was bathed in blood-crimson by the sunset above. It must have been beautiful somewhere up above, but down here in the cloudy rheumatism of Djinn’s sight and the billowing dust of the sub-city, the beauty couldn’t penetrate. 

The machines charged as one, except the assembly drone with its scythe and the limping first. Blue flames spiralled from the lance which Djinn fired from the hip as he walked slowly backwards, and the smallish scrap drones burst into flame and melted into slag as they were eaten by the fire. Then the fuel cartridge was spent and Djinn’s twinned blades left their sheaths. There was a blur as the snakelike third dove at Djinn, its pincer tipped armed diving for throat and legs simultaneously, and rebounding harmlessly from blades with a sharp metallic clang. And then the second closed, the stink of dead flesh falling off of it and assaulting Djinn in waves. It’s fists came smashing forward and forced Djinn into a roll, rising to his feet in time to shift his weight and dodge a strike by the snake-armed maintenance drone. Then the scrap drones were on him, coming from every angle. But their blows didn’t hold the strength of their bigger brethren, they were clumsy and ill-used and Djinn turned them aside easily, spinning about to face the most immediate threat as it came. 

There was one simple problem Djinn foresaw, deep in thought even as he forced away blow after blow, and intercepted a crushing blow from the construction drone with both blades crossed. His flesh would tire, but there was no reason for the machines to slow the attack. This cold realization sent a flutter of panic through his limbs, adrenaline sparking throughout his body as he shifted in to an attack. 

In the distance the first and the fourth, the cripple and the spider had started to move, were approaching the larger melee which Djinn was making an attempt to extract himself from. With a slight shift of motion, careful to conserve his momentum, Djinn flicked his ankle and leapt gently into the air. He stepped upwards, an ungraceful cut sliding under him as he ascended, and placed a crushing blow with his boot into the nearest scrap drone. The step-up gave him more height and he levelled a false-blow against the snaking third which flowed out of the way and gave Djinn an easy angle on the second.

Spinning his sword in hand to stab, Djinn landed with a squelching of rotting flesh on the shoulders of the towering second. Before the construction drone could react Djinn’s blades plunged into its torso at each side of the neck, neatly screeching through connective components between the brain and the rest of the drone. The thing’s death throes tore Djinn’s headscarf from his face so that it fluttered around his neck, and sent the girder it had wieled spinning into the distance. The light above finally faded and the sub-city was plunged into black.

Djinn’s dance resumed, but it was aggressive now. The first kill had been the hardest and Djinn flew like a hurricane after the others. Dragging blades through scrap drones as the snaking third gave pursuit Djinn felt the surge of energy that only victory could bring. The maintenance drone’s limbs continued to fall short and the scrap drones were thinning. Djinn feigned a dive towards the last group, and as they scattered away from the telegraphed blow, he shifted his weight mid-flight, fell into a roll and rose facing the third. 

It almost dodged away again, but it wasn’t ready for the sudden assault and as it turned Djinn brought a sword stabbing upwards where the creature's arm met its torso, pinning the lighter drone in place. His other blade came slashing home in a deadly arc, cutting the creature in two. It fell to the ground motionless and Djinn turned to renew his assault on the scrap drones, scarf fluttering a bright red in the dismal night.

The fourth drone, the spider, stepped between Djinn and his quarry. Djinn kept his speed, let his opponent judge his advance, and when the spider began to move he killed his movement. He hit a dead stop and felt the rush of air as the sweep of the creature's scythe slid before his face. Then Djinn was within the weapon’s arc and the scrap drones were helpless, unable to save their father. Djinn fell to his knees as he charged and brought both blades over his head to sever the spider drone’s forelegs. The machine came crashing forwards and Djinn started to roll from the collapse, but too slowly, and found himself pinned beneath the machine. The bones in both legs shattered, his hip collapsed, snapped like a twig, and a searing pain shot through his body. His torso was still free and one of the three remaining scrap drones had been crushed beneath the spider, but the two that remained closed on him with the cripple following behind and the spider still moved, trying to right itself, grinding bones beneath its weight.

The pain was obscene, but Djinn moved quickly, he let loose of one blade, and grasping the other in both hands, drove it repeatedly into the spider. Finally there was a sparking and the machine stopped moving on top of him. It fell still, Djinn trapped beneath. The last two scrap drones raced at him, and each fell as it came within striking distance of Djinn’s blades, but the crippled first remained, out of reach and grievously wounded, it stood above Djinn, blood dripping from lacerations given at their last meeting. Not that the blood was anything but aesthetic for such a machine.

It had been so simple last time, but they had warned him. The cripple was a military intelligence and espionage drone, built to resemble a human, and built to learn from previous encounters. It had been a mistake not finishing it off, killing it where it lay, but Djinn couldn’t. Never had he been asked to spare a drone before. This had been the first. The cripple had wanted to live, and by saying so it had stayed Djinn’s hand. He had not thought it capable of causing any further harm. He had not thought a drone capable of seeking vengeance.

The cripple stood over Djinn, the ninja’s own flame lance in hand. Slowly it removed the fuel cylinder, and replaced it with a full one from a belt looped around its hips. With a grin it pointed the barrel at Djinn and all of the man’s composure fled: “Spare me, as I did you!” The ninja’s calm was flown. Death is always chaos and so he writhed against the weight that pinned him.

The drone raised the lance and pulled the trigger. Blue flame erupted into the air. It expended the fuel without ever searing Djinn, and for a moment the twitching of his heart slowed and Djinn felt himself saved by the mercy of the first.

The cripple knelt and picked up the sword Djinn had discarded, not once did he come within striking distance. He handled the sword no more eloquently then the scrap drones, but the cripple was smarter. He was a machine, and Djinn only human. The cripple attacked with a simple downward slash as if he were chopping wood, and Djinn parried the blow easily, but the cripple swung again, and again. He would never tire, Djinn knew, and again raised his arm to block the blow. Flesh would fail before pneumatics and steel, the blows would not stop coming, and the cripple would never put itself in danger. All Djinn could do was repeatedly raise his blade in defence. 

Soon the blows came closer to his face. Soon his arm rose slower to resist each attack. Soon the blade sunk into his shoulder. Soon Djinn lay bloodied and burried under metal. He pleaded for the cripple to stop, and somewhere in the dark of his mind, Djinn had time, beneath the chaos to wonder if machines could seek vengeance, if this was vengeance or if there was another purpose driving the blows.

Soon the sword burried itself in Djinn's face, slicing deep between fogged blue eyes. And then with a simple human voice, a feminine whisper, the first said, “Mercy is a human trait,” but, Djinn thought with his lask flicker of life, so is vengeance. Then there was no chaos, and never would be again.

By: Daniel T. Moore

(Feel free to post the story where ever, just give me credit for writing something about ninjas.)

And that's all for today. Hope you enjoyed my little attempt at awesome.

Don’t tell it like it is; show us how it’s done.

Robitz. Always cool.

Showing and telling are the two fundamental elements of any narrative. Dialogue and description. While both elements are necessary to create awesome fiction, one element shines above the other when selling your narrative to your audience. When you’re writing the first few scenes of a story, show, don’t tell. The reason for this is that showing an audience what your character does will create much more understanding, and characterize more powerfully, within those crucial first moments of reading.

Later, dialogue can be used to flesh out more important aspects of a narrative, but at the opening, keep it to a minimum. No one wants to hear a discussion, unless it’s interesting, and I would suggest that no discussion between two characters is interesting enough to open a narrative, at least not until you’re famous: then you can start your work however you want, and people will still read it. The truth is, readers aren’t going to give you the benefit of the doubt, and no matter how deep your work is, it still has to be awesome first. Readers appreciate depth, character development and plot in a narrative, but they will read your book for the awesome factor.

Now, the awesome factor varies from audience to audience, but it’s important to have. In a Christian audience, or a highly religious audience of any kind, this awesome value might be direct communication with God, in which case works like Conversations with God can get away with being almost completely dialogic because the act of dialogue in such a manner, is, in itself, awesome. In the same way, dialogue between the character and the reader is perfectly acceptable, because the awesome value comes in the narrator talking to the real person holding the book. Dialogic openings like this include Rorschach’s opening lines in Watchmen, or Ishmael’s in Moby Dick: “Call me Ishmael.”

Warning: the awesome value may change according to age group and gender. A sexy opening is only going to appeal to those attracted to the gender exuding sexiness in the scene. An action packed opening is only going to appeal to those who appreciate that specific type of action, hence the old saying: know your audience. The point in all of this, however, is that Cliché openings and especially those riddled with dialogue between two characters that we don’t know yet, are a mistake. They say don’t start your story with weather, and I’ll agree with that. Unless it’s a destructive, elemental storm instrumental to the plot (Shakespeare’s The Tempest, I'm looking at you), no one cares if it was raining. I would add, don’t start your story with a conversation. Unless you are sure of this conversation’s ability to grab your reader’s interest, then it is most likely a mistake. So start your work with something awesome, and here’s how to tell if something is awesome: 

1)      1) If you have to ask yourself whether it’s awesome, it isn’t.

2)      2) If it takes time to explain why it’s awesome to another human being, it isn’t awesome to them.

3)      3) If you don’t think it’s awesome, it isn’t.

If all else fails, summarize the opening scene in a few sentences, and pitch it to someone who is in your target demographic. If you are selling a teen romance, talk to a teen girl. Tell them it’s a story about a girl and a guy which starts with: *your selling-it scene here*. For instance, I just wrote a short story, which I will be posting this Wednesday that begins with a Ninja fighting Robots. Three words: ninja fighting robots. Ask any guy around the ages of 14-40 and he thinks that’s awesome. No questions asked. Ninjas are cool, robots are cool, and the two fighting must be awesome.

So I challenge you! Go find your awesome, but come back on Wednesday and read my awesome. For free, of course.