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prima-materia-ttrpg · 7 months ago

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It Begins / How do I introduce over six months of development in a single post?

Salutations, I'm a gay nerd and I wanted to make a fantasy ttrpg with a setting that panders to myself and anyone else who might have my taste so here we are :)

The ttrpg in question is Prima Materia, and I've been working on it for a while and making ok progress so I figure I should probably start a devblog (that's what this is) so I can finally start sharing it rather than keeping the entire project within my own circle of friends, never seeing the light of day beyond that. Particularly because I'm finally playtesting some aspects and want to actually release it into the wild someday so people can share and play it as they please.

Ah, so you've clicked the keep reading link? OHOHO you fool I shall unleash an infodump of epic proportions onto ye!

*checks notes*

Right I should probably introduce this project in more depth and explain how I got to this point, and why I'm working on it in the first place. A chronological account should suffice.

Back in the days of yore (2020) when I was getting into ttrpgs for what would become the third time I had first gotten into them (previous times don't count), I was trying to create a setting for DND so I could become a DM for the first time, fueled by the disappointment that every other game I'd been a player in ended after about 2 sessions max. Making an entire setting is of course not recommended for first time DMs, particularly ones that ever want to play the game, but of course this did not dissuade me for I am built different [incorrectly].

I built a tidally locked planet for that campaign, filled it with lore and towns and cities and an apocalypse that happened some time in the past. All was well, and the campaign lasted about a year before the holiday season came and caused it to dissipate. Reduced to atoms. By that point I had been homebrewing creatures and items for my homebrewed setting, including new playable species and subclasses. Homebrew is like a glue trap, and brother, I'm a dead rat.

After that campaign ended the OGL scandal hit (among many other things I won't go into depth about) and I saw the need to create for myself a place where I can always and forever write fun stuff to share with others, in a system that I have control over. After all, integrating the system and the setting, building them explicitly to serve each other, would allow for much more creativity.

That setting still exists on my hard drive, and while I do import some of my original work for it into Prima Materia's setting from time to time, it is dead and shall remain dead until such a time I can completely re-write it to make sense in Prima Materia. But it's so ingrained with DNDs lore that it honestly would be more like an homage to the original campaign I had with my friends.

So, I got to work. I started, of course, with watching a million videos on the subject of making a ttrpg and not actually writing anything down. But eventually, an eternity later, I was ready. I started doing some science-adjacent worldbuilding to build the initial planet for the setting, in which the initial setting would be. I created continents that looked mildly plausible, charted out ocean gyres, wind patterns, and finally climates. This continued for a while, and I made the playable species and started figuring out where on the continents they would have evolved so I could figure out what their cultures would eventually be in the modern day after 10,000 years of history.

In short, I had worldbuilder's disease; and while I did make some decent progress on mechanics like dice rolling, some combat, skills, attributes and stats, it started coming to a head when I convinced myself that I needed to make a minimum of five conlangs in order to name seven continents (and various cities).

Enter stage left, one of my friends who thinks my project is cool but recognizes that I am not getting much done. This friend, Spinz (who I hear has their own project coming down the pipeline by the way >w>), has become my Screamer of Tasks and is reminding me of the important things to focus on to actually make the ttrpg a reality some time in this millennium. Thanks to their help, I've been able to get to the stage where I am able to inflict my project onto my friends so that I may playtest mechanics and generally have an otherwise fun time with them.

So what actually is the setting? That seems like a lot of buildup and waffling.

True! I felt it was important to explain where the project is coming from. As for the setting itself, I don't think I can do better than the introduction I already wrote for it in the PDF. So here's that.

After several hundreds of trillions of years the last known natural stars in the universe began to die, heralding the end of the stelleriferous period and the start of a new age full of the neutron cores and black holes they left behind. But the gods this universe spawned would not let their mother die so soon. They created new stars fueled by their own Prima Materia, the building block from which all other substance comes; a pure marriage between matter, energy, time, and thought through which the manipulation and creation of physics itself is possible.

The gods created massive bodies for themselves in orbit around their stars. Some fell into a deep sleep, some are content to watch as the eons of time give way to the fruits of their labor. Others still engage in grandiose projects of a more personal nature. But they all continue the work which allows for life to once again evolve in the small pockets of the universe which now continue to defy entropy, a constant stream of Prima Materia flowing from their bodies into the stars that they orbit. Some day, they too will reach the stars.

But that's old news, and there are none left alive to remember it but the gods themselves. In the world of Prima Materia, you play as a relatively normal sapient creature in a smaller corner of reality that has much smaller problems to contend with. Brigands, societal clashes, ancient ruins, dragons, and the wayward extra-universal threat to the planet. Many societies have also been able to harness certain powers of now free-floating Prima Materia through a process often known as "Alchemy." Alchemy, an involved study which requires just as much craftsmanship as it does ingenuity, has opened up an entirely new science for societies to develop in this age of the universe.

Who will you be? What legends will be written in your name?

There are several playable species in the setting, all of which have various distinct cultures. Koura, which are basically giant lobsters; Sepia, which are basically giant Cuttlefish; Humans, which are basically giant chimpanzees; Entari, which are strange bird pterodactyl things with feathers (they're hard to explain but I will get art I promise); Xente, which are basically giant amoeba (ones that can change their shape to be humanoid of course, what even would be the point if they couldn't); Possum, which are basically... bipedal possums and Ternaki which are basically short technicolor space elves (They believe in God). All of these species will get their very own blog post of course, but this post is hugely long and I'm getting worried about people getting bored so that's all for now.

In the future blog posts won't be this long I promise (hopefully) and they'll be a lot more focused on one thing. This blog is meant to record the development process, write down a lot of worldbuilding that has lived only in my head for too long, and link to playtests.

If you made it this far, holy crap you read a lot of my shenanigans thank you for your time I am indebted to you, truly. The next post will be about Dice Mechanics. Bye.

P.S. If you want to ask questions about Prima Materia (or me) you can send me an ask on my main blog @girlcodedcreature

#indie ttrpg #ttrpg #original content #small content creator #long post #cw long post #tabletop #indie games #indie rpg #tabletop rpg #sci fi and fantasy #thanks @donutboxers for help with the tags #prima materia #primamateria #@sp1n0za

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hanzajesthanza · 2 years ago

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anyone else prefer the saga? + why i love baptism of fire 🔥

[this post also posted on r/wiedzmin]

does anyone else prefer some of the titles in the saga to those of the short stories?

i’m not saying that i believe the novels of the saga are better than the short stories — no, i think the short stories are masterfully written and exemplify sapkowski’s technical skill as a writer, since everything has to be neatly wrapped up almost as quick as it started. the amount of theme-building and depthful side characters and conflicts he created in the short stories are impressive to me. sapkowski is better at writing short stories than at writing novels, as many have already said — and that's not insult to his novel-writing, either.

that being said, baptism of fire and tower of the swallow are my personal favorites in the series, i like them even more than the short stories — and i think, overall, the saga showcases pretty strong and compelling writing. that being said, the short stories are also amongst my favorites… for example, i would rank "something more" higher than blood of elves in terms of personal favorites... so, for me, it is not a clear division between "saga is better" or "short stories are better."

why I like the saga

i feel like sapkowski really got into the swing of novel-writing when it came to time of contempt and baptism of fire, as everything seemed to more strongly tie back to a central theme in these two books (see: the increase in the amount of title drops in TOC and BOF — everything is "a time of contempt" or "a baptism of fire") as when compared to blood of elves (the title relates to ciri's elder blood, elven-human relations, the exposition of the scoia'tael, the ruins of shaerrawedd... but it is not literally repeated over and over. i know for some, title drops are straight up annoying, i used to be in that camp, but now i've come to nerdily enjoy them. anyways...). i felt like all the scenes, events, characters, etc. during these two individual books related to one another perfectly, and i was never confused about how events were chronologically positioned with each other or how they would end up relating (which was-is a challenge for me with blood of elves, for instance).

blood of elves, for me, felt like it could have also have been a collection of short stories — as if sapkowski hadn’t fully shifted into “novel mode” with the witcher yet, each chapter (asides from chapters 1, 2 & 3) feel like their own "separate" story. yes, there is "blending" between the chapters, but it's not as masterful as in the later titles in the saga — it still feels like a stepping stone (which isn't necessarily a bad thing, depending on how you look at it, perhaps readers need that transitory book to transfer them into the saga).

but time of contempt and baptism of fire? no, these could have only have ever been novels. sapkowski begins to exploit the form of the novel as he uses the chapter-by-chapter progression to build action in the way of exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, resolution. the character development between ch. 1 and ch. 7 (or, for tower of the swallow, ch. 11, and for lady of the lake, ch. 12) feel like incredible lightning-fast, tiger-like bounds.

furthermore, i also felt like it was during the saga in which sapkowski (and i as the reader) began to see the world as “a world”, with geography and places that had distance from one another. and i appreciated how the world was built out procedurally, instead of with a map at the beginning of the book, an entire conlang to learn, and a stack of references to sift through, sapkowski just begins to hand us dates, names of months, phases of the moon, estimation of distance in furlongs and miles, names of rivers and geographical features… it feels extremely natural, and never forced. i am not studying for a test, damn it, i am reading a book for my entertainment, and i do not want any character telling me “this place, remember this place where this thing happened on this page of this book? that place?”. (this also contributes to re-readability of the books, in my opinion — try to re-read and piece all of the geographic and chronologic details together! it’s fun!)

let me get back to my larger point, which is my personal favorite book in the series and why.

why baptism of fire is my favorite

i think that baptism of fire, closely followed by tower of the swallow, is the strongest novel within the witcher saga for how the themes are compellingly echoed throughout the book, and for that reason, it is my personal favorite.

baptism of fire deals with the aftermath of thanedd, and as such, deals with the themes of sacrifice, penance, and paying off debts. it’s really just the falling action from time of contempt, which is why i understand that some dislike it — the characters just keep travelling, and travelling, and travelling! (maybe like geralt’s story to ciri in "sword of destiny"? “the cat walked, and walked, and walked…” “don’t think that i’ll fall asleep before he gets there!”)

for me, it is about the journey, not the destination — i found these travels to be very tightly woven, as the meandering of the characters and the additions of new characters all relate back to the core theme.

it is the classic hero’s descent into the underworld, into the topsy-turvy, upside-down land—and for this journey into the underworld, he will need a company of heroes to help guide him. but i find so clever about the setup of baptism of fire is how it subverts the trope.

(if time of contempt ch. 4 is "crossing the threshold," baptism of fire takes place in the "extraordinary world" and involves "meeting allies and enemies")

firstly, that this “underworld” is not a physically, literally separate world from the world of the witcher we have come to know. it is not an alternate dimension, another space and time — but it certainly feels like it, because this is WAR. how fitting for the “realistic fantasy” of the witcher, that the “underworld of evil dangers” is simply: a warzone, in which armies are clashing, in which people are mercilessly killed, refugees escape with empty eyes, and everything is on fire and smouldering. If you interpret it this way, that baptism of fire is the hero’s descent into an “other world”, it becomes such a powerful statement.

secondly, that our hero, geralt, does not know what to do and relies on his company for guidance. he’s not only injured and in a weakened state physically, but mentally and emotionally—geralt confuses a random girl for ciri in ch. 2 (soon to be echoed during his meeting with angoulême in the next book), his knee is paining him dearly, and he has no plan, completely thrown into the fire. he’s at his wit’s end, at the end of the world. it is not his strength, his cleverness, or any other heroic virtues which save him — it’s his friends.

speaking of his friends! thirdly, his company is not comprised of experts. this is not odysseus receiving counsel from his dead comrades, the other achaean heroes achilles and agamemnon in the underworld. asides from his long-time best friend dandelion, this team of heroes are newly-introduced strangers to geralt, and are an almost mind-bogglingly random, laughable assortment of—lovable, endearing—misfits, who do not fit in their assigned tropes or archetypes:

🏹🤰🏼 milva is stuck between her two identities of the ruthless killing of “milva” as known by the dryads of brokilon and the scoia’tael, and vulnerability of the human woman “maria,” challenged by the views of “what a woman should be” that she grew up with as a peasant girl of sodden. she is dealing with her pregnancy, which seemingly directly contradicts her life philosophy of dishing out death — instead of killing those around her, she has life developing inside her.

🌿🦇 regis is a vampire, but he does not touch blood. he has posed convincingly as a human for some time, and has devoted himself to humanity through healing. he is powerful, but also powerless (“to be able to sense the illness in the [girl’s] blood, but to be unable to cure it”). and on top of it, he is the wounded healer archetype, having struggled with addiction and having had quite a dark past characterized by "harm", now his life is characterized by "healing".

🦅⚰️ cahir, we have known for quite some time, but only in the previous novel did he receive a name — (and what a name, for now he keeps adamantly repeating it!) cahir, as dandelion notes in tower of the swallow, is the most peculiar member of the company, for it was he that kidnapped ciri at cintra, and thus geralt has great contempt for him when he first joins. cahir has been built up over the past two books as the representation of “nilfgaard” — a knight in black armor, burning eyes in the slits of his winged helmet, the knight or the bird of prey shrieks triumphantly! — but now, he is just a young man, bound in a coffin, terrified (ch. 2), and what’s more, say it with me — he is not nilfgaardian! especially by the end of the book, in which he fully renounces his loyalty to nilfgaard by fighting against nilfgaardian troops to save milva’s life.

so we have a woman who is not a woman, a vampire that is not a vampire, and a nilfgaardian that is not a nilfgaardian. similarly, we have a poet who is not writing rhymes in the safety of city walls, but is rather in the middle of a warzone (as milva says in ch. 2), and a witcher who is not slaying monsters but instead on a personal journey feeling deep soul-shaking emotions over his little girl. very provocative, very interesting! not only do they have an interesting setup as individual characters, and an entertaining dynamic as a group, even though they were really only introduced during this book — can you believe it? by the end of the book, it feels as if you’ve known them forever — but their characters inherently tie back to the core themes of the book, too.

milva, regis, and cahir, have all done something in their past they feel guilt for. milva led swathes of human men to their deaths, regis terrorized humans during his party days, cahir kidnapped ciri. similarly, geralt and dandelion also have something to feel guilty for. geralt, as a father, doesn’t know where ciri is and how to save her, when he promised they would never part again. dandelion, as geralt’s best friend, feels guilty that he could not help him during the thanedd coup, and now he is injured and has lost everything (see time of contempt ch. 5, when dandelion speaks with the dryad).

and the whole thesis of the book is that only together can they survive this hellhole, this warzone, and push forth to save — wait, what are they saving again?—

they are not saving the day, saving the entire world, going to topple nilfgaard itself (as geralt mocks in ch. 2) — no, the objective of their quest? the only thing which matters? ciri — a teenage girl, geralt’s daughter. yes, she is an extraordinary girl, yes, her bloodline is composed of the hen ichaer. but she is just a girl, at the end of the day, and the fact that the quest is her is a powerful statement about not only the characters, but about parenthood, childhood, girlhood…

it is true that ciri and yennefer’s stories take a back seat in this novel, with one dedicated yennefer point of view and scattered ciri point of view throughout — but i think this serves its purpose nicely.

in the case of ciri, her experiences tie back to the theme of debts and penance because she is, at the moment, committing the acts for which she will later seek penance. this demonstrates the cyclical nature of “doing wrong” and the human ability to err. tower of the swallow is moreso her time to shine and dominate the narrative as a character (which is why it is no coincidence that the plot gets a lot darker!)

in the case of yennefer, it is also true that in tower of the swallow she gets a dedicated chapter to her point of view, though she is mentioned and central to the plot in other chapters — and i think it works well, because she is such an independent figure. her character arc during baptism of fire is also about having erred in the past — during the lodge’s meeting on august 19th, it is revealed she had a hand in the breeding of royals like rabbits, and now regrets it — “damnit, how will i look the witcher in the eye?” — but now, in the present, she is only committed to ciri and ciri’s safety. she plays the role of a lodge member for the night, but thanks to fringilla and the oysters, she is out of there asap to embark on her own crazy, tooth-and-nail attempt to rescue ciri.

the themes of humility and sacrifice, as well as revenge and punishment, are more prominent in tower of the swallow than in baptism of fire — i was going to talk about tower of the swallow, but the post was already too long, maybe i will make another post in the future about how strong the theme-building is in that book, because i really love it. but as for now —

this is why i think baptism of fire is an especially strong novel:

the "flipping" of tropes, expectations, and archetypes to create interesting hypotheticals and messages. this echoes the strengths of the short stories, but takes it a step further to be not only provocative, but deep and nuanced in its own creation and development of characters and world.

the character development, especially for the main characters (baptism of fire geralt is my favorite geralt), and the introduction of new characters in the middle of the saga (ballsy move, but it really works)!

the heavy relation to the previous and next books in the series, while also being able to stand on its own as a novel because it is structured well.

themes of anti-war, friendship, and family are executed well, book has a good "message" (or "moral," as ciri says in "sword of destiny"). the world is a very dark and hopeless place, but there are good people within it, in order to survive, one must find friends and fight for not only yourself, but for the bonds you create!

worldbuilding is heavier than in previous books, but does not seem forced (there is discussion of geography as the company moves through the world), so it is immersive.

and, i just like it personally because it contains some of my favorite moments, characters, and places. such as the warzone with a battle raging in front of them and fire raging behind them in ch. 2, regis' cozy cottage (so atmospheric!) in ch. 3, the heartwarming and funny fish soup scene in ch. 5, and pretty much all of ch. 7 — regis explaining his past and philosophizing about the human psyche to an uneasy company, milva and geralt's emotional discussion, geralt being gifted his sihill from zoltan (the hero receives his sword! the quest has truly begun!), regis healing the girl from the camp, and the battle of the bridge!

what do you think? anyone out there like the saga, or one of the novels, more than the short stories? why or why not? and if so, what is your favorite book in the saga? if not, what is your favorite short story? i’m curious as to how “this was a better showcase of technical writing ability” interacts with “this is my personal favorite, because reasons!”

#the witcher books #the witcher #geralt of rivia #milva barring #emiel regis #cahir #dandelion #witcher #wiedźmin #chrzest ognia #baptism of fire #book: baptism of fire #c: milva #c: cahir #c: regis #analysis #i put this in lowercase for tumblr because i am familiar with code-switching. lol

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idioticbat · 2 years ago

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Not gonna lie, but I'm really fed up with drawing tech, I have been for at least two years now, and not being assertive about that and still doing commissions with that theme was one of the things that really burned me out earlier this year and helped me develop health problems which are still affecting my everyday functioning almost a year later.

Yeah, I need an income (and kinda real bad at the moment), but after discussing that with close friends I came to the conclusion that it’s just not worth it having terrible anxiety from drawing stuff I don’t enjoy, over and over again, then getting physically ill from all the stress involved.

I do enjoy drawing a lot, it’s one of the things that gives the most meaning to my life, I get quite sad when I can’t draw for a while, and these health problems have been keeping me from doing exactly that. I did enjoy drawing tech for a good while, but there is a context in how that is part of my worldbuilding, despite me almost never saying anything about that publicly. However, drawing characters sitting in front of computers again and again drained me out really fast, and I don’t blame that on anyone who commissioned me or anything, it was oversight on my part and my inability to be assertive enough and turn down commissions with that theme is what I have to blame. I guess everyone knows how the delicate balance of “doing work you more or less enjoy but not always” vs “having an income at the end of the month” goes.

I’ve been wanting to depart from that as my main thing since early 2021, and I’ve mostly did it and focused on other things a lot of the time, at least with my personal work. I don’t say I want to completely abolish that from my work, though, since tech is still an important part of my worldbuilding stuff. I’m pretty sure someday in the future I’ll come back to it, with renewed spirit. But, meanwhile, I want to focus on drawing weird creatures doing cool things and whatnot! From my perspective, the main thing about my work has always been characters doing fun/nice/cool/interesting things, usually together, be it walking on a field, lighting a fire, programming a computer or just chilling out in the shade. But I guess no one is ever going to figure out what I feel and what I like just from me posting my art with no description whatsoever, especially when sometimes I get quite obsessed about a particular theme for a long time.

So that’s what I want to do in 2023. I want to draw more characters doing fun stuff, being active, going outdoors, reading books, talking to each other, etc. I want to do more traditional art commissions with ink, because that’s what I find the easiest and most enjoyable drawing, and I actually charge way less for them than digital stuff, for that exact reason. I also want to work more on other aspects of worldbuilding, and I have been secretly working on lore and conlang stuff for a while now =, D Overall, I want more variety, and I want to do more the things I enjoy on my work!

#personal #not art

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eve-korean · 2 years ago

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English Introduction

Hello, I am Eve. I am 26 years old and I love to study languages. I like to make conlangs as well. I have a terrible time with consistency, because a specific language or conlang construction will become a fixation, and I'll 'binge-learn' or 'binge-create' for a while and then drop it for many months until the urge comes around again. Of course, that has led to a poor retention rate. With this blog, I hope to avoid that from now on, at least when it comes to Korean! (More info under the cut.)

I want to learn Korean for a few reasons. Firstly, I just like it. I think it sounds beautiful, I love the writing system, and I really am intrigued by the way concepts are expressed in its grammar.

Secondly, my godmother Jade moved to the US from S. Korea when she was 19 (and now she's living in Israel, wow!). While she has more than integrated into American society and such, I find her story very inspiring and I love listening to her tell her tales. I wanted to learn Korean, in part, because I wanted to be more like her and learn something that might bring us even closer together as 엄마 and goddaughter. She has been with me for several years now and has supported me throughout difficult times in my life. I feel that, in a way, I can honor her this way. She never had children of her own. I want to honor her as if I were her own. This is why I learn Korean. This is also why I chose her Hebrew name (Hadassah) as my own when I converted to Judaism (fun fact!).

Thirdly, who doesn't like a good soap opera or some music? And I definitely would love to visit Korea one day. I probably couldn't live there, but I want to visit rather soon before I take guardianship of my brother, and I want to be able to hold my own.

So that's the gist of it. I learned Hangeul in 2020 during quarantine, as did many. It wasn't until a few months into 2021 that I decided to start learning seriously. Because of my problem I talked about earlier, I have ended up in this position of knowing lots of grammar but not having many words off the top of my head to use that grammar. I was on a haitus later in 2021 from learning Korean and now that I'm getting back into it, I'm spending more time on the basics and trying to build a strong foundation.

I'd love to interact with the community! Feel free to message or send asks! Maybe if enough of us get together, we can make some sort of Discord server or Kakaotalk group chat to practice Korean in. That would be really fun.

That's all for now. I might try doing that 'blog resurgence' or whatever it's called as well, since I see @bieups doing it and it looks like a great challenge!

Thank you if you read this far. I hope to meet many new friends.

-Eve

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theharellan · 4 years ago

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Marking Time

Part one of a series of headcanons discussing holidays and celebrations in Elvhenan, both in the empire itself and the rebellion that later challenged its power. I’ll be laying out my influences more clearly in the next part, but for now I’ll just say that my major influences in writing this are Jewish and Celtic. I’m doing this with feedback and may make adjustments as I go forward. I’m also happy to share headcanons and I’m also just as happy to make room for one another’s headcanons should they conflict in roleplay.

As a final note: conlangs are not my specialty, I am just doing my best. Oh, and please don’t reblog this without asking me first!

Elvhenan

Cole: Look at all the stars. Their light is very far away. Some of them are gone.

Solas: Vast but still. Does it bother you, how different it looks than the sky in the Fade?

Cole: At first, I didn't remember. Now I just want to forget.

Before the Veil time was, shall we say, a nebulous concept. We know it existed in some sense from codices such as the Hundred Year Duel and Birds of Fancy, which both refer to “years,” indicating that the idea exists, but is treated much differently from how we might treat a year. There aren’t birthdays, traditional New Years, and everything else we associate with a calendar year. From what we know of Thedas, it takes the same amount of time for the plant its on to rotate around the sun as Earth, and I think Elvhenan were cognizant of that fact but didn’t consider it particularly remarkable. If they had anything resembling months, I think there would only be four— spring, summer, fall, and winter, beginning on the equinox and ending on the solstice, or vice versa.

Rather than measure time based on the rotation of the planet, or even the rotation of the moons around the planet, Elvhenan measured time on other celestial bodies. The elves and spirits of Elvhenan are consistently associated with the air and sky, in contrast to the dwarves, they also through the Fade seem to perceive the heavens differently than we do. As I highlighted above, Cole is aware of the fact that many of the stars they see are dead, and I think this would also mean that Elvhenan possessed knowledge of things such as the expansion of the universe, the the death of stars, the passage of comets, the rotation of whatever system their planet lies in around the universe’s center, et cetera. It was through these that they marked the passage of time and designated particular holidays. For example, a centenary comet which passes beneath the boughs of the constellation now known as Fervenial might kick off a holiday honouring the goddess Andruil.

In Elvhenan sacred space was also considered more important than sacred time. Pilgrimages were common and often important parts of the lives of the faithful, but there was never a set time of year in which to take them. It was always the where instead of the when, and I mean “where” in two senses of the word. Where could mean the sacred lands of Mythal, or the wooded paths in deep, dark woods, with only the distant stone gaze of Fen’ara to mark the wilderness, but “where” could just as easily be a state of being (or sometimes both). Attaining a particular state of mind through meditation was an important step in reaching the Deepest Fade, a mark of spiritual achievement that took years of work and practise. Being in the right emotional state of mind to embark on a pilgrimage was important, and failing to do so would risk the wrath of the god in question.

Elvhen Revolution

Vir sulahn'nehn Vir dirthera Vir samahl la numin Vir 'lath sa'vunin'

Come the rebellion, time is measured differently. It begins first and foremost as a survival tactic and a war tactic, I’ve mentioned in prior headcanons that the rebellion employs guerilla tactics in order to get the edge on Elvhenan’s forces, which vastly outnumber theirs. One way they subvert the manner in which war is waged is making battles much shorter than is expected. We see in the Duel of a Hundred Years that some battles could last a century and the most noteworthy thing about them was not their longevity, but the reason for which they were fighting (preventing a war between the gods). By making battles that are expected to last years last weeks, days, hours, retreating into dreams as quickly as they manifested, they catch the enemy off-guard. By inventing the concept of weeks they’re living in a way that their enemy doesn’t even fully understand. It allowed things to be put on tighter schedules, enabled meetings to be arranged and carried out on short notice, enabled rotating shifts for things such as uthenera where oftentimes someone had to be the person to rise and make sure the others’ bodies would not starve to death in dreams.

And it enabled sacred time rather than sacred space.

Often deprived of the places they would consider sacred, the rebellion created their own sacred ceremonies from wherever they happened to be. Battles that were fought and won on one cold winter morning would be marked again the next year in celebration and memorial, but carried on no longer than the skirmish itself had. When it is their freedom upon the line what time they have cannot be eaten up by weeks or years of frivolity. Not when tomorrow could be their last day alive.

Their years began with summer and their weeks began and ended with sundown, each month contained twenty-nine or thirty days, divided further into two fortnights, and there are twelve to thirteen months in a year (every two and a half years an intercalary month is added).

Days of the Week

The week begins with Saturday night/Sunday morning and continues on to sundown on the following Saturday.

Sa’laia — First Night (sah-lie-a)

She’laia — Second Night (shay-lie-a)

Tanalaia — Third Night (tah-na-lie-a)

Nehlaia — Fourth Night (neh-lie-a)

Uylaia — Fifth Night (ooth-lie-a)

Valaia — Sixth Night (vah-lie-a)

Var’laia — Our Night (var-lie-a)

Months

There are twelve to thirteen months in the year, with a leap month every two and a half years to compensate for the shift in the year.

Enasalas — The Triumph of Joy Over Grief — Justinian-Solace / June-July

Bella’serannas — The Time of Many Thanks — Solace-August / July-August

Valelgar — The Sun’s Waning — August-Kingsway / August-September

Adhalana — The Time of Trees — Kingsway-Harvestmere / September-October

Elvhen’al — The Gathering of the People — Harvestmere-Firstfall / October-November

Sethenerava — The Time for Dreams — Firstfall-Haring / November-December

Estarasyl’an — The Month of Stars — Haring-Wintermarch / December-January

Fen’banal’ras — The Wolf’s Shadow — Wintermarch-Guardian* / January-February

Mi’avhena — Winter’s End — Guardian-Drakonis / February-March

Thenalava — The Time of Waking — Intercalary Month, occurs every third year

Ghilana’ma — The Time of Guidance — Drakonis-Cloudreach / March-April

Anallas — The Month of Clouds — Cloudreach-Bloomingtide / April-May

Balam’shivana — The End of Duty’s Chains — Bloomingtide-Justinian / May-June

* The month of Guardian is a remnant of the Elvhen calendar’s influence upon the Tevinter calendar, as wolves are/were considered guardians in Elvhen myth.

These calendars later went on to become the Dalish calendar. After the fall of the Veil, refugees from both Elvhenan and Fen’Harel’s rebellion were overtaken by Tevinter, and their traditions melded and informed what is now contemporary Dalish culture. It is likely this calendar fell out of use during the period where Elvhenan’s survivours were slaves of Tevinter, and picked up again after they won their freedom. Names and meaning likely also changed as memories of the evanuris and their tyranny faded from memory.

#( long post )#( headcanons )#this place of love ( elvhenan )#i will die with you and you will be reborn again with me ( rebellion )#v; we were everyone ( elvhenan )#v; gods will fall but we will rise ( elvhen rebellion )

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tenspontaneite · 3 years ago

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So Sponty, not only are you an amazing writer and artist, you also have all that knowledge about biology, medicine, history and politics, camping and survival, and whatever else. No really, what more are you hiding from us?

I'm actually a fraud, I just sort of pick up trivia here and there and make it seem like I know things. (I do research extensively for stuff in fanfics though which, uh, solves the fraud part for a lot of that lol)

So like I'm assuming you're asking me to show off here, yes? Ok hm here goes

Art: digital art, some zbrush, some painting, some sculpting (wire, sculpey), oil pastels sometimes, watercolours sometimes. Mostly digital though.

Writing: yeah babey. Also I'm making a conlang.

Reading: I'm a mega fast reader. Speed is somewhere around 600 to 700 words a minute. I regularly go through about 1mil of fiction weekly.

Gaming: Idk I'm relatively okay at some games?? As far as online web games go I'm on Flight Rising, but lately in the last year I've got very into Wolvden and I do sort of consider myself a 'big' player of that (they added some new leaderboards categories today and I am on Many. I've also been on the main ones in the past)

Music: never actually had music lessons but I play piano and also have been working on learning shakuhachi

Martial arts: I'm a (very out of practice) aikidoka, and one time I went and lived in a dojo for two months for that, which was sick, and also a very cool thing to be able to tell people

Animals: I'm pretty good at cats and rats in general

That's all I can think of right now but I'll show off again later if I can think of anything relevant or interesting

#asks #life of sponty

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dedalvs · 4 months ago

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And now for the addendum.

Remember how Yahoo bought Tumblr in May of 2013?

And remember how legendarily bad Tumblr’s search function is?

And remember how unlike any other social media website no one other than you can see your follower count on Tumblr?

So on April 27th, 2013 I reblogged (did not create! Reblogged!) this post. That is 99 life hacks to make your life easier by @shialabeowulf. Why? Because back then I saw that post and thought some of those 99 damn life hacks were useful and apparently I thought Tumblr was Facebook. I mean look at this:

It looks Iike an ad.

For whatever reason my reblog caused the post to break containment and I went from having like 60 followers to having over 10,000 followers in a matter of days.

Fast forward to May, not a month later, and imagine you’re some random intern at a news site who’s being asked what the hell Tumblr is. How do you even? If it was Twitter/Instagram you see who has the most followers. But Tumblr is just like…an organism. Whatever search algorithm they used was able to tell them whose Tumblr was receiving the most activity at that moment but it didn’t tell them why. Newsfolk all saw who I was and made an assumption.

They assumed wrong.

I don’t have my Tumblr following because of conlanging it’s because of the 99 life hacks!

Needless to say, my Tumblr was never the third most popular Tumblr. I don’t know how you even determine that. But I do know that for a solid month or so at the very height of Game of Thrones’ popularity here on Tumblr.com I was the 99 life hacks guy. What a time that was…

how'd you learn to write and read Valarian? im trying to learn some and it seems that your really knowledgeable about the language.

I created the High Valyrian language. I’ve learned quite a bit of it in translating stuff for GoT, Duolingo, and HotD. Practice, practice, practice. :)

#and I know it BURNS Wil Wheaton

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the-eldritch-it-gay · 4 years ago

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ohhh 'the sleeper' for whomever calls to you

Okay, so this is long first off, but second this is all characters/world/lore I wrote for a project I mess around with in my free time sometimes. There are some terms and a pair of lines from the Ixaili language, which is a conlang of my creation, while most stuff should be apparent enough with context and full meanings of certain terms aren’t needed, at the end I will also have a run down of some of the important terms used. Also, the bolded text are lines from an except the Kiahqn (The holy book in the Ixaili faith), which I will also include at the end, for those interested in the meanings and context of some things.

[NEW FORMAT AVAILABLE HERE]

Hear the thrum of life, my children, feel the pulse of energy in all things.

Lâii’s first memory was of the forest, there was nothing else it could have been. It was not her mother or father or siblings or elders, but the forest, though she could see no difference between the two. She remembers sitting at the edge of a river, in the shadow of green mountains and greener trees. The moss-covered rocks and tangled roots of a tree cradling her as softly as a parent as she looked up in wonder at the light filtering in through the canopy of leaves above her. The sound of birds chirping, insects softly buzzing, and the calls and footsteps of the animals that called the forest home were as mesmerizing as any lullaby. As she slowly drifted off to sleep, she could feel the earth breathing.

Open your eyes, see beyond what is visible. Fear not blindness, for sight is the root of deception.

Lâii grew up in the flickering candlelight of the temple. Much of the compound’s buildings had countless windows, many barely having walls to allow the vines and roots and moss of the forest in. The temple and shrines were different, though, having thick walls and few windows so the innermost parts were bathed in darkness. It did not keep the forest out, the stone of the floors and walls and ceilings were covered with moss, the roots and plants creating cracks to grow through even in the dark. Candles were only allowed during ceremonies or for offerings.

With Lâii, there was an exception made. The qumáu that lived in the temple would leave candles lit in the hallway for her, knowing she was too young to be held to the standards of initiates, let alone a qumáu. But she was also too young to understand the kindness, and desperately wanted to copy how the others lived. Like a child trying to use their parents’ makeup, Lâii would walk around the temple hallways. extinguish the candles and try to walk like the others.

As disorienting as the dark was, Lâii was never afraid of it, and as she tried to walk through the temple, she found that the dark revealed just as much as it hid. She never had a destination in mind as she stumbled and felt her way around the temple. Wherever she ended up, she would sleep for the night or until one of the qumáu found her and carried her sleeping form to bed.

Open your mind, let the beat of life guide your feet.

For months, Lâii’s legs were mottled with bruises from bumping into things in the dark. Twice she twisted her ankle, once she tripped and bloodied her hands trying to catch herself on the hard stone. The qumáu were used to seeing her like this, she had grown up with perpetual bruises and scrapes from climbing trees and running barefoot through the forest.

When years ago she had fallen from one of the trees outside the compound, she had landed on her arm and side. Lâii was unsure if she hit her head on the way down or if she had blacked out because of the pain. She could vividly remember the hours she spent crumpled at the roots of the tree, tears slowly drying. At some point, the roots that had trapped her arm felt less like crushing claws, and more and more like a gentle cradle. She remembers thinking there must be comfort to be found in one’s tomb, in being gently laid and held with reverence. It was hours later a young qumáu found her, bloodied but sleeping peacefully in roots that tangled around her.

That injury didn’t stop her from climbing trees again, even before she had fully healed. Lâii had grown up with a confidence that made her climb the tallest trees with the most fragile branches; confidence that could not be shaken even with every branch that snapped beneath her weight and sent her tumbling into freefall. And perhaps, that same confidence is why she tried one night to run through the temple, even with her legs freshly bruised from the previous nights.

She couldn’t bring herself to be surprised when she tripped over one of the roots growing through the floor, falling at full velocity into the sharp corner of a stone pillar. In the pitch black, Lâii realized, it was hard to tell if her eyes had closed, if time had passed, if she had blacked out for minutes or hours or not at all. Time meant nothing in the inky void, the only thing grounding her the thick bed of moss and tangled roots that made up the temple floor. Part of her knew she should try to stay awake with such a blow to the head, but how could she keep her eyes open when she couldn’t tell if they were open to begin with?

Tsâni once told her that when he had fallen off a ledge in the mountains and hit his head, he had felt a sense of doom creeping up on him every time he started to lose consciousness. He told of fighting a losing battle to stay awake, of feeling sick and detached and plagued by the acute knowledge he may never wake again.

Lâii felt nothing but a sense of peace, of belonging, of home. The moss felt softer than usual, the roots careful not to poke her, the air warm like a blanket, the silence like a mother's lullaby. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, she wasn’t sure when the thought first came to her head. I’m by the silence room, if I want to be found first thing in the morning, I should go to the shrine.

In her state, she didn't question the knowledge, nor did she question what force guided her to her feet and through the twisting hallways of the temple towards the central shrine. She only knew the gentle hum of the moss and leaves beneath her feet and the knowledge that she was going the right way. The qumáu that found her in the morning, found her asleep, sitting cross-legged, leaning against the central altar, dried blood and specs of moss covering part of her face.

The gash on her forehead would never go away. It healed, scar tissue all too prominent, dark and pulling the skin of her forehead strangely. Another story to tell, another reminder of her reckless confidence. The qumáu would tell her story as one of the endearing folly of childhood.

The way Lâii continued walking the temple at night with the same confidence as before, a testament to her stubborn determination. The scar would never fade, but the bruises on her legs would, the hum of the moss floor guiding her on a path free of obstacles.

Let your heart beat to the drum of life.

Everyone in Xáou Lūá had to make a pilgrimage to one of the temples before they reached adulthood. The only exception once again had been Lâii, since she grew up at the Temple. It seemed only natural for her to become an initiate when she became of age, she didn’t need a pilgrimage to realize her faith and fate were calling her here.

Plenty of people from the north and the other islands chose the Southern Temple on Ngechyoh to be their adolescent pilgrimage if only to see Nih Tsoutlà Zauzūyehqál, The Sacred Forest. Few of the pilgrims would decide to pursue initiation, but initiation was never the point of the pilgrimage. Regardless of the beliefs and faiths across the island, the temples were part of everyone’s history. The temples and their deities were the roots from which Xáou Lūá has grown, and everyone knew to pay respect to their roots and the elders before them.

Lâii had already seen a pilgrimage countless times. As a child, she had been told not to bother pilgrims to the temple, and that only made her more curious. But she had dutifully listened to the word of the qumáu, stayed away from the pilgrims those months even as the curiosity was killing her. Once initiated, she had been eager to see the pilgrimage, only to be told the 1st rank initiates hadn’t been allowed to mingle with them.

Tried of waiting and fueled by curiosity unbecoming of an initiate, Lâii flew through the first rank as quickly as she could, with flying colors that meant to qumáu couldn’t admonish her reasoning. As a second rank initiate now, though, part of her duties were to assist the higher-ranked initiates as they guided the pilgrims. Specifically, each second-rank initiate was to welcome one of the zùñū and lead them to their quarters.

The arrival of each zùñū were usually staggered, the distance between Kuolùtu and the other islands too varied for each island’s pilgrims to arrive together. Lyonâ had instructed Lâii to wait at the west gate for the first day of arrivals, even though pilgrims rarely arrived then. Lâii had begrudgingly accepted, spending her first hours at the entrance silently cursing Lyonâ. As noon approached, Lâii sat against the tree that marked the entrance, heat of the suns above warm enough to feel like a cozy, thick blanket.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep nestled against the roots of the tree, but by now it was hard to resist. The warmth and comfort were more akin to a bed than the cot she had in her quarters. It was the sound of the arrival bell that jolted her awake, an audible reminder of the duty she had nearly forgotten. The bell was far enough away from the entrance that by the time the pilgrims drew close enough to see her, Lâii had hastily straightened and dusted off her robes in an attempt to look presentable. She took a few steps towards the group, to return to the position she was supposed to be in, but before she could get there, the zùñū were close enough that Lâii could make out clearly and she stopped dead in her tracks.

The one leading the group was standing tall, with perfect posture and careful steps. They were dressed in the red and gold Kȳi robes that designated them as hailing from the Qal’kou sect of Tszachuatl and stood as a stark contrast to the forest and Ngoulâ colors. Their face was round, skin dark brown with symmetrical patches of pale skin, and gold-flecked black eyes. The edges of their draping robes and headscarf were ornately embroidered in gold that matched the painted gold mark of Nguozo on their forehead, warm and glittering in the filtered afternoon sunlight.

“Nȳpuoh qù titl nūmih tuan qául,” They said as they stopped 20 feet before the gate, dropping carefully to their knees to prostrate.

Lâii stood frozen for a moment, mouth hanging open, tongue dry as cotton as her mind scrabbled to catch up, cheeks warm. She was a second-rank initiate, but struggling for the response even a first-rank initiate knew by heart.

“Ka nūmih kunáuz, zū wonùz ngiñi sūni,” She managed, bowing slightly, heart pounding for a reason she couldn’t place.

The leader rose to a kneel, clasping their hands in front of them and keeping their gaze lowered in respect.

“I am Zchá, leading the zùñū of the Qal’kou sect, children of Ápū. I humbly request our privilege to make pilgrimage to the Temple of Nguozo and the Sacred Forest. Ápū was the trusted love of Izâl, child of Nguozo, we children of Ápū should not forget the sacrifice Nguozo made for Her and Izâl.”

“Yes!” Lâii said before she could stop herself and remember the proper response, her tone unmodulated and sounding far too eager for an initiate leading an entrance ceremony, “I mean--”

Lâii cleared her throat, trying desperately to compose herself, “It is only right to allow Ápū’s children into Nguozo’s domain, without Ápū’s generosity and care for Izâl, the Golden Blood would not have survived to flow in our veins countless generations on.”

She tripped over her words, cursing not practicing the lines beforehand, but as she finished, she saw Zchá smile softly and look at her and suddenly all she could hear was the beating of her heart, thunderous and in time with the thrum of the earth beneath her feet.

Later, Zchá would laugh, a sound as soothing and warm as sunlight, their eyes soft, and Lâii would once again forget all the passages of the Kiahqn that she knew like the back of her hand. But her heart was filled with so many colors and feelings, that Lâii couldn’t admonish her reasoning.

Every living being has an aura, an energy. Reach out with yours and realize you, my children, are part of it all.

By the lake, the dense canopy of the forest parted enough for unfiltered sunlight to reach the ground, for the vivid blue sky to be seen unobstructed while floating in the water or laying on the soft ground of its shore.

The water was warm, the air was warm, the sunlight warmer. Warmest was Zchás body heat as she lay on her back next to Lâii. They weren’t touching, the inches between their shoulders, their hands, a boundary neither seemed brave enough to cross yet. The outer layers of their robes lay drying on a nearby log, though Lâii knew they wouldn’t dry fully before they had to go back. The warm water of the lake lapped at their feet that lay in the shallows.

Zchá was talking, a soft, meaningless stream of words as insistent but beautiful as the waterfall nearby. They told Lâii about home, about the dry savanna and shrubland of Qal’kou, of the bustling cities and open-air markets full of so many vivid colors and smiling faces. A street vendor there sold the best fried bread, another had the most beautiful and soft scarves with the most delicate embroidery, another vendor was an older couple who sold sweets but always insisting on giving some to passing children for free.

Zchá told her about their family, about their childhood, about their training. About the times almost set their desk on fire, or the times their peers fumbled with their magic, or times they tried to sneak into town instead of focusing on their studies. Their seniors would punish and scold them for the mischief they caused and the lack of respect they had for the importance of their future position.

A niá’kaupù, they had told her softly, suddenly lapsing into silence. Recording histories and stories and events and knowledge, protecting the knowledge from past generations and ensuring it lives on. It was a high honor, a role with the same importance as the role in Lâii’s future. The silent, solemn smile on their face was not from what they said, but what it meant.

Niá’kaupù weren't allowed to leave the archives and vaults. Qumáu weren’t allowed to leave their temple’s compound. After Zchá’s pilgrimage finished and they returned to Tszachuatl, they wouldn’t be able to leave and see Lâii again. After Zchá left, Lâii would return to her initiate duties and path towards being a qumáu. Lâii had never dreamed of leaving the forest, had never pictured herself in the future as anything other than a qumáu.

Somewhere in the silence, Lâii finds the courage to move, to cross that invisible line and lace her fingers with theirs. There’s a comfort she feels immediately, a warmth that spills from her heart at how right it feels to hold their hand.

She wants to open her mouth, to say something comforting and poetic, something sage and wise that would sound right coming from the mouth of an initiate. Lâii could tell them about Nguozo, about the Ichpui, about fate and trusting it completely and knowing that whatever happens will be right--but Lâii wasn’t sure what right meant for this. She could tell them about Nguozo and Izâl, about the sun and moon, how love has no distance and sometimes the greatest love happens from a distance--but what Lâii felt was more than that kind of love.

Instead, Lâii wanted to tell them about Izâl and Ápū, about the two suns. She wanted to tell them that the love forged between people from different worlds is the love that started it all. She wanted to tell them about the celestial bodies so full of light and love and so close together, even when they were countless miles apart.

It was a story Lâii knew well, a story Lâii had grown up hearing, the story that Lâii thought of whenever she thought of love. She knew the story by heart, she could recite in her sleep. But as Zchá shifted ever so slightly closer and now she lay shoulder to shoulder with them, her tongue suddenly felt too heavy, her mouth too mortal to express the divine love in her heart.

I’ve never been more certain about anything than I am the fact that we will see each other again, in this life or the next. I’ve never believed in anything as hard as I’ve believed that I love you. The only thing I know about my fate is that it is entwined with yours.

Were the thoughts sacrilege or piety? Was it more sacrilegious to care about this love more than her position or to care about her position more than love?

Lâii was the initiate here, she was supposed to be the expert, she had grown up in the heart of the temple, but in this, she was just as lost, just as inexperienced as Zchá. And maybe that was right. Maybe she couldn’t be an initiate here, maybe right now she wasn’t a future qumáu and Zchá wasn’t a future Niá’kaupù, maybe they just were themselves, just people, mortal enough to be young and lost but find each other.

Maybe she could speak not as an initiate, but just as Lâii. As the girl who grew up an exception to rules, who grew up scaping her knees on holy ground, who grew up climbing fragile trees and running around in the dark unafraid of being hurt.

“We don’t have to be back until first dusk,” Were the words she found, “I used to come out here to sleep between prayers,”

She could see Zchá smile out of the corner of her eye, their eyes fluttering closed, fingers still laced with hers.

In the quiet, it was hard to tell if the heartbeat she could hear was her own, Zchá’s, or the earth’s.

There wasn’t a difference, really, Lâii mused as she closed her eyes. The moss between her fingers was as warm as full of love and life as the fingers laced with her own.

Terms:

[Breakdown of the Ixaili dialogue used can be found here]

Qumáu -- The equivalent to monks in Ixaili culture and faith. They live at and tend to the temples, among other duties. All qumáu have magic abilities, generally stronger and more refined than the average mage. In Ixaili society, qumáu have a high rank, the 3rd highest rank in Ixaili society, just below that of the Council and Lupá (a spiritual leader of a sect).

Initiate -- The stage before becoming a qumáu. Initiates generally start around age 15/16. There are 13 ranks of initiates, first-rank being the lowest and 13th being the highest. To graduate from one rank to the next usually takes at least a year, though there is no set deadlines or rules.

Zùñū -- The term for a group of young pilgrims hailing from the same sect. The Zùñū consists of a leader, usually the child of one of the sect leaders, and typically 6-24 other pilgrims. While everyone in Xáou Lūá is required to go on a pilgrimage to one of the temples, adolescent pilgrimages are usually reserved for mages and the most promising students from each sect and it is a high honor to be part of a Zùñū. Unlike the typical pilgrimage, these pilgrimages are steeped more in tradition, are longer, and also consist of a number of lectures as they serve also as a way to educate and pass on traditions especially relating to the use of magic.

Niá’kaupù -- Literally translates as “Keeper of the past”. While qumáu duties are religious and spiritual and about the preservation of those traditions, Niá’kaupù duties are similar, but instead of religious, the history and traditions they preserve are those outside of religious contexts. They similarly live in a quasi-isolation, living at the archive and devoting their life to their position.

Ngoulâ -- South/Southern, Ngoulâ colors in this context meaning the color of their traditional robes, which are green in the Ngoulâ region.

Full passage from the Kiahqn:

Hear the thrum of life, my children, feel the pulse of energy in all things. Open your eyes, see beyond what is visible. Fear not blindness, for sight is the root of deception. Open your heart, let it feel what your eyes cannot. Open your mind, let the beat of life guide your feet. Open your spirit and feel my embrace and know I will guide every step you need to take. Every living being has an aura, an energy. Reach out with yours and realize you, my children, are part of it all. Let your heart beat to the drum of life. The pulse of the earth is the same pulse in your veins. The bumps and lines of your skin are the same mountains and valleys of the world. The color of your skin the same as the rich soil of this planet. The light in your eyes and soul the same light that nurtures all life. Protect the earth, you are it’s kin, and it shall protect you. Fear not death, for it is not the end, the earth’s pulse never dies. The drum of life beats on as you journey through the underworld. The earth and I will be at the end of your journey and welcome you back with loving arms, and the breath of life will enter you again. Do not fear, life will always return to you, and I will always accept and love you.

#Eldritch IT Speaks #Eldritch IT Writes #god sorry this is long but I really like it ngl #I should tag this smth #uhhh #apostatetabris #untitled ixaili project

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imuybemovoko · 4 years ago

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My beliefs now

I set this blog up for a bunch of different purposes including conlangs/worldbuilding stuff, my writing, and my views on religion and maybe also politics. So far, mostly, I’ve ranted a lot about the beliefs I left behind. Now that I’ve let that particular sketchy brand of Christianity, now that I’ve discovered the ways it and my conservative family background were probably turning me into a fascist while I was still in all that, I figure I might as well try to hash out where I stand now. I’m around eleven months out from my deconversion, and a lot has already changed. I might try to attempt a before and after thing but there’s a lot to unpack about how I used to think and I’m not sure I’ve understood everything yet. I think I made the mistake of thinking that not very long before that repressed memory about “Sharon” and her Jonah display came crashing back in March. This is current to late July 2020 and may not include everything.

So without any further ado, let’s talk background. First, some things I’ve already either mentioned or given more than enough evidence for. I used to be a Christian fundamentalist. (Clearly. I rant about it a lot.) I got into that because I was raised religious, then let myself fall right the fuck into what I’ll call “deep end lite” shortly before senior year in high school. Some local churches in my small town arranged a missions trip thing and the way I agreed to go along felt in the moment like surrendering to a voice that’s been speaking to me all along. In ...a way, it was. Just not the voice I thought. I’m pretty sure I didn’t want this god, at any point like ever, until that little part of me whispered that it would be easier to accept him. I have a megathread document that I’ve stored a lot of my “God stories” from my time as a Christian in. Unfortunately I didn’t remember many specific details of this experience to write down in there, but I did write a bit of a “life-story” thing that reminds me that, chronologically, that happened after a period of focused attempts by the church to indoctrinate me, some traumatic things my family did, social struggles, and feeling like an asshole because of things I’d done in the past. I remember having this growing sense over the previous year that I was approaching some kind of very dangerous breaking point, to the point where (trigger warning: mental instability, school shooter mention. Please either stop here or skip to where it says “in other words” in the next paragraph after this if that’s going to be an issue. It also keeps getting dark from there for a minute. Please, please tread with care if you need to. There is no shame at all if this becomes too much. Take care of yourself first and foremost.)

when discussing how I came to accept the faith, I told some of my Christian friends that I felt like there was a scary chance of me becoming a school shooter. I think this may have been a post-hoc projection, but I can’t quite be sure of that. I was in a bad place for a bit there in high school. I had a wild temper and some sketchy intrusive thoughts.

In other words, it hit at a perfect moment of weakness. That’s how oppressive forms of spirituality function, it’s how hate groups function... it’s a massive shit cocktail and I found a pretty bad influence in the form of people who promote that whole “born again experience” thing in Christianity. I’d say I’m glad I missed out on being dragged into a fascist ideology this way, but uh... I’m no longer convinced I didn’t grow up around something like that. More later.

From there I spiraled my way through my first attempts at college through the university’s chapter of the Chi Alpha campus ministry and, peripherally through that, Assemblies of God (holy shit those guys are wild), then through a local Baptist church (more peripherally) and Calvary Chapel (I was a worship guitarist here for like 18 months and helped with their youth ministry for almost as long) closer to home and a CRU chapter at my community college. With each passing year I slipped further and further into this weird shame-induced funk where I got like... addicted to Jesus and hated myself or something. It’s a bit hard to find words that don’t take multiple entire extra pages and I want to be concise, so I’ll simply call it “Jesus-flavored depression” for brevity and because that was enough of a genuinely bad time (and I’m still fucked up enough) that I might need some fairly serious therapy.

Near the end of 2018 I was reaching a breaking point, wondering why nothing ever seemed to change in my life from “sexual sin” (...which in my case literally consisted of being attracted to women and occasional self-pleasure, but they literally teach you to hate yourself for less than that in the spicier churches rip) to my direction in life to how trapped I felt by my family. I also started to have more questions about the violence in the Bible and some of the sketchier doctrines, and that was strongly reinforced by some of the things I saw in a creative writing class I took, including an atheist who shared a story of a profoundly negative experience involving being taught about hell at a very young age. All that led to the absolute disaster that was December 2018. It was my last semester at the community college I went to. Finals week was a fucking disaster, and the week before that too, and my grades were really good but at great cost. I won’t go into a ton of detail because 1. space concerns and 2. this time is still damn painful to discuss, but just know that I’m unconvinced I’d have survived that month without this song. (Yes, that’s Paramore. Shut up xD they’re still good.) I looped it for like three days straight and I think it was just enough to keep me going through what was the third time I had any suicidal kind of thoughts ever and by far the worst and longest period of it so far.

So the next several months (and I won’t go into a ton of detail about this, I intended this post more to describe my current position and I don’t wanna get too in the weeds with background) were a confusing period of questioning, starting with, of all things, my family dynamic. The spiral after the week before finals was ...considerably worsened by some comments my dad made, and between that and some experiences in the past that the creative writing class I took that fall reminded me of, I was exposed to a bit of a deeply toxic pattern. I might discuss that more deeply in another post, but for now suffice it to say that extensive youtube binges and some other research between about January and March told me the situation is probably adjacent to pathological narcissism in some way. I brought some of this up to the church I was attending at the time (a small town Calvary Chapel, if I haven’t mentioned that already) and their responses were ...inconsistent. Some people blamed me, some people said “oh dang your dad is abusive”, and some people took the “your parents are trying their best” tack. In retrospect I think that made me doubt if God’s messaging to these people could really be trusted. Then, in about April, the question of hell came up again. I was helping in the church’s budding youth ministry at the time and we had about four regular attendees between the ages of 12 and 18. There were about three weeks in a row when one of the other adults (I’ll call her Kelly for the purposes of not doxxing; also more on her later) talked at length about how unbelief leads to hell. I remembered that atheist from creative writing, made the connection to these four kids, and thought, “what the hell are we doing?” (Pun not intended but rather convenient.) I immediately backed down from my role in the youth ministry, citing other equally valid but less pressing reasons involving stress from the issues with my dad, and tried to go on with life. But the floodgates were open.

In late May or early June, I was staring out a window one morning and suddenly a question crossed my mind unbidden: “Is God a narcissist?” I thought back to a relatively recent sermon by the associate pastor in which he explained that the purpose of the world was “for God’s glory”, to some apparent sudden flights of rage, and some other factors in the scriptures, and thought, “holy shit, I need to investigate this, because God is also very adjacent to narcissism.” It took a hot minute for the ball to really get rolling with that, but once it did... I came to a point by late June or early July where I delivered an ultimatum to God, something to the tune of “Ok, either show me how all these questions I have can be answered beyond a doubt or I’m done.”

There was no answer.

God was silent during this time, and the people in the church were shocked that I had the questions I did and either concerned or ...rather spicy. I joined an ex-Christian discord server to aid in a proper, thorough investigation. I aired my questions both there and on a Christian discord server. The Christian server was toxic as fuck and the ex-Christians started making a crazy amount of sense. I watched some videos from Cosmic Skeptic and TheraminTrees (most notably the latter’s deconversion story) for new perspectives and, by mid-August, had crashed out of the faith altogether.

So the last time I ever stepped into a church with the intent of attending service (I showed up after once in January of 2020 to kinda let them know and that went pretty badly lol) was about two weeks before I started college again in the fall. I burned all but one of my Bibles and a collection of gospel tracts I never did anything else with and stylized it like my limited understanding of what a satanic/pagan ritual looked like, complete with a chant in my conlang Aylaan for a more personal twist because of course, to feel edgy. (I did a lot of kind of weird shit to feel edgy; that’s one of two of them I’m sure I don’t regret.) And after that, things got ...ah, confusing?

Because of course when the linchpin of your understanding of the world gives way, everything becomes fucked for a hot minute.

So the first thing that happened was a couple months of anxiety and confusion. I slowly started to deconstruct my inherited political views too. (More on that later.) Then I had this really beautiful interesting moment in late September where I walked past a tree on the way to a class and had a sudden realization that I didn’t have to force the tree into a Christian framework anymore, it was just a beautiful mass of green shit and cellulose. I could appreciate it in whatever way I felt was best. I damn near broke down crying in the bathroom before class, it hit me that hard. So that’s fun xD

Since then I’ve kinda gone through a bunch of funky phases with this, including a couple of months of fairly salty atheism. Along with that process, I started questioning my sexuality in December (more on that in another post in a minute lmao it’s a trip) and literally shredding my politics in the face of Trump being a crackhead in a dangerous position getting away with confirmed illegal shit, COVID-19 and the ...dehumanizing responses of corporations and their sponsored politicians, and then what I noticed about the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd and the fallout from that. (In a nutshell, holy FUCK there’s a huge problem and it’s messed up that people don’t see it.) At this point, I’m socially progressive and pretty left leaning. I don’t know what the hell to do about it or how either other than some of the tense discussions I’ve been having, but I’d like to work against racism and discrimination too. So that’s cool and a lot better than where I was...

which... I regret deeply.

I don’t know exactly how to define my old political views, and they were marked by considerable cognitive dissonance. I’ll try to illustrate this as best I can but I don’t know what label I can use. Here goes.

Cursed images aside, I think the best way to explain this is through some background, i.e. what my parents believe, because my beliefs were largely inherited.

This might be majorly over-simplified and based on what I remember of my own pre-deconstruction views and what I hear them say lately. I’m doing my best, but take it with a grain of salt. Basically, it seems like they walk this weird line between constitutionalist and very authoritarian that I see a hell of a lot of in rural America. Kinda like the Republic party used to before they yeeted into Trump’s mindfuck wholeheartedly. They’re homophobic to a rather alarming degree (more on that in another post soon) and not ...overtly Christian-supremacist but you can tell that their ethics are dripping with it and they’re terrified of Islam and they’d like to legislate some aspects of Christian morality. They also support the second amendment, which is the one thing I still agree with them on that I’m aware of, but they take it to more of an extreme than I’m willing to. For further ...flavor, they also reject the premise that parts of our society are systemically racist (and maybe also the idea that such a thing is even possible because of course), subscribe to the “bootstrap theory” for everything they can think to apply it to, reject climate science, and have been extremely conspiratorial about COVID-19. Also they like making it out like everything is a Democrat conspiracy theory, compare the Democrats to Hitler and Stalin to a weird degree, have on at least one occasion called Fox Motherfucking News left-leaning, and think Alex Jones is wacky but sometimes raises valid points.

So that’s, in a nutshell, a bit of a look at my past political views, except I think I was a bit more Christian-dominionist than them and I think I had moments of “...does this really make any sense?” for years before I crashed out of everything. The first domino was my Christianity, but once that fell, my entire approach to the world went some places.

So ...yeah. Oof. I was sketchy as shit. Glad that’s changed.

So uh... I’ve already mentioned a vague (read: as much detail as I feel confident providing) description of my political views now, but after all this bullshit let’s finally get to the other half of my titular current beliefs. This ...isn’t going to be easy to explain either, but I feel more confident going into more detail. Buckle up :^)

Alright. So except for a couple of months where I was like “there is no god reeee” half because I was sOmE hYpErInTeLlEcTuAl SkEpTiC and half because of trauma from the toxic flavor of Christianity I left and some shitty developments in both politics and my social circles (I’ll talk at some length about “Kelly” in a sec here I think), since leaving Christianity I’ve always been what I’ll call “hopeful agnostic” (I think I stole this term from Rhett and/or Link lol). In a nutshell, what that means to me is “there may or may not be a god, but I hope there is at least one and they’re nice, or like, at least some spiritual thing that has a good aspect that can help me”. I also dabble in shitty rituals where I burn dead plants and occasionally also hate literature like gospel tracts (and, that one time, a couple of bibles) and basically call on “anyone who is listening and gives a fuck, else the placebo effect” for whatever my goal is. Like... witchy-adjacent but I don’t think about it very much at this stage. I kind of enjoy it, and I think for one reason or another it can be good for my mental health, but I’m wary of any kind of commitment or even more serious experimentation, even as I hope to find something good, because ...trauma, and maybe even absent that a desire to not be wrong in a way that’s dangerous to anyone else again. So that’s fun :^)

So if you’ve made it this far through this weird bullshit, thanks, this story is kind of important to me xD and if you couldn’t, and you’re not reading this ending thingy because it got too dark or it pissed you off or something, that’s cool too and you’re beautiful and valid. Whoever you are, I hope you find whatever healing you need. :)

#ex christian #spirituality #politics

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lord-arlen · 6 years ago

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Thoughts inspired by looking at the archives of this blog, which basically turned into a lengthy account of the last 3 years of my life.

Why did I originally stop using this blog? I originally stopped using this blog not long after starting my studies in Edinburgh when I was in a really bad condition mentally. I had intended Edinburgh to be a new start where I would try to be a different person and it just completely failed; I didn’t have the willpower. So the first few months I was beating myself up over having failed to do any activities or talk to anybody. I got really depressed and I felt like I had to stop posting here, because I was worried that contemplating the situation too much was exacerbating it, and I was worried that I would spread too much of a negative mood to my readers.

But not long after I made this blog private a magical thing happened. I was on a pretty small Master’s course, and everybody on it was talking to each other via a group chat and going out together and stuff like that---except me, because I hadn’t spoken to anybody and didn’t know any of this was going on. But since the course was that small, it was impossible for them not to notice this. So they took pity on me, I guess---I think it was actually mostly the initiative of one person, a Greek called Olga. She started kind of aggressively socializing with me in class, asking me questions and so on, and soon enough I was in their group chat and being invited to outings to pubs and films and so on. There also ended up being a fair amount of group project work on the course, so I got to know a lot of them that way. Although I was a very quiet member of the group normally, I could actually make significant contributions to discussions when I was working together with them on a group project. All sorts of things happened! We all watched Arrival together! I went to somebody’s house to talk to them about research! I celebrated Chinese New Year with people! I went to a sushi party! At one point I was even going semi-regularly to the common room to have lunch with these people and just chat with them relaxedly---this is the kind of Holy Grail of social life that I’ve never previously or since attained. One of my regrets is that I never went with them with them to an academic conference in (IIRC) the Netherlands---I’m not very confident about travelling because I’ve basically never travelled anywhere far from home before, but that would have been an ideal opportunity to get that experience.

So I was pretty happy from like November 2016 to May 2017. And I think some of the highest-quality output on my WordPress blog and main Tumblr account comes from that time.

It wasn’t to last, however. In the end, I still didn’t manage to make any proper connections with people. I never initiated conversations with anybody, because I didn’t know what to talk to them about. I never really got any idea of what they were like as a person, what they would like or wouldn’t like to talk about, because I’m bad at paying attention to such things. My presence in that social group was only really maintained by the common social context of the Master’s course bringing us together. So by the time teaching ended and I started working on my dissertation, all the social events dried up as everybody had to get to work. I was still in their group chat, and some people asked me for help proofreading their essays or with writing code for their projects, so I did have some contact still, but it was all slowing down and I realized it wasn’t going to last.

The dissertation was an interesting experience. It was probably the most significant thing I’ve ever achieved. I had been worried about whether I would be able to come up with something to do it on, given that I’m not particularly creative and more comfortable with learning what’s already known than doing original research. But one of my lecturers had been talking about an approach to doing linguistics research that I had never come across before: having people learn artificial “mini-languages” in an experimental setting and seeing what sort of errors they made, in the hope that this would tell us about the language transmission process in general. It was pretty easy to generate a novel experiment in this vein formulaically: just pick a Greenbergian universal of the form “A implies B”, design the artificial language training data to exhibit A but be ambiguous about whether it has B, see if the experiment subjects generalize to B or ¬B when their knowledge of the mini-language is tested subsequent to training. So I picked Universal 38 and my dissertation was the resulting experiment.

Designing and carrying out the experiment was quite fun. There was a bit of an issue where I took a while designing the experiment and my supervisor got worried. But eventually I was done, and when I was done it had been designed carefully. I put out an ad offering to pay £5 to all of my subjects (all funded by a grant from the department) and I got my desired 40 subjects quite quickly. Setting up the experiment, contacting all 40 of these people, scheduling a place to meet them, instructing them on what to do, all of these were things I never thought I’d have the executive function to pull off, and yet I did them all with actual ease. The effort of doing all this basically distracted me from the emerging collapse of my social life.

Then I got to the stage of actually writing the dissertation. And that was pretty tough. One issue was that my parents wanted me to go on holiday with them to Greece, because by this time it was July. I had a kind of emotional conversation with them where I had to refuse, because I knew I was pressed for time and taking a week off from writing would probably result in failure. They didn’t really accept this and kept saying things like, “but if you work hard enough, you can finish the dissertation in time and still go on holiday with us”, and I had to convince them I wasn’t capable of working that hard. After repeatedly keeping my stance firm they finally relented. (This is a fairly significant milestone in my mind because my parents still kind of have the mindset where I’m their child and they determine what activities I’m doing, and I’m generally bad at saying “no” to them.)

But writing the dissertation was a fairly lonely and stressful endeavour, and by the time I finished, I had kind of lost all faith in my experiment. I doubted whether an artificial “mini-language” could really tell us anything about a real natural language. I also realized I had no real understanding of statistical inference, and so I couldn’t really talk about what my results meant. I did a very basic statistical analysis on the data, which may not have been the appropriate one for the data, and got a nearly-but-not-quite significant p-value. My results and conclusion sections ended up being very short.

It was this disillusionment that led to me deciding to not bother to apply for a PhD and just try to get a job. I knew it would be difficult, because I had no idea what sort of job to do, or how to effectively decide what sort of job to do. But I figured it was what I had to do. And in the end I’d probably get it done, I thought. Even though I was disillusioned with what I had done, 2017 gave me a lot more confidence in my ability to do things.

In September my accommodation contract ended and I was living with my parents again. I had one idea for what job to do that had come to me at that point (via a suggestion from my mother, not from my own searching): to get a job as a copy editor at a fairly well-known UK secondary educational textbook company. That seemed like a reasonably interesting thing to do and the company seemed like a nice place to work it. They had a pretty gruelling application process. I did get invited to an on-site interview + round of tests at an “Assessment Centre” in December. Although this happened in September, I basically avoided job searching until this interview happened months later, because I was kind of riding all my hopes on this one job and because searching for jobs was hard.

Their Assessment Centre experience was actually quite fun. Apart from the job interview, my first ever, where I was extremely awkward, as one would expect from my personality. But the tests were fun, and they seemed easy enough. There were also several people doing the tests with me who I talked to a bit throughout the day. There was an extremely posh guy called Rupert who was writing a sci-fi novel and making a conlang for it---he’s the only other person I’ve ever met IRL who does conlanging. There was a girl who I talked to about birds (I had gotten into birdwatching [solitarily] in mid-2017 at Edinburgh once social events with my course mates became less frequent.) But I didn’t get any of these people’s emails or phone numbers or Facebook accounts or anything, so nothing lasting came of that.

In the end, that job went to one of the other people. So then I had to continue my job search. My graduation from Edinburgh happened around this time, at the end of December. I ended up feeling pretty sad throughout the ceremony because I felt like the good part of my life was ending. My parents tried to get pictures of me smiling, which was really annoying at the time. In the end they didn’t get any. Obviously I think it’s a pity now that there are no photos of me smiling at my graduation from Edinburgh, but it was necessary with my feelings at the time.

Although I’ve just realized that there is a photo of me smiling at my graduation... just not one my parents took. Obviously I saw my coursemates again at graduation. But I really didn’t know how to deal with this, given that it would probably be the last time I ever saw them again. I don’t know how to handle saying goodbye to people. So naturally I handled it in the worst possible way by trying to avoid them. I chatted a bit to the people I was sitting next to during the ceremony, but then afterwards when we all went outside, and everybody gathered together to do some more chatting, I just slunk off back to my parents. But before I could get to them, I heard somebody calling my name, and it turned out that one of them---a Bulgarian girl called Zlati---wanted to take a picture of me, to remember me by. I was quite touched by this and so at that point, I did smile. OK, it wasn’t really a genuine smile, I was too depressed for that, but I did make my best effort to smile. Here is the picture (she sent it to me on Facebook afterwards):

She works in Oxford now, or at least that’s where she went immediately after Edinburgh. She told me that if I’m ever in Oxford I should let her know. I haven’t spoken to her ever since. I would like to, but I don’t know how to. (The same goes for all of my Edinburgh coursemates, of course.) If I did go to Oxford I probably would be able to contact her because she explicitly permitted that, but until that happens I probably won’t do it. Maybe I could go to Oxford once I have my own place and am more confident about travelling. Hopefully she would still be happy to meet me now that over a year has passed.

In any case---although I would definitely like to meet my Edinburgh friends again, ultimately I am not going to have my social needs met until I have friends where I live, who I can meet on a regular basis.

Anyway, that was 2017. And then in 2018, I just... kind of faffed around for the first half of the year. I couldn’t make any decisions. It was just very exhausting to think about what I should do. I could do programing, but it wasn’t something that really appealed to me very much. I did contemplate becoming a teacher, because trying to convey information to people is something I do enjoy very much... but teaching involves a lot more than that, and it is probably something that would be pretty tough on somebody with as poor social skills as me. So while I did contact some recruiters about teaching jobs I ended up chickening out on following up on any of the opportunities they brought up. By February I was thinking I should definitely consider doing a PhD as well. But the application process for a PhD is a lot more demanding, and it’s more difficult to find information on how it should be done. If I had still been in Edinburgh I could have asked my coursemates for help, maybe, but at home it seemed impossible. The biggest obstacles are the need to pick a supervisor, and the need to have a research proposal (if I’m looking to do a PhD in linguistics in the UK, at least). I still would like to do a PhD more than anything else but I can’t make any progress towards it until I have some idea what I would do my PhD about.

In March my parents made me sign up for a free course offered by the local council for jobseekers. That actually had the effect of me not doing any jobseeking while the course was running, because as long as I was attending the course I felt like I was Doing Something. The classes for the course were not particularly bothersome because they were only from 10am to 3pm, and they didn’t require much work---all we were doing was getting told basic information about how to write CVs, how to use Microsoft Excel, etc. I did talk to the other course attendees, one of whom happened to actually be someone I knew from high school. So that was a reasonably fun experience. But it was just procrastination really.

After that course I had to just suck it up and get a programming job. I couldn’t think of anything else; although I wasn’t really into programming, I had been in the past and had acquired basic fluency with coding that way. Since programmers are in high demand, and employers are also used to them being socially awkward types who don’t do well in behavioural interviews, I figured I’d be able to get a job without too much trouble.

And that’s what happened. I applied for a few jobs, got a few interviews, and said yes to the first company that gave me an offer. And that’s how we got to the current situation. What I didn’t really realize at the time was how unpleasant the experience of having a job I’m not enthusiastic about would be. I obviously wasn’t looking forward too it, but I figured it would just be a bit dull and I’d be able to deal with it and maybe think in a relaxed way about how to achieve greater ambitions over several years. Instead it turns out that it’s actively, significantly unpleasant and leaves me in a state of sort of perpetual panic.

So I am pretty depressed again, just like I was when I stopped this blog. But not depressed in a hopeless way. I mean, things could get better, and I am trying to make them better. Right now, the most important change I think I can make is moving out of my parent’s house. One thing that’s apparent from this review of the last 3 years is that although I managed to Do Things at Edinburgh to some extent, I pretty much lost that ability once I moved back in with my parents. I guess this is the place where I spent two decades growing up as a more or less completely passive person, so naturally it’s hard to maintain agency here. Maybe moving will help, maybe it won’t. If it doesn’t help, I have more options, like trying to get a new job or doing serious dedicated work towards coming up with a PhD research proposal or trying to find fulfilment from hobbies or something. I will never be out of options; there are always new things to try; there is always hope. The good part of my life may be over but we won’t know for certain until the day that I die, which is hopefully a long way away.

#about me #my life

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sceptilemasterr · 6 years ago

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Endless Summer: The (un)Official Screenplay - “End Credits”

Yes, you read that right: this movie script does include an “End Credits” of sorts! Though since there are very few people who actually worked on this script (aka: just me), I’m also going to be including my final thoughts on how the script turned out, where the story’s going from here, what the hell is up with that “CIU Project” tag I keep adding to these, and... in true MCU-style fashion, even an end-credits scene! Or two?

Masterlist: Link

CREDITS:

Written by: SceptileMasterr (obviously)

Based On: Endless Summer, Book 1 by Pixelberry Studios (with some additional elements taken from Hero, Vol 1)

Copyright Info: All names, places, and concepts from Endless Summer and Hero are copyright Pixelberry Studios. The only things I own here are Ian and Alyssa, my various Vaanti OCs, as well as the majority of the Vaanti language except the words taken from canon (conlangs are hard!)

Inspirations:

The MC Twins: @blightarts (go read his Pokemon Summer Version crossover fic where I got that idea from, btw, it’s awesome)

Movie Concept in General: @mysteli and her amazing ES Fan Trailers (both of them!)

Estela and Ian’s First Kiss: Borrowed from another one of my fics, “Sunset”

Screenwriting Software: Final Draft 11

Special Thanks:

@brightpinkpeppercorn: My fandom twin and “beta reader” of sorts; thanks for all the great and fun discussions we had about the twins, their loves, the story, and concepts and future plans; they’ve been great! I love and appreciate your feedback!

@mysteli: You’re the entire reason I started this project! Ever since your first ES trailer I have envisioned what an ES movie would be like. And then my imagination spiraled out of control from there... Appreciate your feedback as well!

@edgydepressedchoicesthot: A fellow Estela stan! I met you even before I had a Tumblr, back on AO3. I read and fell in love with your ES rewrite series there... then school blocked AO3 (grr) but I eventually caught up! I hope you enjoyed this rewrite as much as I liked yours!

@bbaba-yagaa: A more recent fandom friend, but I’m so glad I met you and your blog! I adore your Estela fics so much!

@endlesshero1122: I’m still amazed at how we had such similar ideas with our respective ES and Hero rewrites. Dual MCs and everything, with one of them even being named Alyssa, what are the odds?! Glad you’ve enjoyed this script!

...And of course, everyone not on the tag list who’ve liked, read, and/or commented on this script! Every time I get a new like or comment, it makes me so happy to know that I made someone’s day a little better with this screenplay-rewrite of a visual novel we all know and love. I love writing; I really have a passion for it, and I hope I can continue entertaining people with my future stories to come!

And SPEAKING of future stories...

FADE IN:

INT. THE CELESTIAL LOBBY - DAY

Estela is standing at the concierge desk, gazing at several sheets of paper stacked atop it. The elevator doors open, and Ian emerges, the folders he’d found previously now clutched in his hands. She turns at his approach.

ESTELA: Ian! There you are! Listen, you should see this-

IAN: Look, I... I’ve got something I need to show you. To show everyone, really. Where are they?

ESTELA: I think most of them are still sleeping. Can’t say I blame them, after last... night? Morning? Day? Anyway, look.

Ian crosses over to the desk and looks at the papers. On them, in a messy scrawl, are written several seemingly non-sequitur messages. Ian picks one up and reads it, confused.

IAN: “The Hostiles know.” “McKenzie equals Lupus.” “The STARS are key!!” “He’s here he’s here he’s here he’s here...”

He looks up at Estela.

IAN: What is this? Looks like nonsense.

ESTELA: I’m not sure. But more to the point, this wasn’t here before we “time traveled.” Someone was here during the 204 days we skipped. Is this Diego’s handwriting?

IAN: Nah. I’d know his scribbles anywhere. Doubt it’s the Hostiles, either, since they don’t speak English.

ESTELA: So that means... what?

Before Ian can respond, the elevators open again, and Alyssa and Jake emerge. They stop short when they see the folders in Ian’s hand.

ALYSSA: Wait, are those-?

JAKE (simultaneously): You found some too?!

Estela and Ian turn to face them. Ian shrugs and holds up the folders.

IAN: I... I didn’t mean to keep these from you guys, I just didn’t really get the chance-

He stops when he realizes what Alyssa and Jake had said.

IAN: Wait... “found some too?” You both-

Alyssa shrugs sheepishly.

ALYSSA: At that emergency shelter. One of ‘em was about you, Estela.

ESTELA: Me?

IAN: You should’ve shown her!

ESTELA: To be fair, we all had our reasons for not trusting one another, especially at first.

She pulls out her own set of folders. The top one is Jake’s, and she hands it to him.

ESTELA: This is yours, I believe.

JAKE: Goddamn...

He flips through it, saying nothing, but his eyes go wide in surprise.

JAKE: Hang on. Be right back.

He sprints out of the lobby, toward the entrance to the basement. Alyssa hangs her head and sighs.

ALYSSA: Sorry, Estela. Really. We’re long past the point where we should’ve stopped keeping secrets from each other-

ESTELA: It’s fine. Apparently we all did the same thing.

IAN: I was hoping to find everyone so I could show them all at once. I’ve got Craig’s, Zahra’s, and Quinn’s.

ALYSSA: But how do they know this much stuff about us? Birthdates, locations, history... except yours, Estela; a lot of it’s blacked out for some reason.

She hands the folder to Estela, who reads through it.

ESTELA: What is here is worryingly accurate. How could Rourke possibly know all of this? Down to the last detail?!

Alyssa shivers involuntarily.

ALYSSA: I dunno, but it’s freaking me out-

Jake bounds back up the stairs, a pair of folders clutched in his hands.

JAKE: Found these right before all that Aleister business started, and then I forgot all about it, given... uh, what happened that night.

He looks awkwardly at Ian. Alyssa coughs and glares at Jake.

IAN: What happened that night?

ALYSSA: None of your business! Actually, hang on: what were you two doing that night? I seem to remember you rushing in together-

IAN: “None of your business!”

ALYSSA: I really should’ve seen that coming.

JAKE: None of that matters right now. You two are gonna wanna see these.

He passes the twins’ folders to each of them. They stand side by side as they open the folders, staring openmouthed at the “Birth” sections.

IAN: “December 31, 1995 - 11:59 PM” ... “Location... La Huerta?!”

ALYSSA: Mine says “January 1, 1996 - 12:00 AM.” Also La Huerta.

JAKE: There’s no way in hell you two were born here. You’d have known that, right?

Alyssa and Ian shake their heads.

ALYSSA: Jake... we were adopted together when we were babies. We never knew our birth parents or anything.

IAN: Our birth certificates said “January 1st, ‘96,” so that’s just when we celebrated, but... Alyssa...

ALYSSA: If Jake and Estela’s birthday info is all true, and if the others’ are true as well, then...

IAN: ...We were born here. On La Huerta.

ALYSSA: Ian... who are we?!

FADE TO BLACK.

TO BE CONTINUED IN... ENDLESS WINTER

FINAL THOUGHTS AND FUTURE PLANS:

How do you actually write one of these things? Well, I start out by playing through the canon chapter(s) that a given scene is based on and transcribing the script into Word for reference. The canon ES chapters are L-O-N-G, by the way. Then, I decide what to keep, what to alter, what to get rid of, and which lines to include unchanged, and then I write the actual script! After that, I run through it once to edit, then I’ll read the lines aloud and make more changes to make them sound natural. Post it to Tumblr, fix the formatting (and edit once again), then voila! A scene is born!

What was up with the changes? You skipped a ton of scenes! I thought the script turned out well, and (based on people’s reactions and comments) reasonably easy to follow even with all the changes. Most of the changes were made with the aim of streamlining and shortening the story; even with all the scenes cut from canon, the script still ended up being an estimated 3 hours long! Yikes! The other major changes were mostly made with the aim of setting up threads for weaving a greater story, which leads us to...

What the hell is “CIU Project?” Okay, okay, if anyone’s looked in the tags, you’ve probably noticed the recurring tag “ciu project” as well as tagging my Vaanti OC names with (CIU) at the end of it. CIU stands for “Choices Interconnected Universe” and is what I’m calling any- and everything that takes place in the same universe as this ES rewrite. There will be a more detailed post about the CIU and a general idea of my plans for it later on, but I wanted to wait to announce it until this first script was finished!

Have you written anything else in your CIU universe? “Choices Interconnected Universe Universe?” Okay, but seriously, this is the first official, “canon” work set in the CIU. I have written my Vaanu “Post-Credits Scene” during ESAPW, but consider that more of a loose “teaser” for the project than anything. Once I get to the script that scene’s meant to appear in, I will rewrite it and it may have a few tiny details different. Anything else I write in the CIU will be tagged with “ciu project” (no quotes) so you can find it easily there!

What other Choices books besides Endless Summer are going to be involved? I’ll be explaining that in the separate CIU post I plan to make soon, but in the meantime...

FADE IN:

INT. L.A.P.D. STATION - OFFICE - NIGHT (FIVE MONTHS AGO)

A man in a crisp suit, his back to the camera, scrolls through data about Rourke International on his computer screen; images of Jake, Lila, and Aleister appear beside a satellite view of the Caribbean Sea. Scattered on his desk are copies of the various dossier pages that Ian, Alyssa, Jake, and Estela had all found across La Huerta. The man sighs and rubs his forehead in frustration.

The door swings open, and a young auburn-haired policewoman rushes into the office, slightly out of breath. This is Jake’s sister, REBECCA MCKENZIE. The man looks up as she enters.

MAN: ...Officer McKenzie? I told you I’d let you know when I found something-

REBECCA: They’re pulling you off the case. You’re getting reassigned. I asked her not to, but-

MAN: Listen, Officer, I told you before: technically this case is well outside my jurisdiction. It’s not even in this country, let alone the city. I figured it was only a matter of time ‘til they wanted me working on something a bit closer to home.

REBECCA: But... what the hell am I supposed to...

MAN: Whatever I’m being reassigned to, I promise I’ll keep digging up leads on my own time. An entire island can’t just go missing with no one noticing; there’s definitely something fishy going on.

REBECCA: Yeah, and my brother was on that island. You’re a detective! Solving mysteries is your job!

MAN: Well, this mystery is tougher than most. But I promise we’ll figure it out eventually. He’s not the only person who’s gone missing in that area last month, besides.

He indicates the scattered pages on his desk.

MAN: Fifteen missing, including your brother. Don’t worry. You know I’ve got plenty of friends in high places.

Rebecca smiles, reassured by his words.

MAN: So what’s this new case I’m being reassigned to? I swear, if it’s another celebrity feud over nothing-

REBECCA: Nothing like that. You heard about the Tower Murders the other night?

MAN: Yeah, I thought Barton and Sanchez were handling that one-

Rebecca shakes her head.

REBECCA: Nobody can figure it out. Captain wants you. Specifically. There’s even rumors that... y’know... Li might be behind it.

MAN: Heh. Of course they think she’s behind it. If Li was behind everything everyone claimed she was, there’d have to be at least a dozen of her running around. 'Sides, murder isn’t her style.

He stands up from his desk, adjusting his suit and tie.

MAN: Tell the Captain I’ll do it.

REBECCA: You will? Just like that? But what about my brother?

MAN: I’m at a dead end for now anyway. I’ll find this murderer, get ‘em locked up, and be back on the La Huerta disappearances faster than you can say “Case closed.”

Rebecca laughs in spite of herself, then recovers and nods professionally.

REBECCA: Thank you, Detective. I’ll let the Captain know, and she’ll fill you in on the details. And... I appreciate what you’re doing for me. For my brother.

MAN: Of course. After all, there’s never been a case I couldn’t crack, and I’m not about to let that change!

Rebecca leaves the office. The man turns and faces the camera, adjusting his badge, which reveals his name: DETECTIVE DAVE REYES. He shakes his head, glancing back at the images on his computer once more.

DAVE: What the hell are you up to, Rourke?

FADE TO BLACK.

TO BE CONTINUED IN... MOST WANTED: THE HOLLYWOOD KILLER

It’s all connected...

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regenderate-fic · 3 years ago

Text

And Still I Will Live Here: Chapter 5

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: Teen Ship: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Jackie Tyler, Pete Tyler, Tony Tyler Series: And We’re Not Out of the Tunnel Word Count (Chapter): 2,484 Other Tags: Pete’s World, Pete’s World Torchwood, Angst, Chronic Illness, Disability, Disabled Character Read on AO3 / Read in order

Summary: Rose has been tired for a couple years now. She thinks it’s from working so hard on the dimension cannon without a break, but then she gets a break and she doesn’t quite recover. Finally, she starts going to doctors, but they’re no help. At least John (the metacrisis Doctor) is with her every step of the way.

(Fic is COMPLETE with chapters posting Tuesdays and Fridays!)

NOTES: posting early again because i am very very tired. just like rose! also my knees hurt. just like rose.

the phrase "my second heart" in this fic is based on a concept from @giovanni-bottesini's teegarden gallifreyan, which is an absurdly comprehensive conlang of gallifreyan. also i stole the idea of tentoo using it for rose from @mouserat-vevo. thank you to discord friends for enabling me every day <3 and thank you to the wldw server for allowing for idea communism

next chapter is the last one!

The wedding is a month out, then two weeks, then a day. It’s going to be a relatively small affair, an August wedding in the Tylers’ backyard, but that doesn’t mean Jackie hasn’t gone all out with the decorations and the catering and everything else. They’re going to put the altar in front of a fountain, using an existing footpath as an aisle. Tony is going to be the ring bearer, a task he’s taking extremely seriously, and Pete’s agreed to give Rose away. She’s decided to walk: she can manage a short distance, and she trusts her dad and John to support her if she needs it. And they’re not inviting anyone who won’t understand if she needs to sit down mid-ceremony.

On the day of the wedding, she wakes up with John in the Tyler mansion— they’re not doing the thing where they don’t see each other on the wedding day. Maybe, in yet another universe, where the two of them are guaranteed a lifetime together, they could waste the hours before their wedding: but in this universe, all they are guaranteed is today. So they wake up together and get ready in the same room, John looking dashing in his tuxedo. Jackie’s hired someone to do Rose’s hair and makeup, her veil pinned to a complicated nest of braids and curls, her eyes dusted with gold. And as promised, Jackie decorates the chair, winding white tulle and leafy garlands around the handles and arms, weaving ribbon through the wheels’ spokes. When Rose looks in the mirror, extending delicately gloved hands to touch the wheels, she sees herself as the beautiful bride she never quite thought she’d be, and for a moment, happiness bubbles up in her chest.

And then it’s time for the ceremony. Rose, hidden away in a little tent at the back of the yard, stays in her chair until the very last second: the only way she’ll be able to stand later is if she conserves her energy now. Her dad’s back there with her, and Tony, holding two rings tied with ribbon to a pillow, standing straight up in his tiny little suit. He’s determined to do the ring bearer position justice, and Rose is nothing but grateful.

They don’t have a wedding party— they thought about it, but decided that the simpler the ceremony was, the easier it would be on Rose. So when the music starts, Tony walks out first, the pillow held out in front of him, and Pete helps Rose to her feet. She’s lucky: today’s a good day. The kind of day where she can stay on her feet for longer than a few minutes. The kind of day where she can take her father’s arm and follow her little brother out onto the path.

She squints, her eyes adjusting to the afternoon light. Friends and family are seated in folding chairs on either side of the cobblestone footpath, cousins and friends and coworkers all together. She can see her mum up at the front, twisted around in her chair with baby Gabriel in her arms, and straight out in front of her, at the end of the line, is John, his eyes locked to hers. And it’s like everything around them has frozen, and the only things in the world are John, standing at the altar in his tuxedo, and Rose, taking step after step to get to him.

Her breath catches as she thinks about the married life she and John could’ve had, in another timeline— they could’ve kept working together, lived in a nice little house, even had kids, maybe. The tears start to fall. She spares a passing thought to her makeup, glad the artist thought to use waterproof mascara.

Pete lets go of her as they approach the altar, and Rose takes the last few steps on her own, reaching out for John. He keeps his hands on her upper arms, not supporting her weight so much as reassuring her that he won’t let her fall. When she looks up at him, she sees that he’s crying too, tears tracking down his face. It’s as much a funeral as a wedding.

Their officiant starts his script, welcoming everyone to the ceremony, introducing John and Rose. Rose is barely listening. The only thing in her life, at this moment, is John, standing in front of her with his beautifully open face and his perfectly tailored tux.

They’ve written their own vows. John’s are first.

“Rose Tyler,” he says, his eyes never leaving hers. Everything is in his voice: every emotion, every bit of himself. “My second heart. I love you, and I will always love you. No matter how far apart we are, in this universe or any other. It is my honor and my privilege to give myself to you, every single day. I will be proud to be your husband.” He’s really crying now, and so is Rose. She doesn’t know why she decided to stand for this— the crying is making her dizzy.

It’s her turn.

“John,” she says, groping for the words she wrote down weeks ago and committed to memory. “I can’t imagine myself spending my life with anyone but you. I love that I get to wake up next to you. I love that I get to work with you. I love that everything I go through, I get to go through with you. I love you, John.” She manages to smile through her tears as she parrots his own words back to him. “In this universe, or any other. I am so, so happy to call myself your wife.”

Both of them, now, are sobbing uncontrollably. Rose is holding on to John’s forearms for dear life, and he’s supporting her, and their officiant is looking a little uncomfortable.

“Erm.” He adjusts his glasses. “Do you, John Noble, take this woman, Rose Marion Tyler, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to keep and to love, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

Rose’s grip on John’s arms tightens.

“Do you, Rose Marion Tyler, take this man, John Noble, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to keep and to love, for as long as you both shall live?”

Rose looks at John. Love fills her chest and her stomach, radiating out, mixing with the sadness that has consumed her ever since they realized what they had to do. All she is, it seems, is wrapped up in these emotions. “I do.”

“It is now time for the exchange of rings.” The officiant keeps talking, and once again Rose isn’t listening. Tony’s come up to them now, proudly holding the pillow above his head, and Rose can’t help but smile down at him, even through all the tears. At the officiant’s signal, John bends down to untie Rose’s ring, a thin silver band, and slips it onto her finger, where it perfectly complements the one he gave her upon their engagement. And then Rose unties John’s— his is a thicker band, with an indent running all the way around the middle. The rings fit together: the indent in John’s is just the size of Rose’s band. Rose slides it onto John’s finger, and something seems to slide into place within her. This is how it’s supposed to be: her and John, bound together forever.

“By the power vested in me,” the officiant says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” And then, after a too-long pause, “You may kiss the bride.”

The second their lips touch, Rose is overwhelmed. She clings to John, trying to hold every single piece of this perfect moment in her mind: she’ll need the memory down the line. This is all she’s wanted for years now— and it won’t last. She won’t be able to stay. But it’s still worth every second.

The officiant presents them to the crowd as Mr. and Mrs. Tyler-Noble— they’ve decided to hyphenate, so each of them will always have a piece of the other. And then they walk back down the aisle, John’s arm around Rose’s waist. It takes too long, Rose becoming dizzier with every step, but she makes it back to the tent and her chair without falling or fainting. She closes her eyes for a second, trying to readjust, and when she opens them, John is kneeling next to her.

“How are you doing?” he asks quietly.

Rose hesitates, trying to evaluate. She’s still a bit dizzy, and her legs hurt from standing for so long, and of course she’s more tired than she’d like to be, but— “I’m all right,” she says. She looks at John, her husband, and leans in to kiss him. “I’m glad we did this.”

“Me, too.” John gives her a small smile. “Ready to go back out there?”

Rose nods. He pushes her back onto the footpath, and they make their way over to the tent that’s been set up on a wide expanse of grass. Jackie had the foresight to put in a false wood floor so Rose can use her chair: John only has to get her across a few yards of grass before her wheels are rolling on the smooth material.

The guests cheer for them as they make their way to the head table, and once they’re there, Jackie and Pete and Tony descend upon them with hugs and congratulations. Jackie’s given Gabe to the babysitter to put to bed, but Tony’s been determined old enough for the party. He climbs right onto Rose’s lap, ignoring any and all protests, and Rose laughs, adjusting him so he’s sitting securely on her thigh. There’s a space left chairless for her at the table, and John wheels her right up, taking his seat next to her. He takes her hand, and she squeezes. She doesn’t dare let go.

Jackie, as the mastermind behind the whole affair, welcomes the guests to the reception. She’s remarkably composed, but Rose can see tears in her eyes. She ends on a toast— “To my beautiful daughter, and her wonderful husband. May their love last.” Rose lifts her glass, clinking it with John’s and Pete’s and Jackie’s. Tony, feeling left out, squirms over the side of Rose’s chair and runs around the table to get to his seat and join in the fun, and Rose reaches her glass to his, too.

And then the caterers start bringing out the food. They’re only doing two courses and dessert, again with Rose’s stamina in mind— the more food there is, the harder it will be for her to eat. It turns out not to really matter, though. Between the conversations with her family, the people coming up to congratulate her, and her hand still resolutely clasped in John’s, she barely gets a chance to try the food. Somewhere in the middle, she manages to forget all the sadness, everything that’s coming next, and she finds herself grinning ear to ear, losing herself in the joy of being married to John.

The meal rushes by. It’s too quick, really. One minute, Rose is dipping her spoon into a full bowl of soup, and the next, she’s finished with her plate of chicken. And suddenly the DJ is walking over, asking Rose and John if they’re ready for the first dance.

This is the only other part of the night Rose has decided to stand for. It’s only a few minutes, and a slow dance means John can support her. Her body will hurt tomorrow, but today, this is what she wants. So as the music starts, she lets John pull her to her feet, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. He holds her by the waist, and they step out onto the dance floor, moving in time to the slow strains of violins.

The song is only three minutes long, but it seems to last forever, Rose’s head nestled against John’s chest, his arms solid around her waist. They step in circles around the dance floor, and Rose is vaguely aware of all the people watching them, but every cell in her body is dedicated to knowing how wonderful it is to be in John’s arms, dancing at their wedding, relishing their love. She can feel his single heartbeat against her ear, and she closes her eyes, allowing herself to be totally enveloped.

The music fades away, replaced with something faster, and the DJ invites everyone to come onto the floor. Rose and John stay for a few more moments, still lost in each other, but as the floor gets crowded, Rose’s legs start to shake, and she pulls away slightly. John understands immediately, and he holds her up, his arm around her waist, as they move back to the table.

The evening progresses as planned: they watch the dancers, cut the cake, and eventually move back out on the dance floor, mostly motivated by Tony pulling at Rose’s arm until she wheels herself out there. She dances with him, holding his tiny hands, moving her upper body, and spinning herself in circles, until Jackie swoops in and tells him it’s time to go to bed. He whines about it, but Rose is sure he’ll fall asleep the second he gets inside.

Finally, the party is over, the guests coming over to give Rose and John their congratulations as they trickle out, leaving the tent empty but for Jackie, Pete, Rose, and John.

“What a beautiful night,” Jackie says, falling into a chair.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” John says. He’s still holding Rose’s hand, his thumb drawing circles on her palm.

Rose nods her agreement. “Thanks, Mum. It was amazing.” She yawns.

“We’d better get you home.” John’s looking at her with worry in his eyes. It sort of annoys Rose, to have everyone acting like she’s so delicate, except that she is rather delicate, these days. And she is tired. The late night is well worth it, but she’s going to be making up for it for the next few days at least.

Jackie and Pete come with Rose and John to the car, sending them off with cheers and well-wishes, and John drives them home. There’s a warm silence to the world right now, Rose notes, staring out the window. Everything is dark, but every so often, she can see an orange light in someone’s window, a sign that the world is still alive, even when it sleeps.

She manages to keep her eyes open the whole way back to their flat, but when she gets there, she’s just about ready to keel over, metaphorically speaking. She lets John help her out of her dress, and then she sinks into the mattress, closing her eyes. She’s vaguely aware of John joining her, his body surrounding her, as she falls asleep.

#my fic #chaptered #doctor who #fanfiction #and still i will live here #ten x rose #tenth doctor #rose tyler #angst #and we're not out of the tunnel

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janmisali · 7 years ago

Text

New radio shows? retrospective

on april 8th, 2017, I uploaded a video where I called Ido slightly better than Esperanto. Anthony McCarthy responded:

this exchange alone is pretty funny. if the thread stopped there with my really good cute fraud joke then I’d probably still think that this is the best thread that’s ever happened on one of my videos. the thread did not stop there.

Anthony probably didn’t realize that I was doing jokes. or maybe he did, but he didn’t know why. the point is, he thought I was avoiding responding to his original question, not knowing how easy the answer to “what constructed language is jan Misali fluent in?” is super easy to find if you look for like a second.

at this point, we’ve established that yes, I do in fact speak a language other than English. Anthony wasn’t having any of that.

so to recap, I speak toki pono or whatever it is, but that doesn’t mean I speak a language other than English. I didn’t respond to this one. turns out I didn’t need to because he said this completely unprompted less than an hour later:

(for any frauds out there who don’t know, Gerda Malaperis is a book written in Esperanto)

around here, I pinned this thread, which made it far more visible to anyone who saw the video. I figured the world needed to see it.

Flaming Obsidian’s response is what really set Anthony off. as you know, he’s an Esperantist, and as you might not know, Esperantists absolutely hate Ido. FO made the assumption that Anthony’s comment had something to do with the video it was left on.

this was the last comment in the thread when I made the decision to make a remix of it, using Pumpkin Cravings, the song featured in my Esperanto comment response video. I was absolutely certain he’d never say anything funnier than “conglang”. how foolish of me.

the thread continued for some time, and eventually FO took on the challenge of translating Gerda Malaperis into Toki Pona.

Anthony McCarthy was unimpressed because he can’t speak Toki Pona.

I suppose he thought that was cute.

at this point, a newcomer to the thread shows up, a user named sethraptor.

Anthony once again fails to know when he’s getting dunked on. Seth responded reasonably,

and Anthony did not!

ok, so remember when I said I thought he’d never say anything funnier than “conglang”? here’s what proved me wrong:

I THINK FAST AND TYPE FAST.

I WRITE SEVERAL THOUSAND WORDS MOST DAY.

THIS IS CHILD’S PLAY.

he’s taking himself so seriously! it’s so great!

after that, the thread sorta fizzled out. Anthony kept repeating the same points over and over, and people kept making fun of him. at one point it became about politics? I guess? a lot of those comments have since been deleted so who knows what the deal with that was.

Anthony’s points were simple:

Esperanto is the only real con-langue

every other “conglang” is a foolish waste of time

Toki Pona isn’t a language and anyone who calls it one is a silly billy

HE LITERALLY SAID “SILLY BILLY”

con langs are dumb in general actually

except Esperanto, The Only Good Language

I’m smart because I know about books and radio shows

did I mention that I’m like SUPER OLD

however, as the months went by and as the thread grew, he added a new point to this set.

this thread has been going on too long, and

it’s certainly not MY fault, I’m just the person who wrote most of the comments

this was the state of things for a while. it stopped being about conlangs, and it started being about the thread itself. the people participating eventually started roleplaying just to shake things up.

of course, Anthony didn’t figure out what was going on.

and this is the current state of the thread. I would’ve waited until it died down to post this, but that might literally never happen? anyway I don’t think I really have anything to say about this other than that this is all objectively super funny. and just in case you’re worried, yes it’s okay to laugh at Anthony McCarthy because he’s like super old and should know better.

look him up, bunky.

#New radio shows?#conlang critic

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dedalvs · 7 years ago

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I have this problem where I put all my time and effort into a conlang and I’m really happy with it, then I leave it for a bit and when I come back to it I see it’s kind of amateurish and I don’t like it anymore, so I scrap it and reboot it, and this keeps happening, so now most of my languages are on their fourth or fifth draft. If you've ever felt his way, did you ever overcome it, or do you still have the urge to revise your old conlangs? Am I doomed to never feeling satisfied with my work?

I don’t like to redo a conlang unless I have a very good (and clear) idea about what I want to do with it. It’s fine to just leave a project as is and start a new one—even one that’s either phonologically or morphologically similar. I personally find that approach much cleaner. It’s easier to just say, “This is a conlang I created in 2002 and worked on for two years until I realized it wasn’t any good. It was a useful exercise, and there were some neat ideas there that I may be able to use later. At present, though, the project is done, in that I don’t wish to work with it any longer.”

Personally, if I weren’t cutting these things off, it would just exhaust me. It’d be hard to keep track of what was good about the original draft and what wasn’t and what had changed… It’s hard to rip stuff out that’s integral to the language itself, because it necessitates potentially hundreds of tiny changes throughout the language, and if you miss one, the result is messy. I can’t stand that. It’s better to just start fresh, for me.

I can give you one example of a language I actually did reboot and why. The second ever (I believe?) language project I started was called Gweydr. I heard about palatalization in class, and so I created a language that I thought of as “backwards” palatalization. Specifically, there were these sets of vowels:

Front: i, ɪ, y, ʏ, e, ɛ, ø, œ, æ

Back: u, ʊ, o, ɔ, ɑ

And I had this idea that there would be certain consonant changes before the front vowels—specifically:

k > ks, t >ts, p > ps, g > gw, d > dw, b > bw

This is just silly. But yeah, the name of the language is /gejdr/ and comes out [gʷejdr]. That’s how the original version of the language worked.

It wasn’t long before I abandoned it, and I just let it sit there. Then some time in graduate school, I had an idea for a way to create some interesting declension classes for a case system. I thought this might be a way to reclaim Gweydr, so I redid the phonology (still plenty of [gw], and the like, but no longer surfacing as a result of different vowels. Instead, there was a full rounding, fronting, and ATR harmony system that didn’t affect consonants), and redid the grammar, while still keeping the spirit of the language. That version of the language is documented (to an extent, since I stopped updating the site) here.

Eventually, though, I realized even this revision wasn’t that good, and so I left it be. Recently, I’ve started to use it for a D&D campaign I’m running as the “default” language (i.e. the languages all the players and most NPCs they encounter speak). It mainly gets used as a way to name things, but in using it, I’m running up against the issues I had when I abandoned the language a second time. Since I’m using it actively, I’m going to give it a third (light) revision, when I get some free time here next month, but I’m only going to change the elements that I’m having problems with (going to do a new font, since the one I did for it is irredeemable; going to reorganize the dictionary; going to work on derivational strategies; going to calm down those declension classes, most of which don’t need to be specified, etc.).

Each time I went back to this language, though, there was a reason. Like the reason I used it for my D&D campaign was because I like the sound of it for character names: The phonology isn’t difficult for English speakers (outside [ø] and [y], which I ignore for the campaign), and it produces names that sound name-like to English speakers, but still sound both foreign and “old”. If I didn’t have a specific reason to use the language I would just build a new one, or choose a different language.

So in your case, you might try leaving some of these projects and starting brand new ones. They’ll still be there! You can still come back to them! It just might help if you feel deflated having to constantly revise and rework the same material.

Regarding your very last question, though, that’s entirely personal. I’ve never been satisfied with anything I’ve done for long, but that’s me. It’s not something that’s endemic to conlanging—or art, in general: it’s something that occurs in many conlangers and artists. You can either work to become more positive and focus on the good elements of your projects, or you can work to accept that your work will never be perfect, but can be good enough—and good enough can feel pretty darn good, if you let it. At the same time, it’s nice to hold onto some of that old perfectionism simply because it can serve as a motivator. That is, you can let the perfectionism serve you, rather than dominate you. It can be quite empowering if you’ve been suffering under it for a while. Make that perfectionism your servant—something you can let out on purpose every once and a while to help you achieve your goals. Then when you don’t need it, put it back in its cage and remember that’s it’s a pretty cool thing to create a language—or even a piece of one—and that it never would have existed were it not for you. That’s pretty awesome.

#conlang #language #Gweydr #Gweydr grammar #Anonymous

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