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centrally-unplanned · 3 years ago

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I alas have run out of productivity steam, so i’ll try to make this a succinct one. The despair of the initial invasion has turned to triumphalism in the infospace at the sight of Ukraine’s dogged resistance, and I think the case for Russia’s military defeat is overblown. Fortunately the NYT is making maps so I don’t have to, and:

For five days this is looking pretty good - taking cities, clearing sectors, and with that new prong northeast of Kyiv you see the strategy pivoting as well. I think the modern news cycle has really heightened the temporality of events - everyone wants an answer now to a situation as tense as this, but war doesn’t have to cooperate with your desires. 5 days just isn’t enough time to say how things are going in the fog of war.

That infospace has also stacked additional biases onto our assessments: the Ukrainians have undeniably slaughtered the Russians in the global propaganda war, a huge misstep for the Russian government revealing their limited state capacity for modern culture war. But that also means that most reports of fleeing Russians, successful raids, etc, are just that, propaganda, and for one side. You hear a report of Russians asking for petrol from a Ukrainian gas station and it becomes a symbol of Russia’s dysfunction, as opposed to just a tale of two stupid dudes in the army, a universal trait to all armies. Are stories of Russian soldiers lacking food rations even true? I suspect some Russian soldier somewhere lacked food, yes, but what does indicate about the macro picture? Someone has done the work of collating all actually confirmed destroyed vehicles here, and it shows Russia as having lost 330 vehicles, including about 40 tanks. Estimate of operational Russian tank numbers often put them at ~5000 tanks, with some even as high as 20,000 including their outdated models. These casualties barely qualify as dents. So many Russian assets are being held in reserve right now, particularly their air assets which have been virtually absent. Ukraine is doing well but actual Russian capabilities are still cards yet to be played.

Still, while I think Russia has potential yet to be seen, its undeniable that there were some pretty bold missteps in this opening. Even then I don’t want to be too harsh - when you multiply the numbers sometimes you take the low-odds scenario if the payout is high enough. A limited operation killing the minimum amount of Ukrainians to lead into a partial annexation of the country with minimum resistance is a huge payout if you have Putin’s utility function, it might have been worth gambling for. The question is whether or not there is a plan B in place. If there wasn’t then the Russian army are fools, which they might be; but if there is we will see it unfold soon. What is happening right now is a transition from a war of disruption to a war of attrition as Russia discovered the former was beyond them, and wars of attrition are stable until suddenly the last battalion runs out of guns and its not stable at all. I am still very concerned Russia has the material and intent to ride out that transition.

None of that excuses the missteps within that initial plan. Wasted helidrop operations, exposed convoy and supply lines, and once the collapse failed to materialize a sort of inertia carrying forward operations all indicate sloppy planning. What is happening on the ground, however, pales in what is happening in the political sphere. Even I have been shocked at how all-encompassing the sanctions have been so far; Swiss accounts locked down, central banks blocked, even Germany is getting on board. All of this is of course incredibly damaging to the economy of Russia, and probably more than that; Adam Tooze details the knock-on effect here.

But for the military situation the biggest shift in the balance I don’t think is the economics, which in the short term is survivable. Its in the weapons:

In a war of attrition, it isn’t just the stock of weapons, its the flow and where they come from. You aim to occupy production facilities, disrupt logistic trains, supply depots, the works, to make your production outpace the enemy. But when every inch of your opponents supply chain for weapons lies outside of the country you are invading...well what do you do? What does taking Kyiv, Kharkiv, Odessa, even give you? It occupies territory, yes, people, maybe (they can flee) but pretty soon Ukraine is going to need little of that to keep fighting. As long as they have the will, which their success on the propaganda front is giving them in spades, they will have the means. Which leaves Russian strategy a bit rudderless - or at least, on a much longer timeframe, which those economic sanctions are making less attractive by the day.

The always-great Scholars Stage wrote an essay just before the war began on the futility of memes over reality. That at a certain point, the jokes and shitposts and online bravado meets guns on the ground and are swept away by reality. And honestly in the context of his essay he is more right than wrong - I am seeing a lot of reasoning online buying into memetic information sources. Russia’s military is absolutely showing the gaps in its operational capacity here, but if they didn’t have a plan for “what if we don’t win in the first 5 days” I will be extremely shocked. If Russia continues down this path we will see how those memes hold.

And yet...it turns out memers, and by that I mean idealists, rule the world. If you win the culture war hard enough, the global economy can be oriented around supporting your cause. Russia has seemed to dramatically underestimate how many guns those memes can bring, and that more than anything seems to me to be what has shifted strategically the most dramatically in the war.

#russia-ukraine war #essay

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maturemenoftvandfilms · 3 years ago

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My Rumsfeld and Cheney story.

***

I am in my late 20s and have been at my job in the White House for several months. Despite my age, I have been handed the task of helping to organize and arrange the administration’s new initiative to expand the humanities in America’s schools. I have an Ivy League education but I know the real reason I have the job. It is because my father has been lifelong friends with the President and is one of his closest advisors.

But being this is Washington, my father has enemies. At the top of the list are Donald Rumsfeld and his acolyte Dick Cheney — notorious for their scheming, ruthlessness and ways to grab power at the expense of others, and they are eyeing up putting a knife in my father’s back.

I am walking down the hallway. There are two things in my mind. The first is career preservation. If my father is forced out by them, then my career goes down the toilet.

But the main reason is because of something I have finally admitted to myself — that they are both incredibly attractive, and I want to submit to them.

I see Rumsfeld’s hatchet face of a Secretary. She buzzes. I wait for a few minutes, hearing him laughing on the phone. Finally, he has me sent in as he peers over some files and is writing something on a notepad, not paying me any attention, giving me a terse, “How may I help you? I’m not sure I can be of any service to your program.”

I shiver.

“Well, Mr. Rumsfeld,” I say. He perks up a bit hearing the deference in my voice. “I did not come specifically to ask you that. I came today to tell you...” I gulp. “I came to tell you that I know you are coming after my father. And I want to tell you that I know you are going to push him. And that my full loyalty and allegiance is with you.”

He stops writing and looks up.

“I see,” he says, with no emotion at all. “You see, I know my way around Washington. And this is something that I find highly dubious. Some kind of trick. So, you may go, even though you are correct about your father’s fate.”

I knew he would doubt me. So I have him a file.

“Well, in advance of that, I prepared a briefing document for you. It is a lot of information you may find useful to destroy him. Not that you need my assistance.”

He opens the file, adjusts his glasses, and chuckles.

“Well, I know some of this already. But this... I will say, that this could be useful in making my job that much easier.”

He leans back and steeples his fingers.

“Of course, I still do not quite believe you yet.” He swivels his chair. “Come here now and kneel before me. Denounce your father and your entire family and beg me to accept your loyalty.”

I pace around the desk and get on my knees.

“I denounce my father and an ashamed of my family’s name. Mr. Rumsfeld, Sir. I beg you. Please accept my allegiance to you. I promise I will serve you in any capacity that you wish, Sir.”

He lets out a Cheshire Cat smile and laughs.

“Very good. That is a good boy.” He then stands and beads to his belt. “Now there is one more chance to show your utmost loyalty. If you do this, and do this well... I will allow you the chance to serve me, as you put it.”

His pants and shorts drop with my assistance. He sits back down kingly, and I begin to take him in my mouth. His hand quickly moves to the back of my head, the weight of his Princeton class ring evident, as he steers me at the pace and depth he wants.

“That’s it. You’re starting to prove your worth to me. I assumed you were as worthless as your old man. But I can see what you think of me. Look up at me and tell me you worship me.”

I pant and look up at his smirking face.

“Mr. Rumsfeld, Sir. I worship you like the superior person you are, and have done so since the first time I heard your name, Sir.”

He nods and forced my mouth over his cock again, now gripping my hair snugly and fucking my face. I am moaning as I suck away. Finally, I can hear him gasp a bit. Moaning, and I sense what is coming. He explodes all over my face, and then laughs.

“Let me look at you. The son of my arch-enemy, dripping in my cum.”

I let him look as he smiles at his trophy. Finally, he nods to the tissues, and tells me that I may clean myself up, he will be in touch, and I may take my leave. He then heads right back to his work, paying me no mind.

I head to the door and pause.

“Mr. Rumsfeld, Sir. May I please say something before I leave?”

He looks up, nods, and tells me to be quick.

I walk towards his desk and am opposite it. I kneel once again, and this time cup my hands like I am praying.

“Thank you so much for letting me suck your cock, Sir. I know how lucky I am to be able to breath the same air as you, let alone to know I can pleasure you. I hope I have shown my allegiance to you, Sir.”

He looks at me with a stern and serious gaze, pausing as he does.

“You recognized your place and chose wisely to admit it. You’ll be able to rise up the ranks here so long as you remember that you are beneath me and you live to do as I order. Now you may take your leave.”

***

It is a few weeks later and he has finally been in touch. 7 pm. That night. His estate.

I arrive promptly. A maid answers the door. I head him laughing, and I am not sure who. The maid tells him that the guest has arrived.

I walk in and am paralyzed with fear. Flanking him to one side is Dick Cheney. To the other is his wife, Lynne.

“Well, there he is! The ambitious young man who will be a big help to us that I told you about.”

Their mouths drop a bit. Dick just stares at me coldly.

“Surely this is a joke,” Lynne says, hoping it is not the case. Rumsfeld tells her it is not, and then directs me to tell them both what I think about my father, especially in comparison to him, and what I wish for out of my life.

“My father is a pathetic excuse of a man and not even fit to shine your shoes, Mr. Rumsfeld, Sir. The only thing I wish for out of life is to be your faithful servant.”

They both stare at me incredulously, although evil grins cross both of their faces. Rumsfeld smiles widely and orders me to tell them what I did to serve him. So I told them how I sucked his cock and was lucky to wear his cum.

“Now, boy. I want you to know something. It is very hard in DC to find people you can trust and actually respect. Dick and Lynne are the only two people alive I call friends and consider as my equals. And that means that you serve them, too. Do you understand that?”

“Yes. I understand that I also serve Mr. and Mrs. Cheney.”

“Oh, let’s see about that,” Lynne says, grinning as she leans back in her chair.

Lynne and I have crossed paths a few times in my past. I am tasked with the humanities project. She is in charge of the agency that issues our humanities grants. She does not like that I am running this program and let me know about this and has done all she can to prevent me from enacting it unless it meets her goals.

I turn to her.

“Now, I told you that you did not deserve the job you have. You probably thought it is because of your age or who your father is. But that’s not the reason why.” She pauses. “Tell me if you agree with me... but the reason why is because you are an idiot.”

I hear Rumsfeld stifle a laugh. But I have no choice, even though I hesitate.

“You’re right. I’m an idiot, Mrs. Cheney.”

She laughs and nods.

“I am so glad that we cleared that up. I am sure that from now on, you will do as I say. I will tell you the programs I support and how much I want them supported financially. You are going to meet with me once a week with a draft of succinct reasons why you now support exactly as I want, which you will then defend to the president. Of course, I know you lack the intellectual capabilities to perform something like that up to my standards, so you can expect me to red mark your work with a pen like a kindergarten teacher.” She smirks. “And I am sure your father will be in the room, too.”

“Now, there is more than just that. One thing I want you to do — anytime you enter my office, you will show me proper respect by kissing my feet. Why don’t you do that now?”

I steel myself, press my lips to her shoes, and then thank her as she laughs as loud as she ever has in her life. She tells me to stand up and then ask her husband what he thinks.

He just smiles at me. Before I can even say anything, he starts to speak.

“I am so glad that you have recognized this about yourself. It is not easy to admit you are inferior. But I have always seen a lot of potential in you.”

He continues to smile.

“It won’t be too long until your father is back home in Wisconsin where he will be buried. Once that happens, and I inherit his job, I am going to have a need for a chief aide. Usually, this job is in an advisory capacity. But for your role, I envision it more fit for your capabilities. Having me coffee ready. Shining my shoes before any important meetings. Not saying anything beyond ‘Yes, Sir,’ and ‘No, Sir,’ unless I tell you to speak beyond that. Any sort of errand or task me or Lynne or Don want, it gets done. Got that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now, your peers and people who have worked for your father for a very long time are going to see you hold my coat or wipe off my desk for me. What do you think they will say about this?”

“They’ll mock me, Sir.”

“They will. But deep down inside, they are going to be jealous because each and every single last one of them wants to be in the position you find yourself in — dominated by your superiors.” I can see Rumsfeld not in agreement. “Now, you will also perform the same tasks that Don had you do... only I will not be so gentle. And I will also make sure Don keeps you on his calendar as well so you can continue to serve him as well, being that he made you his toy before sharing you.”

“And don’t worry. I will still find the time and ways for you to correct your work so you can try to come up to even half of our level.”

I meekly say “Thank you.”

Rumsfeld stands up, as does Lynne. He slaps me on the back,

“Just think that your epitaph is going to read about how you were the faithful servant to the most powerful three people who ever lived.” He and Lynne head to the door. “Now get on your knees before Dick.”

I do, and he chuckles and heads to his belt.

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

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After that gorgeous sequel rant, would you be willing to share your thoughts on reylo?

Ugh.

Once again, that is the most succinct, easiest, answer I can supply. But it's so short, and that just won't do.

I mentioned in a recent post that Dramione comes in a myriad of disguises. Every fandom usually has at least one Dramione ship, you can usually guess which characters the ship will consist of, and while you might not be able to articulate exactly what about it makes it so damn similar to Dramione you will recognize it on sight.

Usually, to me, a Dramione ship features a strong, independent, female lead who may be varying levels of sexually empowered, varying levels of intelligent (Hermione loves to tell us how smart she is but it's not the heart of the ship), is strong, courageous, and noble who depending on the story du jour might slide into depravity. The real give away is her love interest, always a man, usually a young man of comparable age, who has the bad boy appeal that's not too bad boy where he often is redeemed to the good side for 'reasons' in the course of the story.

Reylo is such a Dramione pairing.

You don't believe me? Look at the authors who write it, I haven't done this too often myself, but I guarantee you that a not small majority of them will either write Draco/Hermione or will have it all over their favorites and bookmarks. It's the same damn pairing.

But worse.

Because Kylo-Ren and Rey aren't really characters.

"Whoa, hold up!", you say, "That's just slander and uncalled for!" Well, change my mind. Rey Palpatine and Kylo-Ren are a series of character tropes and archetypes thrown to us by Disney screaming "LOVE MY CHARACTERS".

Rey is our noble, very Luke like, hero who is a scrappy desert rat with overwhelming mystical powers only acknowledged when the movies feel like acknowledging them (guys, admit Rey kicked Kylo-Ren's ass every time they fought with 0 training, come on, it's not hard).

However, there is nothing underneath her surface. Her hero worship of the resistance feels dull and given to her because it's expected. Of course Rey likes the resistance! The resistance is great! Sign her up! Rey has been living in the desert at the edge of nowhere for presumably 15 years, I'm shocked she's even heard of the new republic let alone the resistance. Despite essentially starving and only having a home that's a broken down old fighter, Rey saves a random droid. We're not really given a compelling reason of why she would do this, that she has a deep respect for droids/is horrified by their use, really really really hates the random trader she sells things to, or really really really hates the empire (if she even realizes it's them behind the bounty). She does it just so that a) the plot keeps moving b) to show Rey is... noble... I guess?

Remember that even Luke (who I have some problems with as a character) started his journey with more backstory and personality than this. Luke loved the empire and desperately wanted to become a pilot. He was very put out that his aunt and uncle kept saying, "Uh, no, bad idea." Luke was ready to skip town and sign on up for flight academy, he just got distracted by pretty women, er, his sister.

So, Rey is never given a compelling reason to do any of the things she does in the series. Just vague feelings of hero worship. And, of course, the drama over her parents. Just... I feel like Disney took out a hat, put a bunch of pieces of paper with words on them, and drew out the one that said "orphan angst about parents" and said "See, now she's conflicted! What a character!"

So yeah, Rey is your cardboard generic hero who is so generic she's not even a person. She has no hopes, no dreams, no fears, just these vague things we're told as an audience she cares about but never shown in any legitimate manner. Rey likes the resistance and rando droids, Rey imprints on Han Solo as the father she never had, Rey has this thing about her parents, Rey is attracted to Kylo Ren.

And that last one, oh boy that last one. It sold me less on the attraction to Kylo Ren than... oh... I don't know... Palpatine's secret Sith planet of doom. I mean, we all saw it coming, The Last Jedi it was very clear where that was going and then Abrams went for it even harder. But what we had was a series of skype conversations where Rey went from "Gr, you killed my pseudo father!" and Kylo-Ren responding, "Yeah, well he was my real father AND HE WAS SO MEAN" to "Oh Ben, I will fly to you through space and we shall save the galaxy together!"

I am given no reason to believe Rey's change of heart. Han Solo's death just suddenly... doesn't really mean much to her anymore (the man was murdered by his son in cold blood so that his son could feel better about himself). She believes Ben Solo is good now because Luke is a dick (never mind that, no matter what a dick Luke is, Ben Solo still murdered dozens of children and then went on to gleefully massacre his way through the galaxy). We're told there's a Force Dyad, which is um... not this thing the writer's made up because they were too lazy to convince me that Kylo-Ren and Rey would end up together in any organic way.

So, yeah, why does Rey like Kylo-Ren? Because the Force told her too? Because it was somehow all Snoke's fault in a way that's never properly described? (Indeed despite us spending quite a bit of time on Kylo-Ren's decision to remain Kylo-Ren being a very internalized thing) Because we saw him shirtless in yoga pants this one time?

It's bad when that last is actually the most legitimate reason I can think of out of the whole lot.

Now let's go to Kylo-Ren. If Rey is boring and nonsensical then Kylo-Ren is a dumpster fire and non-sensical. The guy reminds me a lot of Commodus from the film "Gladiator", the man is cowardly, vile, and murders his father in despair that his father never will be capable of loving him/passes him over for the throne. Kylo-Ren's murder of Han Solo is extremely similar to the murder of Marcus Aurelius in "Gladiator". Han Solo is a flawed father, trying to make his peace with his son, who approaches him unarmed and Kylo-Ren decides to murder him in order to solidify his place in the dark side.

Only, the films never acknowledge that every action Kylo-Ren takes is horrifying.

We're told "oh, Kylo-Ren exists because evil Snoke corrupted him" but also shown repeatedly that Kylo-Ren chooses the darkest path again and again and again. He "struggles with the light" but I don't see it. His opening scene, he has massacred a village and is torturing a man for information (this is presumably a daily routine for him). In the same film he later tortures Rey for information. He serves on a Death Star which wipes out billions in an instant. He murders his father to feel good about himself. He dresses as a man who was reviled and feared throughout the galaxy, a man who murdered countless children, and a man who dressed the way he did because he was barely hanging onto life, because Kylo-Ren thinks it makes him look like a badass. Think about it, this is like if a fully abled Kylo-Ren is wheeling around in a wheel chair, perfectly capable of walking, because he thinks that Professor X is so cool. Now, replace Professor X with Hitler, this is what the movies gave us.

Yet, the films seem to take it for granted that Kylo-Ren is a redeemable character. He's just lost and misguided, he's really struggling with the light and dark side! They don't just tell us this over and over again (which they do) but also just assume we know it.

And base the entire Reylo pairing off of it. Reylo believed Kylo-Ren could be redeemed, they battle Snoke together, then Kylo-Ren stabs her in the back and continues the assault on the Resistance and asks her to be his Dark Queen (TM). Reylo is shocked and appalled, I'm just wondering what movie she thought she was watching, because that was coming a mile away.

Later, when Kylo-Ren is redeemed, we're never given a reason why it happens. Leia just gives him a nagging, one word, phone call and then Han Solo shows up to go, "Ben, are you going to do the right thing?" and Ben goes, "Mumble, grumble, fine" because there's only an hour left in the last film.

Kylo-Ren, like Rey, is the writers' desperate attempt to create a compelling anti-hero with all the anti-hero sauce we love. They just won't admit they made an overgrown genocidal toddler.

Wow, this turned into why I hate both Rey and Kylo Ren, but, uh, back to the ship. Basically, the films give me 0 reason to ever believe it, and even if I wanted to, even if I said "Alright brain, let's make these characters real people for once", I still wouldn't like it. Because the ship itself is just as flat as the characters. It's spicy but not too spicy bad boy gets together with strong female lead.

I know a lot of people enjoy this, and I won't say it's any less legitimate than any of the weirdness I ship, but I'm not one of them. And the whole thing just makes me go "ugh".

#ask #anon #anti reylo #anti kylo ren #anti rey #anti star wars sequels

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sablelab · 5 years ago

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Covert Operations - Chapter 95

SYNOPSIS: Jamie makes his way towards the monastery and takes out several guards in the process. Having found his way inside he comes across an obstacle that could hinder his progress.

This chapter has a lot of violence in it. Previous chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

My apologies for mentioning the rodents in the last chapter but nothing happened, they were just used only to exacerbate Claire’s fear as I’m sure it would have ours as well. Rest assured Jamie will find her in the next chapter and they will make their escape. THANK YOU all for reading, liking and reblogging my story so that others may see it. I am very appreciative.

CHAPTER 95 (V) Wearing his night vision goggles and dressed in mission black from head to toe, James Fraser made his way towards the building. Less than 50 metres from the perimeter he parted the tree branches and stopped to get his bearings. From this position in the woods he could see the monastery clearly through the undergrowth. Taking out his special night binoculars he surveyed the large construction in the distance and assessed what obstacles lay in the path of his objective. Considering that Fergus had said that surveillance at the monastery was sophisticated, Jamie was thorough in his sweep of the grounds and surveyed all corners of the perimeter. What he saw confirmed Fergus’ evaluation. The triad was certainly prepared for any contingency. Surrounded with wire fencing, probably high voltage judging by the simplicity of the design, Jamie made out twelve men who were outside the monastery keeping watch. There were two guards in the courtyard, four patrolling inside the premises, another two at the door of the monastery and a four-guard rotation outside the complex. Without a thermal body count he had no idea how many were on the inside, so until he found Claire he would be exposed. However, he was confident that eliminating the guards on the outside would be just a formality. Having seen enough he lowered the binoculars and glanced down at his watch timing when the guards on the fence line changed. Jamie then did another complete sweep of the area. This time he made out two high-resolution digital security cameras to the east and west. He timed the rotation of the cameras and found that a full revolution occurred every five minutes in sync with the guard change. It was a short window of opportunity but nevertheless it was enough time for him to slip past undetected. Preparing for his assault, he opened his backpack and took extra guns out of the bag that Murtagh had given him. He slid a Walther P57k with bottleneck silencer into the back-waist band of his mission pants, he placed another under the leg of his pants and the other weapon he put in a pocket on his mission suit. He also took out a scanner and a destructive detonator timer. He placed them in his pockets as well. Just as he was about to advance further towards the monastery, a guard passed by. Dropping to the ground he rolled over training one of his weapons on the guard. Jamie thought it strange when the man reached up to check something protruding from a large tree in the grounds. Zooming in on him, he watched what he did next and saw the guard adjust some type of mechanism on the tree before walking away. The guard’s movements set him to thinking, but he was not happy with his thoughts. Had the triad strategically placed sensors in the grounds? It certainly appeared so. Were they also on the outside of the perimeter? If so ... how could he have missed them? How had he failed to see the devices? As a consequence, did the triad already know that he was here? Jamie tapped the comm. link on his earpiece hoping that communication had been restored and that Fergus would answer.

“Fergus ...”

Back at Section One in Tactical … Since they had lost communication with Jamie, Fergus had anxiously waited for any message from Section’s Level 5 operative. When he heard his faint voice say his name he answered almost immediately.

“Jamie ... I can just hear you ... wait ... I’m changing to C Band ... Jamie?”

“Fergus ... I need to get in here.” Suddenly he heard a shot ring out. It sounded like it came from inside the monastery. Jamie closed his eyes. “Fergus ... hurry ... I heard a shot.” Having heard the dismay in his voice, Fergus knew that every minute was crucial. “What can you see? ...” Jamie barely heard his questions. He brushed his fingers over his upper lip. Was he too late to rescue her? Had they already eliminated his Claire? “Jamie? ... What security does the monastery have?” When the sound of Fergus’ voice cut into his thoughts, he methodically relayed all the security devices he had observed without delay. “An electrified fence, twelve hostiles outside, hidden sensors and two digital cameras with a full sweep of the grounds every five minutes.” Quickly typing the Intel Jamie had given him into his computer as he spoke; Fergus collated this information with what Section One knew already. However, there were some discrepancies as the Rising Dragons had increased their security surveillance from his original data. The hidden sensors must have been added recently, he thought. Fergus made some adjustments then spoke to Jamie once more. “Okay ... Got it ... I’ve tuned into the cameras’ wavelengths and linked their rotation directly to the mainframe. I’ve been able to construct a picture that will replay the same images repeatedly.” He then hit another key on his computer keyboard. “Okay, we're rolling.” “Covered?” “Yeah, they're watching our feed now; they’ll think the perimeter is clear.” “What about the sensors?” Having anticipated his next question Fergus was prepared. He’d immobilized the sensor triggers by looping into the same frequency as the cameras and was able to re-jig their capabilities as well. He watched his monitor with a broad smile on his face.

“Disabled.”

“How long have I got?” “The tape runs another five hours ...You can take care of the rest ... No?” “Yes.” “Jamie ... Operations has sent a backup team. Perhaps you should wait.” “Thank ye ... but I canna wait for them. I need to rescue Claire now,” was James Fraser’s succinct reply. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Quickly making his way in the direction of the sound, Jamie knew he would have to keep to the shadows to avoid detection by the patrolling guards, but first he needed to find a way through the fence. Cutting a way through the wire was out of the question. It was far too dangerous and not time effective. He was faced with a dilemma but not an impossible conundrum. He would need to disable the electricity current somehow before he had any chance of approaching the monastery. If he could short circuit the power just long enough for him to scale the fence it would be enough. This short window would be sufficient not to raise suspicion by the guards, who when and if they checked, would think that some kind of animal had run into it. Rummaging in Murtagh’s bag of tricks, he found some fibre-optic cable, wire snipers and a metal spike. Cutting the wire, he fringed the strands, wound it around the spike and carefully laid the loose ends against the electrified fence. He heard the sizzling sound crackle first, then Jamie jumped back as a shower of white sparks suddenly exploded around him. It had worked. The power was temporarily rendered dead so he quickly scampered over the fence. Making it over with seconds to spare, he dropped heavily to the ground on the other side before rolling into the shadowy corner as the fence bounced back to life. That was too close for comfort, he thought. “Jamie, you okay?” James Fraser could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise with static electricity. One more second and he would have been electrocuted. “I'm fine. Dinna fash, I'm in.” “I'm picking up a signal ... Jamie, do you have visual?” Composing himself he took a moment and watched from the shadows to see the reaction of the guards. He looked around and saw two men look over towards where he was. One of them signalled to his buddy that he would patrol over to the fence and check what had caused the sparks to fly. “I've got them.” Steely eyes watched as the guard advanced towards where he was hiding. Little did the triad member know, but his time was numbered. James Fraser was waiting for him. The guard looked like a body builder. He was stocky and broad shouldered and carried a lethal automatic weapon. The guard looked along the fence then bent down when he saw something that caught his eye. As he did so Jamie closed in behind him and thumped him with his gun. However, before he could shoot him, the guard regained momentum. He twisted around and knocked the silencer out of his hand. He lunged at him and threw a punch. Retaliating Jamie caught the guard off balance by throwing a punch of his own. He fell to his knees but in so doing brought Jamie down with him. Regaining their balance, the two exchanged more blows. Similarly accomplished and just as dangerous, they engaged in hand-to-hand combat for a short while until the guard gained the upper hand. One precise blow to the head caused Jamie to loll backwards. The guard then lunged at him in an effort to finish off his opponent, but Jamie was able to leverage his legs around his neck. Rolling him to the ground, he twisted his legs snapping the guard’s neck with a resounding crack. He lay on the ground lifeless. Jamie then dragged the man’s body into the bushes and covered him with foliage. “One down.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Taking another look around for any of the other guards, he noticed that two were patrolling the far side of the fence, while the third was now making his way over to where he was hidden in the shadows. Coming to look for his colleague the unsuspecting guard was not prepared for what awaited him near the perimeter of the fence. Hearing the sound of a twig snap in the bushes behind him, the guard looked around to the source of the noise. That’s when Jamie struck him to the throat with a blow that saw the heavy-set guard crumble and fall. Like his partner, he dragged the body out of sight. Picking up his dropped weapon, James Fraser watched as the other two guards began to make their way over to change with the two guards he’d disposed of. When they came closer and were unable to see their colleagues, the two men became a little agitated. Just as they were about to make radio contact, Jamie raised his silencer and with two quick, rapid shots watched as the two men fell to the ground one after the other. One of the men fell towards the electric fence. His body rested heavily against the deadly wire as a riot of luminous sparks filled the air. The guard’s frizzled corpse twitched uncontrollably as the high voltage current coursed through his lifeless body. “Four down.” Sprinting towards the monastery his objective was as clear as crystal. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Slipping through the night like a shadowy apparition, Jamie moved swiftly but quietly towards the monastery building. His night vision goggles made his course easy despite the darkness. Ever alert to the danger that surrounded him he was cognizant that there were still eight guards that were unaccounted for. He saw two move away to the far corner of the grounds to patrol the outskirts of the monastery boundary. It would be a while before they returned. The coast was clear. Keeping his eye on the patrolling guards who were within the perimeter he moved up several steps and into the open courtyard of the monastery. So far, he’d had clear passage towards the building but when he heard a guard approach, he ducked behind one of the larger than life-size statues with exaggerated features and grotesque expressions that were facing into the quadrangle. He then observed what the man did. The lone guard stopped to light a cigarette. Leaning his back against one of the statues near where he was positioned, he took a long drag before blowing the smoke up into the air. While the man was preoccupied Jamie made his move. Creeping up from behind the guard, he grabbed him from behind in a head lock. The cigarette fell from his lips as a small gasp of surprise was muffled when he placed his hand over the guard’s mouth. With a flick of his wrists, Jamie twisted his neck. The snap of the guard’s bones breaking echoed in the stillness of the night. As the sentry’s head lolled forward, he eased his body down to the ground and placed it behind the statue out of sight while still keeping alert for any other movement. James Fraser barely made a sound in the quiet of the night as he ran across the span of empty courtyard space to the next statue watchful for the second guard patrolling this part of the monastery. His vigilance was rewarded when the sound of footsteps echoed on the gravel surface. Taking cover once more Jamie was aware that another guard was making his way down some steps into the courtyard. Once again, he merged into the shadows and waited for the guard to appear. Standing just below the steps, the guard shone his flashlight around the quadrangle on a routine check of the courtyard. When the beam of his torch passed over the statue where Jamie was hidden, he pulled back deeper into the shadows until the beam traversed onto the next concrete monument. The guard moved further into the quadrangle shining his torch around the area. Suddenly his flashlight honed in on something out of the ordinary on the ground near one of the statues in the distance. Jamie’s eyes followed the path of his curiosity. The guard had stumbled across something where the first guard was felled ... it was the man’s smouldering cigarette. Thinking that this was strange, as he knew that his friend always smoked his cigarettes to the butt, he called out his colleague’s name, but he heard no reply. The second guard began to move toward the fallen cigarette to check it out. He called out again. However, as he did so, the guard turned around behind him when he heard the sound of a rock being thrown and shone his flashlight in that direction.

“Is that you Chen? ... Where are you?”

Another rock tumbled past his foot. “Okay ... I get it ... two can play this game!” He shone his light in the direction of the small thrown missile only to have another stone come from the other direction. Spooked, the guard turned sharply to his left and came face to face with a man clad in black ... James Fraser “What ... the ...fuck! How did you get in here?” he mouthed dropping his torch and reaching for his weapon. “Over the fence ...” Jamie replied casually as he sidestepped the guard knocking his weapon from his hand in the process. The sentry was caught off guard as he out manoeuvred him. He turned and charged at him. Sidestepping him once more Jamie karate chopped the man, but he retaliated with a blow of his own. A quick flurry of exchanges occurred before the guard pulled a knife from his shoe. With the knife raised, he lunged at the black clad intruder who managed to avoid the thrust of his blade. They fought for possession of the knife that the guard was holding but he lost his balance in the scuffle. He lunged once more but Jamie grabbed him, twisting the hand holding the knife to the guard’s chest. He tried in vain to avoid the blade piercing his flesh, however, the more he struggled the deeper the blade went until it was embedded in his chest. Blood spilled from the deep cut yet still he continued to fight off his aggressor. James Fraser, however, was far too strong and sharply twisted the blade up piercing the guard’s heart. With a cry of anguish, he fell lifeless to the ground. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Having made his way across the courtyard, Jamie climbed the stairs leading to the entrance door of the monastery and observed that the guards who were there were nonchalant about their duties. They were both playing a game of Mah-Jong to wile away the hours knowing that the perimeter and grounds were well protected. Any interlopers who had managed to get into this well fortified monastery were either dead or would have been captured without their input. Jamie bypassed the two preoccupied guards and slipped to the west side of the building from whence he’d heard the gunshot.

“Jamie ... when you are able, you’ll need to place a scanner so that I can pin point where Claire is being held.” Flattened against the wall, he pulled the scanner from the pocket of his mission suit and attached it to the building. “Done.” James Fraser slipped from window to window peering inside to see if Claire was being held in the rooms. He knew instinctively that the torture room would not be here and was more likely to be in an underground room within the monastery. Nonetheless he continued along the wall looking for an opening into the building. “Fergus ... Have ye located Claire yet?” “No ... but I’ve now got a blueprint scan on the monastery.” “Okay.” The computer whizz had worked quickly to use all the sources he had at his disposal. Once he had planted the scanner, he’d set to work immediately collating the Intel he already had. Fergus then pulled up a transparent schematic of the monastery on an overhead monitor. He relayed the Intel back to Jamie. “I did an infrared scan of the monastery off our satellite feed as well. It’s built on top of an ancient structure. Over the centuries a system of underground tunnels were built by the monks who lived there.” “Location?” “Proceed about fifty metres north of your position there’s a disused tunnel that the monks used there.” “How do we know the passageways aren't collapsed?” Fergus noted the different colour patterns to the various passageways in the schematic on his overhead monitor. “Colour saturation indicates structural density. A blue line traces a pathway through the maze that leads to what I believe is the underground torture chamber.” “How stable are the configurations?” “There is no way to be certain but our options are limited. Jamie ... There’s a hot spot in the west wing of the building three floors down.” “That must be it.” “Yes.” Armed with the Intel he needed to enter the building; James Fraser made his way to where the tunnel was located. The door was well camouflaged. It was overgrown with foliage and was nearly unrecognizable as a secret entrance into the monastery. He looked back and forth for any triad security guards but this side of the monastery was apparently deserted and although he kept watch for other guards none eventuated. He had clear passage to the tunnel entrance but when he tried to open the door sealing the opening, it was locked. Taking his laser from his hip holster he shot the laser bead over the lock in order to cut through its interior mechanisms. “Jamie! There are two guards on the north rim, coming from behind!” Although he’d not completely cut through the lock, he had damaged it enough for him to enter the tunnel. He quickly kicked the door in. The weakened lock couldn't hold against the force of the thrust and gave way. Jamie tumbled inside, and just as quickly closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “I’m in ... which way?” “The primary tunnel runs directly before you. Follow the tunnel straight ahead. It should veer to the right then there are a set of stairs that descend downwards.” “Have ye got a reading on Claire?” "She's down about three floors ... At the first flight of stairs there is a grate covering the entrance.” “Tunnel access?” “Through the grate. From there it’s two hundred meters to the next point.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* When Jamie reached the stairs, he was confronted with a steel frame covering the opening to the stairway. He pulled it off, slipped through the opening and made his way down a short flight of stairs until he came to another landing. Ahead of him was a long and narrow passageway. He ran along it until he was confronted with three tunnels each going in a different direction. “Which way?” “Take the far-left tunnel ... and keep moving straight.” These tunnels had not been used for a long while. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and they were eerily quiet and cold. Moving further through the tunnel Jamie’s foot suddenly stumbled across something lying on the ground. As he looked down, he jerked back in surprise to see some human skeletal remains dressed in a monk’s robe. The corpse had long since decomposed and judging by the remains he had been there for many, many years. The triad obviously didn’t know about these tunnels which boded well for him. His detection would go unnoticed and he would be able to egress the same way when he’d rescued Claire. He continued on with renewed confidence. “Twelve meters to your right there are another set of stairs.” Adhering to Fergus’ instructions explicitly, Jamie continued on following the tunnel as it weaved its way through the bowels of the monastery until it came to an abrupt stop when he came to a dead end. All that was in front of him was a brick wall. Realising that something was wrong he spoke to Fergus who was monitoring his progress back at Section One. “Fergus ... There's no more tunnel ... there's just walls.” “It has to be there.” “Well, it’s not.” Fergus stared at his computerized schematic, trying to figure out the reasons behind the discrepancy between his program and his information. “Jamie, kick the wall.” He did. One kick and the wall began to collapse. Bricks and crumbling mortar fell onto the ground at his feet. “Got it ... That's it ... Okay.” He kept kicking at the wall until he had opened up a hole that had been sealed over for some time. Pushing at the rubble with his hands, he dislodged the bricks opening up a cavity large enough for him to be able to get through. Once on the other side, the tunnel wall zigzagged into the darkness. He followed the winding passageway and went deeper into the monastery. Straight ahead of him Jamie could see what appeared to be some kind of air duct and a beam of light filtered through a closed door beneath it. He stopped and pulled out his silencer. Checking the clip, he slid the weapon into position then clicking off the safety switch he held it at the ready. Reaching out, his hand rested on the doorknob.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued on TUESDAY 21st when Jamie finally finds his Claire.

#jamieandclaireau #Jamieandclairefanfic #jamieandclairecrossover #outlander fanfiction #outlanderfanfic #covert operations #outlanderandLFN

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

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Diamonds In The Rough, Chapter 2 - Fannyatrollop

a/n: @sayakamagika and I are back back back again with another update! Featuring everyone’s favourite high class Russian… child…

Trixie wasn’t sure if she ought to be excited when Granny told them that Papa had hired a new nanny to look after her and Pearl. Of course, it would be nice to finally have somebody to care and look after them, but she was rather upset Papa still felt the need to hire someone rather than do it himself. It had been so long since he’d sat down and played with her and Pearl, and even though she still saw him every day, Trixie missed him as if he’d gone to heaven with Mama.

“I hope she’s nice,” Pearl said as they sat on the stairs waiting for this new nanny to arrive. “Miss Jenkins was awful.”

Trixie’s mouth dropped open like a fish. “Don’t say that about her! We mustn’t… disrespect her, like that.”

Pearl wasn’t wrong, exactly. Miss Jenkins had been strict and mean and she never let the girls have any fun. But Trixie never liked to speak ill of the dead - it wasn’t proper.

The girls spotted Papa stepping into the entrance room, his eyes trained on his watch. The new nanny was due to arrive at any moment, and it seemed the whole household was anxious to meet her. It was a question of whether the mysterious Miss BenDeLaCreme would be suitable for the children - she seemed perfectly delightful in her advertisement, but one must not believe everything they read.

The short, prim knock at the door conjured butterflies in Trixie’s stomach, and she and Pearl exchanged excited glances before rising to meet their new nanny. Papa went to open the door - funny, Trixie thought their butler, Mr Hudson, would’ve done that. She supposed Papa wanted to meet this new nanny for himself as soon as possible, considering he was handing his only daughters into her care.

“Ah, Mr. Liaison-Mattel, is it?” came a sugary sweet voice from outside, and Trixie could already tell she was smiling just from hearing her. “I’m Miss BenDeLaCreme - I believe you requested my assistance?”

There was a slight stutter in Papa’s words. “Ah, yes, welcome, Miss BenDeLaCreme. Please, come inside.”

“Oh, do just call me Dela - it is far easier for everyone, I think, myself included!” Miss Dela laughed as she stepped inside, a pleasant sound like a bell. Trixie’s eyes lit up at the sight of her - she had never seen a nanny look so colourful, with bright flowers decorating the brim of her hat and a beautiful, vibrant blue dress perfectly tailored to her form. Curls of dark hair escaped from her hat, and her face lit up with a radiant smile as she laid eyes on the girls. “Now, you must be the children I’m to care for. Might I have your names?”

Pearl was the first to speak up, Trixie’s shyer nature getting the better of her. “My name’s Pearl. Your dress is very pretty.”

“Why thank you!” Miss Dela raised a hand to her chest, clearly pleased with the praise. “And you, sweetheart? What shall I call you?”

“That’s Trixie,” Pearl said for her, a nasty habit she’d picked up over the course of their life together. Trixie was shy and sometimes very much not in the mood to speak for herself, but she was old enough to do so if given the opportunity.

“Yes, Nanny, I’m Trixie,” sad Trixie, scowling a little. “I am capable of speech too.”

Miss Dela gave a succinct nod. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, Mr. Liaison-Mattel, is there anything in particular I need to know about the girls?”

Papa shook his head. “Nothing I didn’t mention in my letter to you, Miss Dela.”

“Wonderful! Now, girls, shall we-”

An almighty crash from outside rudely interrupted Miss Dela and made Trixie jump in fright. Pearl was quick to stifle her yelp of surprise, raising her little hands to her mouth and flushing. It was rather satisfying - Pearl would be the first to tell you that she wasn’t scared of anything, so seeing her startled pleased Trixie a fair bit.

“Heavens, what was that?” Papa asked, more irritated than frightened by the commotion. He started towards the door to investigate, but Miss Dela held out a hand to stop him.

“I wouldn’t worry yourself - allow me.” Miss Dela turned on her heel and stepped out of the house, and despite Papa’s protests, Pearl and Trixie were quick to follow. They found Miss Dela glaring at a bush, her hands planted on her hips and her lips pursed into a thin line. Trixie peered around to see what she was looking at, and was rather surprised to see another woman splayed out in the foliage, her legs sticking out in an unladylike fashion. Beside her, Pearl giggled.

The woman grinned up at Miss Dela before blowing a bright red curl out of her face. “Well hello, Dela! Fancy seeing you here!”

“Miss Brown, you do astound me,” Miss Dela tutted. Trixie was struck dumb to know that a prim, proper lady like Miss Dela could possibly be familiar with this strange, dishevelled woman in the bushes. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“My job, I should think.” Miss Brown started untangling herself from the branches of the bush, adjusting her battered old hat as she did so. A single, wilted flower drooped from the brim.

Miss Dela narrowed her eyes. “I could have sworn you had told me your princess was Russian.”

“Oh, she is!” Miss Brown reassured her, straightening out her shabby brown coat. “But not all Russians live in Russia, you know.”

“A Russian princess!”

Trixie’s natural shyness was no match for the excitement of hearing about royalty, especially if they were from such an exotic place. Pearl fancied herself too grown up to shout as she had, but she was looking at Miss Brown with more interest than before.

Miss Dela shook her head. “Trixie, come along, you’ve no need to listen to this woman’s silly stories.”

“Oh, Miss Brown, I should like it very much if you could tell us more about the princess!” Trixie squealed. She quickly rattled off her many questions: What does she look like? Is she very rich? Is she coming to see their King? Will she have a pet bear that dances at her command? Will she come wearing the finest furs?

“Of course she will come wearing fur!” cried Pearl. “Russians love to wear fur! And she’s a princess, so it must be very fine indeed.”

“Since when are you such an expert on Russians, Pearl? We’ve never seen one before.”

Pearl was in the midst of formulating a response when the new nanny saw that it was necessary to rein her charges back in.

“Girls!”

In that moment Trixie and Pearl learned that when Miss Dela decided to put her foot down, she could appear quite stern indeed.

“Miss Dela, you musn’t punish these poor girls for their natural curiosity!” Miss Brown said, with a laugh. “Can’t I at least tell them one thing before I go? I shan’t linger where I’m not wanted.”

“Please Miss Nanny!” Trixie cried. “Please let her tell us something about the princess?”

“Who is this lady anyhow?” Pearl asked, shocked that she was the first to think of doing so. “You seem to know her, Miss Dela.”

Miss Dela sighed. “To answer your question, Pearl, this lady is my ridiculous sister, Miss Tammie Brown,” she said.

Miss Tammie Brown gave the girls a deep bow. “That I am indeed,” she said, merriment shining in her face. “Though I should say Miss Dela is the ridiculous one in my eyes. There’s so much she simply refuses to understand.”

Trixie’s mouth hung open at the cavalier way in which Miss Tammie defied their new authority figure.

“Then is Miss Dela’s name also Brown?” asked Pearl, proud of herself for being such a logical creature.

Miss Dela shook her head. “No, and we have already discussed what I should be called, have we not?”

“How is it that you are sisters and don’t have the same name?”

“Pearl, darling, not all sisters are like you and Trixie,” Miss Dela said, patiently. “Sometimes one knows in one’s heart when one is with a sister, and silly things like names don’t matter as much.”

“I don’t care about names!” shouted Trixie, too impatient to learn any important life lessons. “Miss Tammie, tell us about the princess!”

“I suppose she can,” said Miss Dela. “But we might have to have a talk about manners, Trixie.”

Pearl giggled, while Trixie looked at her feet, shamed from being scolded however light.

Miss Tammie laughed, bright and loud. “Well, I mustn’t keep the little missus waiting!” she said. “I can say just one thing, then?”

“Yes, Tammie, and do get on with it.”

“Goodness, Dela, you must be awfully eager to get rid of me!”

“They really do sound like sisters now,” whispered Pearl, so that only Trixie could hear. Trixie silently agreed, practically vibrating with impatience while Miss Tammie teased Miss Dela much like they teased each other when the mood struck.

“Alright, children, let me tell you what you wish to know,” Miss Tammie said, in that laughing way of hers. She hardly ceased to find everything around her diverting, it seemed, and both little girls thought that shouldn’t be a terrible way to go about life. Both pairs of eyes were trained right on her, eagerly anticipating her words.

Miss Tammie cleared her throat.

“The princess,” she said, leaning in to speak conspiratorially. “Is coming to live next door.”

***

The princess was, just then, entirely unaware that she was the object of such interest. She wasn’t certain where she was going at all.

Earlier that day, her Aunt Tonya had dressed her in a simple, black dress, brushed her hair neatly, and bundled everything she owned up so that she could set it on her lap as they rode to some unknown place, where she was to live from then on. She didn’t know why she couldn’t continue to live with her aunt, but her dear Father had told her she must always listen to Aunt Tonya, and Aunt Tonya said that she must live apart from her.

Technically, Yekaterina Petrovna was no princess at all, not in the way two little English girls might envision. She was born into nobility, yes, but she was no king’s daughter. Yet she grew up in a big house, inside a sprawling estate that may as well have been her family’s little kingdom, the way her father had explained it. In their house, he was as good as a king, and she was his little princess. Her mother was long dead, and as her Aunt Tonya had no husband or children of her own, she lived with them in their little palace, as she had all her life. Katya could run and play wherever she pleased, until she couldn’t, and anything her father thought she might like, he would produce for her until that too became difficult.

As their fortunes changed, Katya felt it keenly though she did not understand the particulars of their situation. She knew nothing of war or revolution, and no one had wanted to explain these things to her. Her father loved her so well that he never wanted her to worry about a single thing, and he had sent her away in the company of her aunt because he had reached a point where he felt that delaying their departure could endanger them. All he had told her was that he feared their home was no longer safe, and that if she was good to her aunt, he would be very proud of her when he joined them. She had kissed him and promised to behave, as he left her to be packed up and taken along to England, with one of the two passages he had been able to procure. She worried that when he came looking for them, he might be troubled to find that she had been separated from her aunt, and so she bit her lip as they rode along the grey streets of London, hoping that he would understand that she had only done as she was told.

Looking at her now, one would not even take her for nobility. Inside her bundle, Katya had one change of clothes and a ragged plush toy. This was all that she owned in the world, aside from a precious watch on a chain that her father had given to her as a parting gift. The watch was to be left with Aunt Tonya, who promised it would be safer in her care. Katya had always been a good, trusting kind of girl, so she had relinquished her most prized possession because she believed that her aunt had her best interests at heart, and would take better care of it than a careless little girl like her ever could. She would miss pressing it to her ear, where the ticking of the clock helped her fall asleep at night when the confusion that her life had become threatened to keep her awake.

***

For her part, Tonya did feel, deep down inside, that she may be doing the wrong thing. However, she understood life in ways her little niece did not, and she had told herself that what she was doing was in no way breaking the promise she had made to her poor brother. He had told her to look after the girl, and as he had not sent them away with nearly enough to care for the both of them in their new life together, there was no harm in finding a place for her to be cared for while Tonya could focus on keeping herself alive. Everything had happened so fast, that she had only been instructed to hide precious things in her clothes and in their luggage, to help them hold out until he could resume his duties as head of the house. So, Tonya had been left quite alone for the first time in her life, with nothing but a meagre living that could never take her through a year in naught but the most reduced circumstances, and a girl she was to be in charge of. The priceless relics of her family’s history had only gotten them so far, and if things kept on as they had, they may very well have starved slowly while her brother failed to appear.

A woman like herself, who had experienced the first hardships of her life just these past couple of years, could not be expected to find ways to improve things for herself and the child. As she saw it, all she could be expected to do was to survive until her fortunes improved. And in order for that to happen, her brother’s precious Princess Yekaterina might as well be sold into domestic service, where she stood a better chance of awaiting his return than she would by her side. She would be of no use to anyone otherwise.

Tonya hoped that Mrs. Minj would not mind the lost look her niece had about her. She tended to let her eye wander every which way, as if she needed to take a full inventory of her surroundings at all times. Tonya hoped that she would not change her mind about taking her on because of it, because in truth, Katya was quite sharp. Her adoring father had every right to go around telling everyone what a clever girl his daughter was, though appearances often suggested that her head was quite lost in the clouds.

As they stood on Mrs. Minj’s stoop, Katya could make out a strange rustling in the nearby shrubs. She saw two little heads crowded at the front window of the house next door, with a taller figure standing behind them. She took note of the dull, grey sky, and how uniform the houses on the street looked. The sound of Mrs. Minj opening the door to greet them gave her something new to behold.

Mrs. Minj was a tall, thin woman, with mousy brown hair and a perpetual look of distaste. She had been crafted by nature to become a strict governess, or a nun in charge of terrorizing schoolgirls at a convent school, or perhaps an ill-tempered librarian, but fortune had given her marriage and a family instead. After a curt greeting, she regarded Katya, looking down her nose at the girl she was to take into her home. Katya struggled to meet her eye.

“This is the child, then?” she said, addressing Tonya without looking at her.

“Yes, she is,” Tonya said. She bit her lip.

Mrs. Minj turned her attention to Katya.

“Child,” she said. “Tell me your name.”

Katya had been trained to recognize this question, though her understanding of the English language was not quite where it ought to be. She stared dumbly at Mrs. Minj for a moment, though, because it had not been phrased the way she was used to. Aunt Tonya had spent hours asking her What is your name? and talking her through the correct response.

Tonya could see something like disdain blooming on Mrs. Minj’s face the longer Katya stayed silent.

“Don’t worry,” she said, in her own halting speech. “She is quick. She improve soon.”

She then nudged Katya, with a sharp translation of what the woman had asked her. God, she hoped she would be allowed to leave this exchange alone.

Now that she knew what to say, Katya embarked on her rehearsed speech.

“My name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo—”

“Katherine,” Mrs. Minj said. “What a sensible name.”

In the end, the exchange went off without a fuss. Mrs. Minj gave Tonya her payment, and took Katya by the wrist to pull her inside. Tonya called after her to be good, and turned around to leave her as soon as she could. Katya was then unceremoniously dumped into the care of the house cook. It was only later that night, when she was finally left alone to process the events of the day, that she began to feel scared.

***

In the house next door, two little girls huddled under one of their covers, so they could whisper about what they had seen after the lights went out.

“That was no princess!” Pearl whispered, almost loudly enough to constitute regular speech, but with a hissing quality to it. “She looked so shabby, and there was no fur in sight.”

“Why would Mrs. Minj call her Katherine? Her name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo, I heard it clear as day!” Trixie pouted as she thought of it. The girl looked like she had so little …

Pearl rolled her eyes, and though Trixie could not see it, she could discern that it had happened from the way she spoke.

“Oh, Trixie, what does it matter what she’s called?”

Trixie kept her mouth closed until the urge to shout subsided.

“I just think it’s so rude to take away a person’s name… Don’t you, Pearl?”

“We should just go to sleep before Miss Dela scolds us. What a bore today turned out to be,” said Pearl, sighing.

“You’re bored every day, Pearl.”

#trixie mattel #pearl liaison #bendelacreme #tammie brown #katya zamolodchikova #1910s au #mary poppins au #child au #fannyatrollop #diamonds in the rough #rpdr fanfiction #historical au

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bleedingcoffee42 · 8 years ago

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Absent- Part 13

So doing this in installment drabbles didn’t stop this from becoming a fic. Why do I do this?

Prev parts

xxxxxxx

“Interesting.”

It was interesting. Riza was watching herself act like an alchemist and it was something that seemed so natural to this version of her it was hard to doubt what she was seeing even if it was hard to comprehend. This woman was completely engrossed in the puzzle in her hand, already pulling a notebook from a shelf to start writing down the symbols and break them down into something more digestible. All with the same methodical practiced ease that she was used to breaking down a gun. It wasn't a foreign concept, she saw this in Roy and the boys every time their eye caught something that challenged them a little, but this was her.

“Other side of the coin....is more like the other side of your brain.” The alchemist Riza said.

Said in her voice, in that same tone she got when she was being professional. Very focused. Succinct. Completely zoned in on her task.

“This is very advanced for a culture as old as Xerses. It's advanced for our culture right now. My books will not be able to shed any light on this. My collection is older and focuses on gases and combustion. I don't deal in biology. I don't have anything on coin collection or ancient history.”

Riza nodded. That didn't mean she was done. The other woman didn't pry her eyes away from the coin and she was still writing and working on some notes of her own. “Perhaps you can help me?”

That was too far and finally concentration was broken. “Why would you think I have the expertise to help you with this? I have never sold a book that has dealt with ancient alchemic history or relics.”

Of course there wasn't a book on any of this in that house. Berthold Hawkeye's collection was focused on one thing and one thing alone: fire. He had books on combustion engines, studies on efficient fuels, temperature regulators, oxygen as an element, photosynthesis and respiration, oxidation, oxygen in the industrial age and exothermic reactions. Anything that could help him understand how to create and control fire. He had his basic alchemy books, like any other alchemist, but his library was dedicated to his passion. Early man banged rocks together to make a spark, he didn't believe modern man understood fire any better than just how to apply it to what they wanted. “The bookseller said he thought you had a book about fire in the history of warfare and weapons. This coin seems like a weapon.”

It was stretch of reason, but alchemists fed off of those. “It's still not my field and unfortunately this is not the primitive type of warfare that would be in that kind of book. I'm sorry. I can't help you.”

She was at least giving her some feedback, probably feeling sorry that she couldn't help her at all. However, she did have things to do and was not going to waste time with trying to do something she knew wasn't in her realm of comprehension. Always efficient. So Riza knew her time was up and it was time for the truth if she wanted answers. “It's because it's not the actual research I wanted to show you. That coin is part of it, but I need to show you something else to explain why I'm here.”

The other Riza ripped the page from the notebook and folded it to give it to her, along with the coin. When she looked up the stranger had already turned her back to her and then shocked her by lifting up her shirt. She was going to demand to know why this woman was taking off her shirt for her but then her eyes fixated on something very familiar and she was stunned into silence. A few moments elapsed before she could finally ask, “How....where did you get that?”

Riza pulled her shirt back down over the base of her tattoo and turned around. She didn't pull the shirt up enough to show the burn scar, that would have been too much. She locked eyes with the other version of her and saw the further disbelief as she saw a copy of herself. “I think you know who I got that from. There is only one man that had that research and only one man mad enough to imprint it on the back of his own daughter.”

“This....” Alternative Riza looked down at the coin. “This is what the coin does.”

She was surprised at how quickly she accepted this, but she was an alchemist. They were always quick to see past the impossible to the science underneath. “I am you. I'm Riza Hawkeye. I'm a different version of you who didn't become an alchemist and my father felt the only way to pass on his research was to carve it into my skin instead of my brain. You're the other version of me. The other side of the coin. In my life, my father had an apprentice he choice to be the next flame alchemist. Unfortunately, he ran out of time before that apprentice came back to him and he was determined to record his research somewhere in case he didn't live to see the day of the apprentice's return. He made it seem like it was my choice, but it wasn't. I told myself it was, but I was so scared of him it was the only way I could feel in control of the situation. He told me it was my choice to pick the next flame alchemist even though he knew damned well I had fallen in love with the boy he had already trained. Roy Mustang was chosen long before I ever saw him again.”

It was like talking to herself and the truth flowed too easily because she was desperate for answers. Riza was running out of time so words fell from her lips that she never admitted to anyone. She had been too scared to think about too much because she feared losing that control. She feared feeling like she was just used and had never had a say in her life at all. However, truth was truth and it was the only thing that could help her find answers.

“If you're an alchemist...”

“I'm not an alchemist.” Riza admitted. “He had an alternative and instead of teaching me... he branded me with his information. I can't imagine learning from him was much better than what I endured. At least mine was done quickly and over in a short amount of time however you have to know he was capable of tattooing his research on his own daughter. You had to, he was mad. There was no telling the lengths he would have gone to if he couldn't pass on his research and let that live on somehow. You had to fear the consequences of failure more than anything.“

There was silence as they looked at each other with the same knowing sad look. No communication was necessary.

Riza pointed to the coin. “I wouldn't be here unless I had to be. I never wanted to come back here again. I never wanted to think about him again. I never wanted to realize that maybe all my choices in life were actually made for me. I don't want to relive what happened to me in that house. None of it. It's gone and I can't remember it beyond the smells of that crawlspace because I had to mentally destroy the feeling of being there alone with him and his madness. That's why that house isn't standing anymore, because I refuse to look at it again and remember questioning why I was having to care for him as he died when he never took care of me as a child. My memories of that house all revolve around Roy now. Good times studying with him or having him help me with chores. The day he finally came back and how good it felt to share this horrible secret on my back with someone. To know someone else was outraged by what happened to me and that I wasn't wrong about how terrible my father was to do that. How much I questioned myself because normal human emotions were in no way a part of Berthold Hawkeye anymore. It was so good to have someone know what happened and.....care about me.”

“I learned.” Alternative Riza said. “I am the Flame Alchemist. Isn't that what schooling is for? Learning and...developing skills? I...accepted that it was the only way he knew how to share. It wasn't easy, but I learned and he finally paid attention to me.”

“At what cost?” Riza asked. Abuse comes in so many forms Riza Hawkeye. “In hindsight, it's easier to see and easier to avoid but you're not at fault for what happened. Neither of us where.”

“Get out.” Alternative Riza said and pushed the coin and paper into the other woman's hands. Shee refused to take it knowing to would conclude this conversation.

“I can't, not without your help.” Riza said, frustration finally evident in her voice. Was she going to have to fight herself to get the answers? Fight to make this woman see past the denial and start questioning her actions? It wasn't fair, but so little in her life had been fair. “You're an alchemist, you seek truth! Don't shut your eyes to it. Truth is horrible and not fair. I've talked about this so many times, too many times, with everyone but myself because I was too scared to venture into my past and not find explanations to make this all make sense. We lived in that house with the man who created flame alchemy, the most powerful form of alchemy this world has ever known. He was capable of the research but not the application, that is why he had to pass it on to someone else. He was defeated by his work, he couldn't master his own life's obsession and had no other choice than to force it on someone else. It's complex and requires someone with exceptional mental capacity and he had deteriorated so much that he was no longer capable of that. You know that is the truth.”

“If we are not the same no matter how you know this information.” The alchemist looked down at the coin. “Is this what this coin does? Make me question myself? Give you access to my past, my memories?”

“We are the same and I know if I don't unload everything on you, then you will have no reason to hear me out. You are work driven, you make use of every minute of your time especially here on the farm by yourself. You have no reason to speak with me other than the fact that you might have been able to sell off a valuable item or make some cash from advising me with your expertise. You saw I have a nice car, you know I'm not from around here. You sized me up when you send you dog out and evaluated whether or not I am worth your time. I did the same.” Riza said and took another step closer to the other woman so they had no choice but to look at each other. One worn down from work and the lack of finances to take care of herself, one worn down from work and the demons of her past. “Look at yourself and see the other path you could have had in your life. That is what this coin is for. You stayed here and became the new flame alchemist. I left and created the new flame alchemist. Either way we are still bound to the same thing.”

“So...you're trying to prove yourself to me? You need me?”

“I need to get out of here.” Riza answered honestly. She could always count on herself to answer the plea for help. “This coin has me trapped in my own mind looking at a life that I thought would be better without my decisions. I wouldn't want your life and I don't have the time to think about how happy Roy might be without me in his. Right now he's in danger and he's very possibly going to die if I don't get back to him. So I need you to help me determine if I have what it takes to activate this array and go back to normal.”

“It's not that simple. You just can't learn alchemy in a day. You should know that.” The alchemist replied offended.

“You exist because I have the knowledge so dammit, help me.”

Desperation was slowly taking over and she felt like everything was slipping away from her. She thought that talking about the truth would help her unlock some portal, perhaps she was taking what Ed said too literally, but truth was the foundation of what alchemists sought out. Truth in nature broken down into elements and reactions, truth in the cost of dabbling in something greater than humans should. Truth in telling herself that what she feared might be true.

“What aren't you telling me? Why have you only told me about our shared life and not how you lead yours?”

“I joined the army.” Riza answered honestly. There was no reason not to. This was going nowhere. “I left here and became a soldier because there was someone I wanted to protect. Not something, someone.”

“The apprentice you mentioned. Roy.”

“The Flame Alchemist. Father was right, it is a weapon of such horrible power that it should have never been in the hands of the government. We were naive. We don't deny that or the atrocities we committed. Now, we seek redemption and Roy is the only one who can change this country and put it back in the hands of the people. He....would not be on this path if it wasn't for me. He'd be happy.”

“You still sound naive to me. If the country is so bad you have to change it than why do you think it's going to be better without your interference?”

“Maybe there is equivalent exchange after all.” Riza answered. “In exchange for this power we have both suffered..... but without our suffering we would still be blind to what needs to be done. We wanted to save people and were willing to sacrifice our lives to do so, I suppose Truth did just that. Took our lives out of our hands and we have to struggle to get to the top. After all what is a sacrifice without pain, right?“

“He must be something special if you could trust him with....the family secret.” Alternative Riza crossed her arms. A soldier. Her. It was plausible, in an environment where an outside influence was allowed to affect the control....the experiment could yield unforeseen results. “However now that the world knows of flame alchemy's devastation, you can not take it back.”

“There will be no more flame alchemists.” Riza said definitively and turned around again. It took a lot to be close to this woman she aggravated and turn her back to her and make herself vulnerable. At least when she did it before she was a few steps away and had shock value on her side, but now she was clearly putting herself at a disadvantage. Still, she lifted her shirt up far enough to show off the burn scar. “I trusted him to decode and destroy it. I trust him to not pass it on to anyone else. I trust him completely.”

“He...did that?”

She could hear how horrified she was. Of course the conclusion most people would make was that the research was destroyed after it was taken. She put her shirt down and turned to look herself in the eye. “I made the choice. I asked him to do it. I wanted it gone, just like when I gave it to him, I just wanted it gone. I didn't think of him. How much it hurt him....I was so desperate. He thinks this was all his fault but it was mine. I made the choice. It hurts him more than me and I wish I had another choice.”

“Would you do it again?” Alternative Riza asked. “Knowing what you know now. Of how it ruined him and how happy he is without it? Would you still follow through with your actions knowing the results it yielded?”

“Yes.” Riza answered honestly and without having to think about it. “Because part of me is still that naive fool who thinks we could change things. You're right, not knowing what is going on doesn't make you any better off, it only makes you vulnerable. We know the truth at such a heavy price, but we define ourselves by what we do with that knowledge. I'll see him to the top and I'll watch him make this a better country. I need your help to do that though, because I'm afraid of what will happen to him when he finds me in reality. That coin is a trap meant for him and whoever made it is not going to abandon their goals because the wrong person picked it up. They'll alter their plans and use me against him. Will you help me?”

“I wish I could.” Alternative Riza put the coin in her hand and the paper with her notes on top of it. “I don't know how. Even if I did..... this alchemy is toying with your brain.... anything even slightly wrong will do serious damage. This isn't novice alchemy this is incredibly complex.”

“Oh God....” Maybe it was going to be even worse than she thought. If Roy tried to save her he could damage her brain himself. Losing her would be rough, but being the one who did it would destroy him.

#fic #absent

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thatfanfictionchick · 4 years ago

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“The thing that hurt me is being presented as something that you’re really as far away from as you could possibly get,” Depp, 55, told British GQ for its November edition. “To harm someone you love? No, it didn’t, it couldn’t even sound like me,” he said.

“Twenty-five feet away from her, how the f–k am I going to hit her? Which, by the way, is the last thing I would’ve done. I might look stupid, but I ain’t f–king stupid,” he said.

https://pagesix.com/2018/10/03/johnny-depp-denies-amber-heard-abuse-allegations/

"I have denied Ms Heard's allegations vehemently since she first made them in May 2016 when she walked into court to obtain a temporary restraining order with painted-on bruises that witnesses and surveillance footage show she did not possess each day of the preceding week."

https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-48348911

“I did not hit Ms. Heard and furthermore I have never hit Ms. Heard,” said Depp, who wore a gray suit, blue shirt and patterned tie for his second day in the witness box.

“Hoax is probably the best word one could use because the allegations, all of the allegations, are patently untrue,” Depp said.

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/general-news/johnny-depp-denies-hitting-wife-amber-heard-1302385/

“These sick claims are totally untrue,” Depp said in a written witness statement.

https://www.usatoday.com/story/entertainment/celebrities/2020/07/07/johnny-depp-amber-heard-uk-court-sun-tabloid-case/5388905002/

Are you even trying anymore??

I will pay the first Turd Stain to provide me legitimate evidence of Johnny or any of his representatives ever saying "well she was a bitch who deserved it".

I'm sorry that Johnny doesn't go on long, rambling, obviously contradictory tangents like Turd does trying to defend himself. I'm sorry he only gives short, succinct answers because his evidence undoubtedly proves what he says. I'm sorry that you're not capable of understanding that when Johnny says "I have never hit Ms. Heard" he means "I have never hit Ms. Heard" unlike Amber who says "I only ever hit Johnny once" but actually meant "I was hitting you not punching you, I don't know what the actual motion of my hand was but you're fine".

#👌 this close to posting a whole gd thesis on that bullshit UK judgement #amber heard #amber heard is an abuser #amber heard is a liar #johnny depp #justice for johnny depp

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swipestream · 6 years ago

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Duel Visions

Tomorrow, Duel Visions, a weird fiction / horror collaboration by two veterans of those genres, Louise Sorrensen and Misha Burnett will be released. For the title think dueling banjos. The authors went into this collaboration thinking it would be one of contrasting styles but found the end effect was one of synchronicity .

Reading Misha’s and Louise’s alternate stories (10 total), involves some shifting of mental gears as the reader moves from one to the next. I’m really not a horror fan so Misha caught me out, as his first story, We Pass From View is a thoughtful piece on life after death but his next offering, The Silk Of Yesterday’s Gown, turns the Clive Barker dial past ten with a story concerning control, and masochistic sexual fetishes gone wrong. For those into that sort of story, Misha assures me the Duel Visions version is toned down and you can read the original in All These Shiny Worlds II. Silk is definitely not my cup of tea so I was glad that his next story, The Summer of Love, turned out to be Misha’s version of Bring the Jubilee. Misha has never read Ward Moore’s book he uses the same concept to good effect.

Louise’s Ragged Angels was influenced by a trip she took to Vancouver in May 2017 and her shock at seeing the drug problem there first hand. She quickly thought of the story’s concept but couldn’t start on it until 3 months later. Immediately after she found time to start writing, she was called away to help on the farm and bring the hay in. Unable to write, she “started to write it in my head” and put herself to sleep at night figuring out what happened next. Three days later, the haying was finished, she had the story down and only needed to put it on paper. A few days after finishing typing, she walked past the barn and the title, Ragged Angels “just popped into my head”. I mention all that as she may have come across an extremely effective method for idea generation. Who knows what the combination was? Hard work which by its nature allowed her to think about the story, pondering the story as she went to sleep and deep sleep brought on by hard work combined in her subconscious to make the idea generation and development process easier. Something must have been at work in her subconsciousness as the reminder provided by walking past the barn a few days later delivered the perfect title. We didn’t explore this in the Q&A as it was the first and so far, only time she wrote a story in this way. I hope she lets us know if she tries that again next harvest.

And, by the way, Ragged Angels is a good vampire story. Sinker, Sailor will be enjoyed by Lovecraft fans and The Green Truck is definitely weird fiction and a good take on the aftermath of suicide, complimenting Misha’s Black Dog.

Q&A on the next page is not to be missed. One of the reasons I jumped at the chance to review this book is I enjoyed interviewing Misha the first time around and the thoughts behind his answers do not disappoint, while Louise proves she is one to keep on eye on going forward. We discuss the merits of short fiction, their writing styles and preferences and how their collaboration on Duel Visions came about.

Interview

Scott Cole: Louise, please let the CH blog readers know about your new anthology, ‘Duel Visions’ with Misha Burnett.

Louise Sorensen: Collaborating on an anthology was a new experience for me. I did a lot of the editing and proofreading, and there was a lot of back and forth on the cover until we decided on the final one. As the deadlines were pretty close, it was intense. We finished about a month ago. Winter socked in, and I went back to editing other pieces, and revising two fantasy and one scifi short story I’d been working on. I’m looking forward to the publication.

Scott Cole: Misha, has Duel Visions taken up most your time or have you been busy with other projects?

Misha Burnett: Honestly, aside from writing the stories themselves, I probably did the least amount of work in putting the book together. Louise is a very skilled editor and did proofs on all of our stories. She and Alex put the book together, I just said, “Oh, yes, that looks fine” a lot.

So I did a lot of writing. I published eight stories last year; “mDNA” in Superversive’s Planetary Mercury, “Black Dog” (which will also be in Duel Visions) in Sins Of The Gods, “The Happiest Place On Earth” in Superversive’s Planetary Venus, “Dead Man’s Chest” in Millhaven’s Tales Of Terror, “Nox Invictus” in Millhaven’s Fierce Tales: Savage Lands, “An Interrupted Scandal” in Cirsova #10, “Endless Summer” in Utopia Pending, and “Grand Theft: Nightmare” in Lagrange Books’ Ye Olde Magick Shoppe.

I also completed Bad Dreams & Broken Hearts, which I posted on Steemit. I am not entirely happy with that project, nor with the publishing platform. It was a learning experience. I have used the setting that I created for that novel for other stories (“An Interrupted Scandal” and “Grand Theft: Nightmare”.)

If I had to sum up my career since we last spoke, I’d say that I have come to terms with being a short fiction author. It’s taken me a long time to get past my own internal prejudice against short fiction and really embrace that identity.

SC: Louise, how do you feel about short fiction?

LS: I’ve read anthologies since I could pick up a book, so I love short stories. I wasn’t a born writer, I was a visual artist. A painter. A severe ice storm in January 1998 and nine days without electricity left me with a mental block against painting. So I started writing with poetry courses, and then creative writing courses. I followed Chuck Wendig on Twitter, did his flash fiction prompts for two years, and wrote about forty stories. Many of those had a thousand word limit. Along with Twitter’s 140 character limit and a love affair with Elmore Leonard’s books, I learned to be succinct. I had no thought of being published until about five years ago, when I realized that my stories were as good as many that were published. And as a writer, you start to edit everything you read. It takes away some of the enjoyment, but there’s also satisfaction in that improving the clarity of the writing, makes the story better.

I wrote two novels. One I finished and got professionally edited, the other I didn’t finish but could. After that, I had a short story published in an ASMSG Romance anthology. My story was a satirical SciFi romantic parody called Fizzlesnitch. It didn’t really fit the genre, but the editor liked it, and got the humor. So I started submitting stories and had a few published over the last three years. And I discovered that I like writing short stories and I don’t like writing novels.

A short story has to create a convincing world, story line, and believable characters, in few words. It must be polished to a lesser extent than a poem, but a greater extent than a novel. Each word must have a purpose. To me, poems are the jewels of the writing kingdom, novels are the gold bars, and short stories are the pearls.

I realize that some people think short stories aren’t real writing, but they were the foundation for episodes of the Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits, and more recently the TV series Electric Dreams, based on Phillip K. Dick’s short stories.

And Alice Munro, the renowned Canadian short-story writer, won the 2013 Nobel Prize for Literature.

You can’t get more legitimate than that.

SC: Misha, what was your internal prejudice against short fiction?

MB: The idea that short fiction is just practice for writing novels. That it’s not serious writing. I think that attitude is very prevalent in the publishing world today. It’s certainly true that it is much harder to make money writing short fiction. Writers today have a lot of pressure to produce novels, particularly long novels that are part of multi-volume epics.

And I think that’s a shame. There are writers today who are capable of producing phenomenal short fiction who are writing novels instead. William Gibson, for example–as much I enjoyed Neuromancer, I think it lacks the punch of “The Winter Market” or “Fragments Of A Hologram Rose” or “New Rose Hotel”. He himself said as much in the introduction to his collection Burning Chrome. Clive Barker is another author who I felt took a step backwards in switching from short stories to novels. I love Imagica and Weaveworld, but they don’t have the rawness and vitality of, say, “The Body Politic” or “In The Hills, The Cities” or “The Last Illusion”.

And then you have Orson Scott Card, who has essentially made a career out of expanding great short stories into mediocre novels. I always tell people who like the novel of Ender’s Game that they should read the original short story–in fact, get a copy of his first collection, Unaccompanied Sonata, if you can find it.

SC: Misha, do you have basic rules of thumb as to what makes good long or short fiction?

MB: I’d paraphrase Fight Club’s rule #7–stories go on as long as they have to. The second hardest part of writing fiction is saying what you need to say. The hardest part of writing fiction is knowing when you’ve said it and then shutting up. We’re writers because we love prose, we love the sound of our voice. It’s a necessary part of being a writer, but it’s also a critical weakness and the good writers see it as a weakness. Everyone likes to talk about writer’s block, and, sure, it’s tough when you can’t find the right words, but a bigger problem is filling the page with wrong words because you think that producing verbiage is the same thing as producing story.

A good novel is a good story that takes a novel to tell. Sadly, a lot of authors have a short story idea, but think that if they want to be a “real writer” they have to pad it out to novel length.

SC: Louise, what are your personal guidelines to writing a good story?

LS: The story is as long as it has to be until it’s over. Then you’ve reached the end. I don’t worry about word count, unless there’s a limit in submission requirements. And that’s also the reason I haven’t published as much as I might, because if your story doesn’t fit an arbitrary submission word count, and you have to pad it to extend it, or carve it to reduce it, it won’t be as good as it should have. I write and edit mercilessly. That is, I aim to be honest and write the story, the whole story, and nothing but the story. So help me Heinlein.

Unlike Misha and many other writers, I don’t love prose, or the written word. I don’t like long descriptions. The story is what stirs me. When I read, I’m analyzing the writing as I go along, but with the best stories, I’m drawn so deeply in that I don’t notice the writing. Misha’s stories are pithy and succinct. He doesn’t let the prose get in his way.

For me, the story is the thing. Every word in the piece must be the foundation for and support the story.

SC: Misha, you mention authors that were excellent short fiction writers but had less than stellar results when transitioning to long fiction. Do you think there are stylistic or even temperamental differences that make an author excel in one or other length of stories?

MB: Yes.

Do I know what those differences are? Not so much. For my own part, if I just write the story until it is done, without worrying about word count, I tend to end up around 7500 words. I find it very difficult to keep a story–any story–under 5000 words (which is a pity, because there are markets that have an upper limit of 5k for submissions) and over 10,000 words I start losing focus and am just rambling.

Why this is, I’m not sure. Maybe I just have a short attention span compared to novelists.

SC: Louise, how do you feel about that?

LS: Stylistic or temperamental differences in writers who transition from short stories to novels … I think there must be. I definitely like to get in, tell the story, and get out. One of the authors I can think of who does both lengths well is Stephen King. Another is Heinlein.

But I’ve read many novels that were extremely padded. One novel that stands out in memory, spent the first six hundred pages describing the architecture of Atlanta, Georgia. Although the writing was beautiful and well edited, I kept waiting for something to happen. As I did in those days, I kept reading to find out the merit of the book. The writer finally got around to the action of the story in about the final hundred pages. It was basically a short story tacked onto the end of a long historical travelogue. I wondered how it ever got published. It was even made into a movie. Although I’ve never seen it, I suspect it was based on the short story, and not the architecture.

So I believe that not every can author do it.

SC: Misha. Do you know any authors that mastered both formats?

MB: The first name that comes to mind is Larry Niven. He seems to be able to operate at two different speeds. His short fiction has a different voice than his novels–they have a minimum of description and are usually based around one single, easy to formulate, premise. A lot of them are also very funny. For novels, Niven seems to be able to drop into a lower gear and spend more time fleshing out the world and the characters.

Roger Zelazny is another one. You can see that clearly in My Name Is Legion. The first two sections were written as short stories, while the third, “Home Is The Hangman”, is clearly written as the last half of a novel. It works, the stories hang together and the narrator is consistent, but there is a definite shift in voice.

But then, Zelazny was an experimental formalist and enjoyed playing with the structure of prose for its own sake. (cf Doorways In The Sand, which has the unique (so far as I know) structure of beginning each chapter with a cliffhanger and then going back to explain how the character got into that position. It’s done so skillfully that it takes several chapters for the reader to catch on to the game.) I expect he understood the nuts and bolts of fiction better than anyone else working in the English language. I still mourn his loss.

SC: Misha, when we last spoke, we discussed New Wave fiction (focused character psychology with an emphasis of poetic language over scientific accuracy). Has your writing continued along that path?

MB: I call my work New Wave. I’m not sure what other people would call it. From my perspective my work follows a clear trajectory. I’m getting better at doing the stuff that I like and learning how to cut out the parts that I don’t like.

But I would say that my understanding of what “New Wave” means–at least in terms of my own work–has undergone some changes since last we discussed it. Recently I watched The Departed by Martin Scorsese and was struck all over again by what a brilliant visual storyteller the man is. His films are a series of shots that flow from one to the next and you almost don’t need the dialogue–it’s the images that drive the story.

Directors who really understand the art of film–and I’d add John Carpenter, John Sayles, Hitchcock (of course), Brian DePalma, just to name a few–know how to operate the visual grammar of the medium. Picture, picture, picture, (now everybody’s dead) final picture, closing credits.

Filmmaking is telling a story with pictures. So what is fiction, telling a story with words? Not at all. The word is not the unit of narration in the sense that the shot is the unit of narration in a film. Individual words are like individual frames in a film–if you notice they are there something’s wrong with the mechanism.

Fiction is telling a story with concepts. Ideas. Images, not in the visual sense, but in the emotional sense. It’s a unique art form because what matters is what you can’t see or hear or touch.

The hero of Dune is the ideal of ecology as an existential science–you can only understand an ecology by becoming part of the ecology. The death of Liet-Kynes in the desert is the culmination of his life’s work–he has become the desert.

The hero of Starship Troopers is the ideal of courage. Johnny Rico is the conduit by which courage, as an abstract, becomes concrete, the voice with which it speaks. The paragraph that opens the novel (“I always get the shakes before a drop…”) is courage coming up and introducing itself to the reader.

I could speak in terms of “conceit” or “theme”, but I think I mean hero. Fiction is the arena in which ideas battle it out. This can be done badly (Ayn Rand, I’m looking at you now) and fiction becomes polemic. But I think it’s always there, just by virtue of the medium of language and the human animal’s multivalent use of it.

If I say, for example, “Sherlock Holmes vs. James Bond” the phrase suggests a clash of methodologies, of philosophical approaches to a problem. The difference in the biographical details of the characters is irrelevant. You could set that story in a milieu alien to both of them, say, 13th Century Rome, and give them both new names. Make Bond a soldier of Frederick II and Holmes a priest of Gregory IX, and make them be forced to work together to find the poisoner of a bishop.

One could write that story with no reference to the original characters, but readers would still think, “Oh, this is Sherlock Holmes vs James Bond” (if one did her or his work well). Because those characters are ideals, not individuals.

I’ve gotten rather far afield from your original question, which was I am still working in New Wave. Yes. However, I also find myself drawn to a simplification of story, a paring down to the essentials. What does the reader absolutely need to know in order for the story to work?

And that streamlining of fiction is antithetical to the spirit of some of the classics of New Wave. Books like VALIS, Dhalgren, Gravity’s Rainbow, Infinite Jest, are ox-stunning bricks of words. Beautiful words, no doubt about it, but they are like driving across New Mexico. The scenery is magnificent, but basically there is nothing there.

I want my stories to be more like running down to Home Depot to get a replacement faucet before your bathtub overflows and floods the basement. In, out, this is what I need to get the job done, and get your ass back home. Scenery is reduced to things you need to drive around and stuff you can ram right through.

SC: Louise, what’s your take on this?

LS: Hmm. Scott, you define New Wave as ‘Focused character psychology with an emphasis of poetic language over scientific accuracy.’ I googled it, and found it was a literary movement in the 1960s and 1970s, that rejected the simplistic action-adventure of the earlier ’Golden Age’ of SciFi and Fantasy, in favour of more literary and experimental forms, with more emphasis on writing and creativity, and less on hard science and plot. Misha’s comment that some of the stories are ‘ox-stunning bricks of words’ is a good description of some of the experimental works. I never liked Silverberg’s writing. Too much experimental, too little story.

I don’t know that my writing is New Wave. I’d call it Weird. Surreal. I like to think I write like Heinlein, in that I always tell a story. I don’t experiment, unless it’s to follow the rabbit down the rabbit hole. In my SciFi, I stick to hard science. I always have a logical rational backstory for whatever happens, but I don’t always explain it. In my Fantasy, I allow the fantastic, but there must be some logical explanation behind it; another dimension, a parallel universe, different laws of physics.

Like a filmmaker, because my storytelling is visually based, not word based, I tell the story in pictures. I go in knowing the bones of the story, picture the scene in my mind, and write it down to the best of my ability. I don’t try to be poetic. But sometimes I am. As I started out writing poetry, sometimes a line of poetry will pop into my head as I’m writing a scene, and I’ll include that.

SC: Misha. Please tell readers what to expect with Duel Visions.

MB: It’s a collaborative anthology, with five stories each from myself and five from Louise. Off the top of my head I can’t think of any examples of similar anthologies. Generally you either have every story by a different author, or all of them by one author.

So the feel of this book is a bit unusual. We also alternate stories, one from me, one from Louise, which involves some shifting of mental gears as you move from one to the next. That’s a risk, but I think it pays off.

We have different styles and I think (I hope) the cumulative effect is like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups–two great tastes that taste great together.

As for the stories themselves, I think Weird Fiction is probably the best description. There are some Science Fiction elements–genetic engineering in Louise’s “Sinker, Sailor”, time travel and alternate history in my “The Summer Of Love”. Other stories have traditional fantasy elements–sidhe, magic statues, and figures from different classical mythologies.

I explore one of my favorite urban legends in “We Pass From View” and Louise has a modern take on the vampire legend.

So in terms of genre we’re all over the board. My favorite story in the book, Louise’s “The Green Truck” simply resists classification altogether. I don’t know how to describe it, you just have to read it for yourself.

Despite all this–or perhaps because of it–there is an overall theme to the collection that I suppose could be summed with J. B. S. Haldane’s remark, “Now, my own suspicion is that the universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose.”

SC: Louise?

LS: I love Misha’s quote of Haldane!

What can readers expect with Duel Visions?

I was very surprised when I noticed on the second proofreading of the whole work that Misha and I had written stories with similar themes. What was most surprising was that I had been over all the stories many many times with editing and never noticed the similarities before. So although our stories are very different, his anchored in dirt and dust and reality, mine in weird and what? and unbelievable, we are both curious about the same things. It’s almost as though we explore these ideas in different mediums.

I found out yesterday the Misha is working on a story about alien invasion. I am too! Synchronicity? Quantum Entanglement? You can be sure that my take will be much different than Misha’s.

So readers can expect thoughtful, interesting stories crafted mercilessly with love and blood.

SC: Misha. How did the collaborative concept with Louise come about?

MB: Impatience, mostly.

About a year ago I started considering publishing a collection of short fiction. I had a few stories that I had previously published that I wanted to present for a wider audience, and a couple that I’d written for anthologies that hadn’t panned out.

The problem was that I didn’t have enough stories for a full book. So I wanted to find another author to do a collection with.

I had worked with Louise on my 21st Century Pulp anthology (one of the ones that didn’t pan out–our publisher backed out) and I was very impressed with her story “Ragged Angels”. So I asked her if she had any more like that one, and it turned out she did.

Once we started passing stories back and forth the collection kind of took off. It kind of surprised me how the stories and our voices played off each other. And even though we didn’t plan it that way, there are some strong parallels between some of the stories. We each have one that deals with the transformation of a human into an animal, for example, and we each have one in which Death is personified in animal form.

Louise came up with the title Duel Visions, and I thought it was perfect. It’s kind of like Dueling Banjos, but with stories. Not so much fighting as presenting different variations on a theme.

SC: Louise? What did you think when Misha approached you about the collaboration?

LS: I was delighted!

I’ve admired Misha’s talent since I read his series ‘The Book of Doors.’ I looked him up on Twitter and followed him, then followed him on Facebook, and read every story of his I could find. They’re brilliant. One of my favourite stories of his is, ‘The Happiest Place on Earth.’ Another is ‘In the Gloaming O My Darling.’ He’s one of my favourite writers, along with Heinlein, Phillip K. Dick, and Elmore Leonard. Never disappointed.

I hope that readers see this too and are happy with ‘Duel Visions.’

Duel Visions published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

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slingsendarrows · 6 years ago

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My First Drake Album

Nicholas Rodney Drake was born June 19, 1948, and died 26 years later after ingesting approximately 30 amitriptyline pills. It was ruled a suicide. Nick Drake was an English singer-songwriter whose acoustic guitar songs navigated the tumultuous and oft-misunderstood travails of living with depression. His music was not popular while he lived but has since garnered worldwide recognition and critical acclaim in the years since.

I discovered Nick Drake and his music after a traumatic experience. Those around me, charged with my care, my built-in support system (or so I thought), did not see it that way, so I was forced to seek other ways to trek along this new, unfamiliar, and terrifying path.

Music allows me to understand complicated things, and in turn, I recognize myself. It has been that way for as long as I can remember. It was the same the instant I discovered Nick Drake, Cat Power, and the Elliot Smith types of the world, delving into and exploring the deep well of my sorrow. There is something incredibly self-indulgent about pain and suffering. It is fundamentally personal, subjective, and selfish, but surrounded by an entitled sense of affecting a world larger than ourselves; it embodies all our pain, even if that particular experience is uniquely our own. And so it is with Nick. He gave my experience words I could not articulate to myself, let alone others.

I was recently having coffee with a friend and at one point explained how living with depression has required I disengage with some people in my life. His first question, "What are you depressed about?" I hate this question. I hate it because it requires a definite answer as if I can carefully and comprehensively explain what it means to live with depression in a few short sentences encompassing the reality of it, all while holding my breath hoping what I say is clearly understood. I hate it because it is all too common. I know why it is common--because depression is difficult to explain; it is personal and universal. Personal because it happens to the individual; universal in that it happens to many individuals, more than 300 million of us according to the World Health Organization. So, is it naive to desire a succinct, identifiable, and generalizable reason? Maybe not. But I don't have one.

All I can do is borrow the words of a poet whose art helps me understand my depression, at least in part.

Nick Drake was signed to a record deal at 20 and released three albums, Five Leaves Left (1969), Byter Layter and Pink Moon (1972), and the posthumous box-set Fruit Tree (1979). While living, Nick did not promote his music and was reluctant to give interviews. Neither of his albums sold more than 5,000 copies upon initial release, and all we have of the artist are his music and still photographs. These sparse facts make me both sad and content. Part of me feels he never wanted to give us more than his music, and for me, it's enough. It has to be enough. It is more than enough.

So much can be said about the artist and his art. Five Leaves Later is a deeply personal and raw poetic exercise of a man wrestling with his creation and what it means to hold oneself sacred when the world requires you expose more than you're willing for global recognition of said art.

Beginning with "Time Has Told Me," he laments, Time has told me/ You're a rare, rare find/ A troubled cure/ For a troubled mind/ And time has told me/ Not to ask for more/ Someday our ocean will find its shore. Drake is deeply self-aware of the struggles within his mind. He succumbs to the reality that while his troubled mind is a gift, it is a "troubled cure." It allows him to see clearly with no indication as to how it can be any different. Depression feels much the same. In the darkest moments, you achieve hopeless clarity. You know what is happening to you. You're viscerally aware of how your mind is attacking the rest of your being and understand the physiological effects manifesting, but you don't stop it, you can't, your mind won't let you. A "troubled cure" indeed!

Without a definitive answer to proffer, Drake merely suggests we learn to cope in this new reality instead: So leave the ways that are making you be/ What you don't want to be/ Leave the ways that are making you love/ What you really don't want to love. It is unfair to ask more of yourself than that, especially in the midst of a depressive episode (a singular beast unto itself). Talking it out with someone helps, but therapy is a privilege not all of us can afford. The best you can do is decipher how depression ails you in real tangible ways and work towards subverting actions that turn the picnic into a never-ending feast of abundance.

My depression revels and thrives in isolation and despair. I have lived with it long enough to identify the stages of my Dementor infestation. First I had to give it an identity that is not me. I had to separate Nyasha from what J.K. Rowling describes as "the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places. They glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope and happiness out of the air around them[...]Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself--soul-less and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life."

My descent begins with isolation. I cut myself off from everyone and anything capable of giving me hope. My perfectionist-in-recovery leanings make it challenging to let people close to me know I am struggling so I deflect, I lie, or just disappear. I genuflect to my tormentors, and with that surrender, they infiltrate with the intensity of quelling a resistance that simply doesn't exist. They are here for everything; they will take everything, whether you give in willingly or put up a fight. Before naming my tormentor, throwing in the towel was just part of the deal. Why bother, right Eeyore?

Next comes, avoidance. I call in sick to work more often than I should and with no strength to do anything about it, I let things fall apart. My apartment looks like a hoarders fantasy, dishes stacked in the sink become science experiments and I grow comfortable with the increasingly pungent reek of my body odour. I take Netflix bingeing to Olympic levels. I eat and eat and eat, to suppress the pain of my trauma, burying myself in pizza boxes, cinnamon rolls, potato chips and pot until all I can feel is my bloated and overly extended stomach. I berate myself for not having self-control, smoke more weed to induce indifference, wake up in regret, promise to do better, rinse and repeat.

Over time I realized this was a roommate I would have to drag along to all the parties in spite of her feelings. So I made a plan to help me "leave the ways that are making me be who I really don't want to be": a miserable, fat, unhappy, sad person trying and failing to reverse-engineer their past. I cut certain people out of my life, read several self-help and psychology books (with care), started treating my body as if I gave a shit, even when I didn't, stopped chain-smoking pot, and most importantly, discovered CrossFit and the power of endorphins. CrossFit saved my life. At first, it was to quell the hunger to be loved and accepted by a man who did not see past my fatness, but now it is to survive and live to fight another day, hoping "someday our ocean will find its shore." Expecto Patronum!!

Two songs from Five Leaves Later have been constant companions on this journey, "Saturday Sun" and "Fruit Tree.” The oddity of living with my Dementor is how surprised we both are when confronted with a genuinely beautiful day. I mean a gorgeous, sun's bright, trees rustling to the soft breeze, blue skies kind of day. Depending on how long we've been companioning in our misery, we are more likely to close the curtains even harder and shut out the realness of life outside our wretchedness. How dare it shine so unabashedly and affront us with its glory? Doesn't our pain matter? Of course not, you self-indulgent sad person. It's the sun. It rises and sets. Sometimes the days are cloudy, bitter cold with rain and snow, but the sun still rises, as it as done since the dawn of time. It doesn't consider my individual circumstances. For it will be what the sun has always been: burning and shining, bright and perpetual.

That is the sentiment of "Saturday Sun." Suddenly you're not feeling so bad. There is momentary reprieve; momentary because you've learned it is only a matter of time. You're confused when the Saturday sun [comes] early one morning/ In a sky so clear and blue/ Saturday sun came without warning/ So no-one knew what to do. After living in the depths of despair for so long, you forget what it feels like to feel good. You are anxious when suddenly your ever-present roommate takes a day, or week, or a month off. She didn't leave a note, but you know she'll be back. Maybe it's when the meds finally kick in and/or your lifestyle changes are starting to take effect, and you can cope with some semblance of normalcy.

In the light of day you remember the things you have neglected: the two Chopin concerts you paid for but didn't attend although you were dying to see Lang Lang, the numerous friend engagements you bailed on at the last minute, the phone calls that went unanswered, the dreams and goals deferred, and the countless failures to rally yourself. This sun has brought people and faces/ That didn't seem much in their day/ But when I remember those people and places/ They were really too good in their way/ In their way/ In their way/ Saturday won't come to see me today. You despair at all the time lost and wonder if you are meant to feel bad always, even on the seemingly good days when the rays of clarity reach your soul to remind you things are not all bad.

I often gaze at reality through a veneer of misery. Realizing how things weren't as bad as I thought makes me feel sorry for having considered them that bad, to begin with. Am I making up my depression? Am I decadent in my despair? Is this just an act? What is wrong with me? That is the consuming aspect of depression. Reprieve is more work. Trying to hold on to it, knowing its a losing battle, and wondering if your defeatist attitude is the reason it is a losing battle. Maybe you're not trying hard enough. You think about stories with reason and rhyme/ Circling through your brain/ And think about people in their season and time/ Returning again and again/ And again/ And again/ but Saturday sun has turned to Sunday's rain. It is fucking relentless.

"Fruit Tree" reads like a self-fulfilling prophecy. It is an artist's individual understanding of fame and legacy. It is incredibly forward-thinking because Nick Drake died, I believe, understanding the value of his art yet somewhat resigned to the world not catching on until long after he was gone. Fame is but a fruit tree/ So very unsound/ It can never flourish/ 'Till its stock is in the ground/ So men of fame/ Can never find a way/ 'Til time has flown far from their dying day/ Forgotten while you're here/ Remembered for a while/ A much-updated ruin/ From a much-outdated style. Whether we yearn for conventional fame or to simply make our mark upon this world, legacy is a unique desire of the mortal. It is our final stand against death and lets the world know we were here, we mattered, we connected. I once read that immortality is achieved in the memories of those who remember us after we're gone. We are not truly dead until the last person who carries our memory dies with it. There is something both comforting and terrifying about that. We are remembered by our loved ones and the lives we've affected, knowingly and otherwise. But memory is fragile, subjective, and prone to manipulation. So how well is our legacy maintained? Does the remembrance bear a resemblance to who we really were? How we lived, loved, failed, triumphed, survived, endured, or were defeated? How can we ask so much when we begin to understand that to “err is human,” and we are all selective in what we remember, let alone how we remember it.

"Fruit Tree" is a remarkably well-penned bookend to "Time Has Told Me." We shouldn't ask for more but live in gratitude of what has been given to us, and maybe that will lead us where all our struggling and fighting against the tide has been guiding us--to a place were" our ocean finds its shore." But still, we can't help but wonder what we leave behind, the parts of us that remain beyond the veil and our ability to curate and frame ourselves. When all that is left is what is remembered, how can we not worry about that too?

Drake's response exposes the futility of these obsessive musings: Life is but a memory/ Happened long ago/ Theatre full of sadness/ For a long forgotten show/ Seems so easy/ Just to let it go on by/ 'Till you stop and wonder/ Why you never wondered why. Will the rooms of despair carry the memory of your trauma the way your body has? Probably not. Another soul will take residence there to tell their own story, cement their own legacy. I'm reminded of Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "The Charge of the Light Brigade," Not though the soldier knew/ Someone had blundered/ Theirs not to make reply/ Theirs not to reason why/ Theirs but to do and die/ Into the valley of Death/ Rode the six hundred. Theirs but to do and die.

Worrying about legacy after death seems futile when all we can do is live out our days, and hopefully, past the reeds of selfish thoughts, needs, and desires, we do some good that is not "interred with our bones." Maybe in death, we find an understanding of ourselves, our place, and our experiences. But there is no knowing until we go through it: Safe in the womb of an everlasting night/ You find the darkness can give the brightest light/ Safe in your place deep in the earth/ That's when they'll know what you were really worth. Or not, but what does it matter? You've done your part. You lived. You experienced things that made you, and for better or worse, you were here.

Fruit tree, fruit tree/ No one knows you but the rain and the air/ Don't you worry/ They'll stand and stare when you're gone

Fruit tree, fruit tree/ Open your eyes to another year/ They'll all know/ That you were here when you're gone

I know you were here Nicholas Rodney Drake. Long before I was born, your ocean was making its way to my shore. I understand my depression better through your music and the intense vulnerability you bared. You bore fruit within my soul and allowed me to realize that while my struggles with mental health aren't unique, it does not make them irrelevant. I remember you. I see you, Fruit Tree. Keep blossoming!

#nick drake #music #mental health #legacy #depression

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todaynewsstories · 6 years ago

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Commentary: Dear public service, what do you mean by this jargon?

SINGAPORE: I am pretty sure jargon is everywhere. Public servants are not the only guilty ones. But let me share my experience within the Singapore public service, where I have worked all my life.

The Complete Plain Words by Sir Ernest Gowers was published in 1957 at the request of the British government to improve writing within the British civil service. After half a century, it seems that nothing much has changed.

The much-publicised “only pizzas are delivered” style guide was issued in 2013, and then there was Lord Chancellor Michael Gove posting his “Ministerial Correspondence Preferences” online, warning his officials among other things to avoid being repetitive and not to use “anything too pompous”.

Did we inherit bad writing from the British? Our founding Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew had “noted this steady deterioration over the last 20 years” and in 1979 called a meeting of ministers and senior civil servants to discuss how government papers and minutes could be written in clear, clean prose. He said:

If we start with those at the top, we can achieve a dramatic improvement in two years, provided the effort is made.

FIGHTING JARGON

Thirty-eight years have passed, and I still spend most of my time fighting jargon, gibberish, pompous writing, and bad grammar. New words and phrases have appeared. From where, I don’t know. Once caught on, they are used at every opportunity.

My first encounter was with “paradigm shift”. Then it was “silver bullet”.

Nowadays, I am bombarded with “mindshare” and worse still “to mindshare”, “will back brief you after the meeting”, “will give you a read back”, “we must be future-ready”, and “need to future-proof our economy”.

(Outdoing all this was “futuring our economy”, part of a headline in an opinion piece in a local news outlet I read a year ago.)

“Opine” and “enthuse” make me cringe, and if that’s not bad enough, I am hit with “emote with”!

(Photo: Unsplash/Joe Green)

“Announceables” has become the “in thing” especially among media and corporate communications people. I managed to contain myself with “to dimensionalise”, until I read another media outlet’s post about Schooling having “a better record of medalling at international competitions”.

I suspect people think these words make them sound clever. And I painfully tolerate them in conversations or even internal emails among colleagues.

What I do not tolerate is jargon and gobbledygook in written work, whether it is a policy paper, a proposal, a news release or a reply in the forum page of our local media. I battle with them every day.

A recent example had to do with learning from others to “help us future-proof into the gallery’s concept and design” such that it continues to be a place that is relevant for visitors.

“What do you mean by this jargon?” I asked in the comment box. “Can you rewrite without using this horrible word?”

Of course it could be done, and it came back as “help us design the gallery in such a way that it continues to …” Plain words, as Gowers taught.

WHY USE BIG WORDS?

In 2014, during a 938LIVE panel discussion on clear communication in the civil service, I was asked why gobbledygook was used. I gave three reasons.

First, we try to impress with big words and phrases. “Apprise” certainly sounds more learned than “inform”, and a three-syllable word “utilise” is surely more convincing than “use”.

But try being succinct – use the smallest word that does the job. It doesn’t mean you cannot use big words. Just use them correctly and only when necessary.

Second, we try to avoid answering the question by being evasive and non-committal. You can recognise this when you see such phrases as “broad and comprehensive”, “holistic”, “facilitate coordination” and “put in place relevant frameworks and capabilities”.

The same vague and abstract expressions are used when our minds are not clear, and that is the third reason. As Albert Einstein said, if you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough. The result is convoluted sentences, mangled expressions, and sloppy writing.

A graffiti of Albert Einstein (Photo: Unsplash/Sidney Perry)

MAKE THE EFFORT

I don’t believe that a complex idea or policy cannot be explained simply or in plain language. It can be done.

The thing is this – we need to apply ourselves and exercise our minds. Think through exactly what we want to get across, be clear in getting it across, and be short and sharp about it.

Being concise and succinct doesn’t mean using vague, nebulous words to “summarise” your concrete thoughts and actions. That is like packing all your colourful trinkets, ribbons and confetti into a cardboard box. You see the box and have no idea what lovely things it contains.

Mastering clear communication means unpacking that box – writing and speaking in clean, clear prose so that you are understood. Say what you mean and mean what you say because no one can read your mind.

Be precise – choose the correct words and give them their ordinary meaning. All this takes effort and time.

Unfortunately, we often think we cannot spare the time. So we end up overusing or misusing words, and here is where “optimal”, “optimise” and “facilitate” top the list of meaningless words. Someone wrote:

The outdated website design needs to be refreshed with a new look and feel for an optimal showcase of our articles.

This did little to enlighten me. I asked – what do you mean by “optimal”, when does it become optimal or ideal, not too much and not too little?

Back came the edited sentence – “We also want to refresh the design of the website to make it easy to read and navigate.” Could be improved some more, but much better, I thought.

Now I knew what the refreshed design was meant to do – help readers read and navigate the website more easily. It was as if a curtain or fog was lifted, and I could now appreciate the beauty of the landscape before me in all its finest and most glorious details.

Judith d’ Silva is active member in the Speak Good English Movement, she has given talks on writing clearly to be understood at the Civil Service College and to HDB station managers.

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litbiosijia · 7 years ago

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Creativity by Cupcake

Webster’s dictionary defines literacy as “the ability to read and write”. Short, succinct, and straight to the point. Nothing much to argue with there. Going by that definition, literacy is something that I, along with all of my peers had successfully mastered by the end of elementary school. But that made me think, “Is that really all there is to literacy?”

When brainstorming for this assignment, I thought long and hard about what literacy truly meant to me and I realized that I did not want this to be an essay just about how I learned that y is sometimes a vowel, or that i goes before e except after c and those mundane tricks we all learned as kids. As I reflected on my journey to literacy throughout my life, I realized that literacy to me isn’t just that I can read a sentence on the page before me or that I can write a short story. What really mattered was that I was able to take my literacy and use it as a form of my own expression and communication with the world. When I think of myself as being literate, it’s my ability to take the words in front of me and immerse myself in the author’s messages, to be able to understand, to challenge, and to ponder these words. It’s my ability to control language and bend it to my will, to be able to convey the messages I want to in exactly the way I choose. That’s why for me, I believe that literacy and creativity go hand in hand.

In my middle school and elementary school years, I had never considered myself to be someone who was creative in any aspects of my life, either in art or in writing. I would cringe whenever we were assigned a creative writing assignment in school. I clearly remember wryly joking to myself when my 8th English teacher, Mr. Payne released a new creative writing assignment, how aptly named he was in that his assignments always brought me pain. My concept of literacy at that point was very much due to the “banking” form of education, as coined by Paulo Freire in Pedagogy of the Oppressed, which had predominantly been my form of education up until then. This “banking” form treats students as empty vessels into which teachers fill “with the contents of his narration” (Freire, 71). I remember when I first learned this phrase, I thought I had never heard anything that applied more to my own way of schooling than this. This “banking” model was very apparent in all of the schooling I had received because writing was always taught to me in very structured and rigid ways. In 3rd grade, Mrs. Bell taught us that writing was to be like a sandwich: with the bread being an intro and outro, the meat being the main topic, and the dressings as supporting paragraphs. In 5th grade, this “sandwich” morphed into the 5 paragraph essay as Mrs. Dell engrained in us that this type of essay was the most efficient way to convey our points. In 6th grade, Mr. Schmitt made it clear that every paragraph we write needs to be composed of four to five sentences: one topic sentence and three to four supporting sentences. So by the time I reached high school, writing 5 paragraph essays with each paragraph made up of the same five sentences was all I ever knew how to write. This “banking” model didn’t leave very much room for creativity at all and the accumulation of regulations set forth by my teachers had trained my concept of literacy into this idea that writing had to always follow these rules that I had always written in and that writing would always have to fit somehow into a neat little template. These templates were simple enough for me and by the end of 8th grade I had mastered the 5 paragraph essay and I thought my boring, repetitive essays were what passed as good writing and a mastery of literacy.

This all changed in high school where I was met with a very rude awakening. I had just moved from cold, snowy Michigan, where I had been born and raised all my life, to sunny Southern California. The weather was different, the people, were different, the food was different, and it was definitely a big culture shock to me. But never in a million years would I have thought that even my rigid and never-changing concept of literacy would be challenged as well. My 10th grade AP English teacher, Miss Cook assigned us our first creative writing assignment in which we had to analyze the novel, Life of Pi. “Simple”, I thought. I turned to my trusty 5 paragraph essay template and set to work. I turned it in confidently and promptly forgot about it until 2 weeks later, our essays were passed back with our grades. You can imagine my shock when I turned to the last page and there, circled in dark green pen was the letter “F”. Never in my life had I EVER received an “F” before. I couldn’t believe it. It was there that my disillusioned sense of a competent grasp on literacy shattered to pieces. I talked to Miss Cook after class and was told that there was absolutely no substance in my essay, that I had basically just written down facts with no sense of my own individual voice and that it lacked my own creative approach to answering the prompt. This was the first time that I had ever been told that I needed to be creative with my writing and that there was more to essays that just answering the prompt with methodically laid out facts.

This experience, adding onto my pre-existing belief that I did not have any ability to be creative, led me to fear anything that asked for any type of creativity. I dreaded writing in high school because my literacy skills leading up into high school had just been rendered inadequate and I was left floundering. Just thinking about writing would leave me frustrated and I was left feeling discouraged and pessimistic about my creativity and literacy skills.

This all changed when I began baking. Baking was a hobby I picked up around the summer after my freshman year in high school. In the laboratory of my kitchen, amidst a chaotic array of mixing bowls and sugar sprinkles, I became a mad scientist surrounded by her flasks and bubbling concoctions. Piping bag in hand, I was invincible. Like the smooth buttercream frosting flowing from the icing tip, my ideas and creativity spilled out of my mind and materialized before me in each swirl and dip of sugary paste. This was where I was at ease and ready to let my mind flow; it was here that I became an artist.

Before, I was content believing that I just simply wasn’t creative. Baking changed my mindset about my own capabilities forever. I am not sure how it went from the occasional batch of cupcakes to an endless outlet for the creativity that I had always thought that I lacked. But, the more that I baked, the more I began to experiment, incorporating different toppings, dyes, and textures into the elaborate designs and each batch emerged from my kitchen a unique objet d’art.

The more that I baked, the more that I began to think of the moist spongy surfaces of my pastries as my canvas and the icings and glazes, my paint. I realized that creativity is not merely the ability to manipulate tools to make something that is aesthetically pleasing to the eye; nor is it something that you do with your hands but instead something that exists within you, a unique perspective and innate originality that allows you to think differently about the world around you. This realization made me realize that I had the ability to be creative all along.

This ability to harness my creativity led me to realize that this skill had bigger implications for me than just being able to frost a cupcake. Being able to create made me feel invincible- like there wasn’t anything that my mind couldn’t handle. This was a huge breakthrough for me in terms of my grasp on literacy. I could be a word warrior, a samurai of sentences, a ninja of nouns.

Since I no longer could rely on my trusty 5 paragraph models that had been instilled in me in my younger years, I was entering into the unknown. But with this new found sense of creativity, I was able to discover new ways to approach how I could harness my literacy. In Annemarie Palincsar’s “Collaborative Approaches to Comprehension Instruction”, Palincsar talks about something called reciprocal teaching or RT. RT focuses on “helping students to understand the factors that interact and influence their comprehension of text…students are taught to apply the strategies in meaningful contexts” (Palincsar, 103). My definition of literacy now centered on an idea like this. I realized that in order to be a better creative writer, I needed to be able to understand the factors that influenced my own thoughts. To be creative is to make sense of these influences and to make meaning of them in my own ways. It’s not about regurgitating facts and following along tired old templates, but to take these facts and use my creativity to express them in my own voice using my background and beliefs to shape them.

While it may seem unconventional that something like baking cupcakes, which is so different than reading or writing, led me to my breakthrough on achieving literacy, I believe that this is exactly what proves why literacy goes beyond Webster’s definition that literacy is merely reading and writing. Literacy to me now is all about being able to be creative. It’s about taking a book and being able to put yourself into it and be able to think critically about it and having your own voice to contradict or expand upon the words already there. It’s about being able to write creatively and eloquently so that your words can paint a picture or carry along your meaning in the most effective way possible. In Christopher S. Walsh’s “Creativity as capital in the literacy classroom: youth as multimodal designers”, Walsh also hits on the point that multimodal tools can help “harness students’ imagination and creativity by encouraging them to engage in multimodal design to re-present curricular knowledge (Walsh, 84). While baking cupcakes isn’t exactly multimodal, this line of thinking definitely applies in that activities outside of standard classrooms can help to harness a student’s creativity and in turn be used back in the classroom to help with learning done in school. This is exactly how I was able to get a grasp on my own sense of literacy by learning creativity through these different means outside of the classroom.

All in all, this journey to discovering my sense of creativity was the catalyst in forming my current basis of literacy today. And it’s not over yet. I feel lucky that I am still learning each and every day from the activities I am apart of about my own sense of creativity and how it can build upon my literacy. I am no longer afraid of creative challenges, and instead I welcome it. I am excited to see how my literacy and creativity will continue to grow.

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Bibliography

Freire, Paulo. “Pedagogy of the Oppressed”; Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Continuum International Publishing Group, 1970. Web.

Palincsar, A. S. (n.d.). Rethinking Reading Comprehension (Collaborative Approaches to Comprehensive Instruction). New York: The Guilford Press.

Walsh, C. (2007). Creativity as capital in the literacy classroom: youth as multimodal designers. United Kingdom Literacy Association, 41(2), 79-85.

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celsamacdowell9-blog · 7 years ago

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Universal Law Collection.

Relationship is actually a connection through which partners possess requirements from each various other. I found that there were coatings of requirements I must take a look at. If a person informed me they were actually going to carry out something as well as didn't, I yearned for to experience that I might be actually an exemplary sufferer. I like this meaning due to the situation that provides about exactly how affection functions and what that obtains. That will certainly not be exact to state that people could possibly have their true requirements come to life all the amount of time but it would be just as inaccurate to point out that people possesses no command over exactly what requirements will certainly come true. That could be actually valuable to alter your assumptions from that to lessen your level from anger as well as not be actually thus stressed if the same traits consistently anger you. The assumption for either continuance was actually generated by utilizing matrix verbs (including spared or even tried) that, in norming studies, were actually followed almost only through either an NP in the substantive scenario or even an infinitival supplement in the verb instance. This month, I am going deal with the challenge of establishing meaningful and also crystal clear desires and ensuring that your team is continually focused on your anticipated results. Joe Gargery is just one of the best essential characters in the unfamiliar, so you could utilize any kind of premium of his personality for your free terrific assumption essays. I strongly believe for many of our company assumption is cocky, demanding, and bad-mannered, specifically to our company Canadians that ask forgiveness to seats for running across them. Find how the newly handled assumptions and objectives function in your daily life and also how you really feel as you complete the smaller sized targets on the way to your concept. The desire as well as accompanying attitude that you stuff is actually more than likely what your young adult will certainly supply in profits. If you select too much of an expectation you may be actually frustrated given that you are not allowing your own self to be available to get the right answers merely the ones that pleasing to you. Grab your notebook as well as electronic camera as well as begin having DESIRE ECONOMIC CLIMATE details and also images. Exactly what our team need to discover is actually the best ways to adapt or even endure the void in between the desire and fact. It's also essential for you to advise yourself that she possibly will not meet those requirements wonderfully and that you shouldn't expect her to. Acknowledging this to your own self performs two traits. If you are you looking for more information in regards to yellow pages christmas advert (ripreseperun-obiettivo.info) take a look at the web-page. Our company've been actually troubled along with expectations from breakdown in dependence treatment as well as rehabilitation. The 2nd attribute is actually that the algebraic expectation from the product from both random variables are going to be actually the product of the mathematical expectation from those two variables, offered that both variables are private in attributes. The women that don't match up to these requirements will be actually filtered out somehow. The value of the services or product as well as just how well this met the needs of the aim at customers came to be the manner for their future development and also results. Fine art Administration salaries are high due to its high qualifications given that in the USA, it needs more than 5 years from experience. Anita Pathik Legislation, is actually the owner and proprietor of Annapolis Maryland located Dare Dreamers, LLC and also Power from My Means Coaching as well as co-founder from Self Control Mentoring. They could possibly experience obstacles in all styles of partnerships if one has expectations that are actually disempowering. Whether that is actually taking care of client expectations, investor or even professional assumptions, or the inverse from workers having to take care of the expectations of executives, this is the capacity to stand out at decisioning based upon dealing with assumptions that makes high performance organizations. If our team internalize this truth or even understanding, this would bring a brand new measurement to resolve the dealing with the requirement concern. To a lesser level, a desire gap was actually discovered involving the reliability from review as well as audited monetary claims, as well as the efficiency from review. This is various off market value investing where the genuine price from the reveal is actually trading below its own innate value and is expected ahead really good after market adjustments occur. How ever because of busy schedules from life, that is becoming tough to satisfy other requirement. This issue might lead to disappointment, upset, personal deprivation, disappointment or in modern control terminology STRESS AND ANXIETY. During the course of my profession, I have gotten a number of control awards and also ONE HUNDRED's of people have actually used my succinct and very clear products so as to extremely enhance their excellence. The suggest understand is in a partnership, a lot of the moment, factors are actually taken approved and also the expectation is certainly not expressed precisely. John F. Muth of Indiana College coined the theory of logical desires in the early sixties. All this is actually a session off my AWESOME Monitoring Concept (Approval, Within, Expectation( 1) of Self and also Others in Common Enthusiasm!) where the singular permitted Expectation from personal is actually: a genuine wish and initiative to boost!" When others have desires from you as well as you fall short; they are outplayed along with you. Using your requirements the personal trainer will certainly be far better able to find up with a training program that is flawlessly designed specifically for you, Furthermore, the personal trainer will possess a much better idea of what to include and ways to best change points up thus you remain to act to your goals as quickly as possible. June Doyle is actually an elderly research author and also supply help for terrific requirements composition and also cost-free great desire free of charge to speak to for any sort of sort of help here. Therefore if one is actually certainly not knowledgeable about this, the vanity mind are going to perform all that may to create the same assumption occurring again. And so this possessed consistently happy M. Stutz to expect fantastic factors off the dark young man which he had 1st seen in his very early twenties; as well as his requirements had actually polished instead of wound down on hearing the pale bruit of the love from Ivor and Virginia-- for Virginia, M. Stutz thought, will take fineness to a factor in a guy like Ivor Marlay, ... These 6 actions will definitely give you some suggest deal with to manage a person which is actually carrying out substandard or requirement. Move your own self off away from the travelers seat and in to the vehicle drivers seat in your own 'cars and truck from assumptions.' Make a program to review your assumptions currently, prior to the included stress of holiday stress holds. Later on, you could have to conduct an appointment with several of your salesmen and, for the very first time, plainly interact your desires. Early understanding informs our team that when two or even even more folks are gathered together keeping the same requirement and motive, their manifestation energy is actually significantly multiplied. Because others are actually strongly believing that you are capable of fulfilling their expectations.

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tmiller-mastery-blog · 7 years ago

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12.4.1 Week 4 Mastery Journal

1) How has each course contributed to your personal and professional development as an instructional designer?

Month 1: Mastery: Personal Development and Leadership

I found the book we used in this class, Mastery by Robert Greene, to be very interesting. One of the points the book made repeatedly was that people need to play to their strengths. As I progressed through this course of study, I found myself going back to that idea over and over. The result was that I used the skills I already have to add a new skill – instructional design – to my repertoire.

Month 2: Strategies for Learner Engagement

In this course, I began to see the power of interactive infographics. When I created the interactive infographic that was the main assignment, I was amazed at how much more engaging the information became. The result is that I have used that concept very effectively on my job, and have received a lot of positive feedback from people, because of how much more appealing the information is.

Month 3: Visual and Verbal Communication in Instructional Design

In this class, I learned a lot about why feedback among peers is important, as well the right and wrong way of giving feedback. For example, during this class, we were involved in creating typography posters. Since several of my classmates were not designers by profession, I was able to share with some of them a few of the principles of good design. Hopefully, they found it to be helpful.

Month 4: Corporate Training and Motivational Development

This was the first class where we had to write a script, and then edit it to a specific time or shorter. One of my problems is that, too often, there is so much information that I think is necessary to impart, that I can run long – sometime, way too long. Even though there were several classes where we had to edit our scripts brutally, this class was the first that let me know that well-edited scripts were going to be a necessity.

Month 5: Instructional Design and Evaluation

This class was actually one of the ones that I found to be harder than the others, because this one focused more closely on educational theory than the ones before had. While previous classes had touched on educational theory to varying degrees, this one was the first where I actually found myself struggling at times to understand and discuss the subject matter.

Month 6: Digital Media and Learning Applications

This class was the first one where we had to write one of those research papers that all of us hated so badly. I think that I learned more about APA formatting in this class than I had in all of the ones before it. The project that we did in this class – the interactive web quiz – also came in very handy, because I was able to take that framework and use it very effectively later on at my job.

Month 7: Music and Audio for Instructional Design

I think this class was the one I found to be the most fun. I have a long history of doing voiceover work and sound design, so I was able to just have fun with the assignments. However, that is not to say that I did not learn anything from the class. In my experience, it doesn’t matter how familiar you may be with a particular discipline, if you take a class on it, you will learn something you did not know before. In this case, I was able to learn certain audio compression and equalization techniques that I did not know before.

Month 8: Filmmaking Principles for Instructional Design

The real thing I learned from this course that helps me as an instructional designer is how to use storytelling techniques make a subject more interesting. Furthermore, I learned techniques to use that would keep the story from going into a lot of unnecessary detail, but to keep it as short and succinct as possible.

Month 9: Game Strategies and Motivation

In this course, I learned that it is possible to use gamification techniques without making a game. I remember that one of my classmates works for a Department of Energy contractor just like I do, and we were able to have several very productive discussions on this subject. The fact is that a profession like the nuclear industry is usually populated by technical people who tend to look down on games as “not serious enough.” This class taught me how to use the techniques without having to make a ��game” of it.

Month 10: Learning Management Systems and Organization

I had never worked in an LMS before, so this class presented a new experience for me. In fact, in my opinion, I was very lucky that this class fell during the month of July, and we had the week of Independence Day as a free week. Consequently, I was able to do a lot of extra research to learn what I needed for this class.

Month 11: Media Asset Creation

Creating a Training Needs Assessment from start to finish was the single biggest challenge that this class offered. I really struggled with this assignment, but the feedback I received from Dr. Wyly was extremely beneficial. Of course, once I turned in my first draft and received her feedback, I had to go back and redo a large portion of it, but, as is usually the case in a situation like this, I learned more from what I did wrong than what I had done correctly.

Month 12: Final Instructional Design and Technology Project

This class was helpful in teaching me the correct way to create a portfolio web site. I had created them before, but as I worked with Professor Cleveland and Dr. Wyly, I learned several things that helped me make it more effective. In fact, my work on this portfolio site will not stop with this class. I plan on using this as my portfolio from this point on, and to continue to refine it.

2) How well were you able to utilize the concepts and techniques you learned from the program (theories, systems design, interface styling, and the creation of multimedia content) as you designed, developed, and implemented your Final Project?

I believe that I was able to utilize what I have learned throughout this course of study extremely well. I would like to give one basic example: As I have progressed as a multimedia designer over the years, I have come to understand that it is a good idea to keep your designs as simple as possible. In my opinion, to many designs are ruined just because the designer wanted to do all kinds of “neat stuff,” and did not know when to stop. Bu then I learned that, as much as I am a proponent of simplicity, I still had the tendency to make things more complicated than necessary. The result was that this over-complication in design actually had the capability of preventing students from learning the material well. Therefore, a lot of the work I did later in the program had a very different look than it did when I began the program. Even on my job, my work has begun to take on a very different appearance, and it has been a definite improvement.

3) Describe your most outstanding personal triumph in each course.

Month 1: Mastery: Personal Development and Leadership

I believe the biggest triumph I experienced in this class was coming to the conclusion that, yes, I could do the work. I was very nervous going into this program, because I was not at all confident that I was capable of passing. I tend to struggle with what is known as the imposter syndrome, where I have a tendency to downplay my accomplishments, and suspect that the day will come when I am exposed as a fraud who is not nearly as smart as people think I am, and that I really don’t have a lot of talent as a designer. And while that is probably something with which I will struggle all my life, this first class did give me a shot of confidence in my ability to do the work the program demanded.

Month 2: Strategies for Learner Engagement

As I stated earlier, one thing that had a profound effect on me was Mayer’s Principles of Multimedia. It was in this class where I was first exposed to those principles, and what I learned from them literally transformed my work, not only from an academic standpoint, but professionally as well.

Month 3: Visual and Verbal Communication in Instructional Design

In this class, one of the concepts we explored was the connection between effective visuals and believability. We were taught that there is a direct correlation between effective design and credibility. Personally, I felt vindicated by that, because this is something that I have been trying to convey to some of the engineers with which I work. Or course, sometimes I feel like I am fighting a losing battle, but it is nice to have research to back up my assertions.

Month 4: Corporate Training and Motivational Development

I think it was during this class that I was really able to help some of my classmates with shooting video in front of green or blue screen. That is something I do on a regular basis on my job, and most of them had no experience with it at all. I really enjoyed being able to reach out and answer questions and give advice on how to make it work. It was a good feeling.

Month 5: Instructional Design and Evaluation

I think what I am most proud of in this class is the teamwork that may classmates and I showed in the final project. I have said this multiple times: We could not have had a better composition of skills than the one we saw in this class. For the final project, each of us played to our strengths: Robyn and Bruce used their educational backgrounds to outline the project; Heather’s skills as a graphic designer were put to effective use in creating the look of our project; my skills in voiceover and interactivity came into play as I put everything together. The result was that Dr. Deason said that it was one of the best presentations of that nature he had seen in a long time.

Month 6: Digital Media and Learning Applications

The first week of this class, I was on vacation. I also had the first of those hated research papers due. So, I spent something like 25 hours of my vacation researching and writing my paper. I turned in the first draft of my paper on the last day of my vacation. Imagine my surprise when I received Dr. McBride’s feedback, and I had a lot fewer changes that needed to be made than I expected. If I recall correctly, my final grade on the paper was a 95.

Month 7: Music and Audio for Instructional Design

As stated earlier, I really enjoyed this class. However, I think the thing that I consider the biggest personal triumph was Dr. Deason’s reaction to the final version of my audio version of Little Red Riding Hood. He was very complimentary about how I put it together. Then, he set up a web camera so I could see his daughter’s reactions when she listened to it. It was a really good feeling to know that he thought that highly of it.

Month 8: Filmmaking Principles for Instructional Design

The thing of which I am most proud as a result of this class was my rediscovery of how necessary storyboarding is. I have been doing video and animation for many years, but my storyboarding techniques were scattered, at best. The result was that, in too many cases, I wasted too much time when I ran into a problem. What I learned from this class is that creating detailed storyboards will frequently allow you to anticipate problems and solve them before you actually get into the production process.

Month 9: Game Strategies and Motivation

Ultimately, I considered the game I created for this class to be a personal triumph. Game creation and gamification were new concepts for me, so I was not at all confident in my ability in this area. However, at the end of the class, my final grade was around a 98, so I was satisfied with what I had done.

Month 10: Learning Management Systems and Organization

What I considered to be a personal triumph for this class was the sheer amount of work that I produced for it. The short course that I created was called Compositing in Photoshop, and I created five 10-minute tutorials for it, as well as an interactive simulation of Photoshop to help the students learn the interface. I was very proud of the final product.

Month 11: Media Asset Creation

In this class, I believe I produced some of the best material during the past year. Once I nailed down the Training Needs Assessment, I had all of the ideas in place; all I needed to do was generate the assets. Even though I was only given a week to produce each part, I had worked out so many of the details while I was writing the TNA that I could put every bit of creativity I possessed into the different pieces.

Month 12: Final Instructional Design and Technology Project

What I consider to be the biggest triumph of this class is the fact that I completed the entire course of study. For the last year, I have worked to the point of exhaustion, and have gotten discouraged several times. However, the encouragement of my classmates, my instructors, and my wife always gave me just enough motivation to stay the course.

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beingmad2017-blog · 8 years ago

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10 Suggestions Each DIY Copywriter Desires And Advertising For Attention

New Post has been published on https://beingmad.org/10-suggestions-each-diy-copywriter-desires-and-advertising-for-attention/

10 Suggestions Each DIY Copywriter Desires And Advertising For Attention

Organizations hire expert copywriter service to help promote their services and products. They need clever income writing to get the job accomplished. You’ve got decided to discover the assignment of doing it yourself. Who is extra qualified than yourself to talk approximately your business. Ensure that what you write convinces your target audience to read, learn and in the end buy from you.

Digital free advertising and marketing copywriter continue to outpace print marketing because of the attention and famous media of desire. That is why I’m going to consciousness on useful ideas for the Virtual writing of internet pages and touchdown pages. Even as some of the copywriting guidance may be used for print free advertising and marketing, permit’s direct our interest to a key free advertising and marketing asset…Your internet site.

Tip 1 – Get to the point already

Unlike analyzing revealed books, magazines, sales substances and other print media, site visitors for your website are not going to read each phrase on Every web page. They may be going to experiment some of your pages but no longer all. Knowing this behavioral sample, you can use it to your benefit.

Copywriting for internet pages have to adopt a journalistic fashion. Start by means of writing a headline that creates instantaneous interest and hobby. Then, Make certain your commencing sentences get to the point right away or threat dropping the reader’s attention. If your writing appeals to a majority of people, You’ve got created a positive fire way to get your first paragraph read.

The preliminary sentence has to lead the reader from the attention catching headline to a clear assertion of the message. In case you tease the reader with fluff writing or open with an “as soon as upon a time” style, you are guaranteed to lose most of your target market. Force the message domestic first, then supply the supportive info and near with a name to the movement. Pass the strain and scare procedures. Buyers are lots extra informed now and insulting their intelligence is an actual flip off.

Tip 2 – Babbling brooks…now not writers

Engines like google love content material. The more you write the extra they want. However, internet site visitors have a distinct view. They’re impatient and have the attention span of the commonplace flea, with all due appreciate to pesky fleas everywhere. If Customers are just surfing on the internet as maximum people do, they may comply with a hyperlink to your internet site without a particular interest in your enterprise. Here is a golden opportunity for you.

If you can quickly create a need or need in your reader’s mind on your products and services, you are rewarded with a multiplied conversion rate, not to say a new customer. If you bore them stiff with mountains of words they may not study, click on…They depart your website. The answer is simple. Write about 250 – three hundred words according to a net web page. This maintains Search engines like google glad and your capability customers, too. In summary, when writing website reproduction, make it short, sharp and to the factor.

Tip 3 – The lighthouse strategy

All of us recognize the reason of a lighthouse is to aid navigation. So how do copywriter service assist Customers to locate your website? An informed search engine optimization (Seo) copywriter service knows how to analyze, find and use keywords and keyword phrases. They may be used to highlight the subject of web pages for Serbs and potential clients.

If key phrases and terms are the beacons that manual Search engines like google and yahoo and readers alike on your net pages, you might be tempted to actually placed some of these precious phrases in Every sentence you write. That is definitely no longer a very good concept. There’s a delicate stability among attractive to Search engines and dull your reader with the over usage of keywords. Target some key phrases for every of your pages but don’t overdo it. Don’t forget, the actual key isn’t always simply key phrases. Accurate writing ought to, on the whole, deliver your message with the hobby and convince the reader to do so.

Tip four – $1,000 words

you are pleased with your enterprise, products, and services. You acknowledge and appreciate the hard work and hours your personnel dedicates to gas your persevered fulfillment. You likely need to inform the arena how excited you are about it. The pride and commitment must permeate all through your internet site but not to the detriment of your last goal…To promote your message.

Here’s an exercise to quit immoderate boasting, wordy sentences and large paragraphs of textual content that customers don’t want to examine. Write the content material for your new or updated net web page. Subsequent, remember the variety of phrases on the page. permit’s faux that to put up the web page on our web site, every word charges $1,000. Multiply the number of words times $1,000 each. Hmmm…the total value is a luxurious proposition for any length business.

I assure that if each phrase you submit for your internet site pages expenses $1,000 a day, some of the words are approximate to hit the cutting room ground. The concept is to cull pointless details and widespread fluff to height and preserve the reader’s hobby. The quit result is a very succinct and focused message.

Tip five – Go along with the go with the flow

A common writing mistake is rambling on without a precise good judgment in the back of the real presentation of the fabric. It is able to seem like a great idea before everything. however like a musician, there needs to be a selected go with the flow and rhythm of the order of the sentences and paragraphs you write. The messages should unfold logically for the reader to assure continuity, comprehension, and readability. Truely tossing thoughts randomly at your readers is a positive fire way to lose their hobby.

permit’s enlarged at the song analogy. A crescendo is defined as playing a musical piece with growing volume. Your writing needs to replicate this fashion. Start with a hard-hitting message and boom the level of appeal with supportive records that create actual hobby for your reader’s mind. Like a musician, reorder your sentences and paragraphs for max effect and transport. Expand a drift and rhythm that compels people to examine Every single word.

Tip 6 – Say what?

Whilst you ‘talk’ to your capacity customers in writing, be certain that they recognize Each phrase. If sure phrases confuse them which includes terms precise in your enterprise, you risk dropping them to a competitor. Grab a dictionary and supply your readers an assisting hand. Simplify, use synonyms or define those styles of enterprise terms, acronyms, and technical jargon.

Your nice bet is to write down for the common individual. The strategy assures that everybody can effortlessly and with ease recognize your message. Big, fancy words and terms may impress family and friends but your bottom line can be far less awesome. It is constantly a terrific concept to present regular examples and comparisons for readability. Readers will respect the courtesy of clean-analyzing material to honestly recognize your income proposition and act upon it.

Tip 7 – It is getting a bit stuffy

Social networks have modified the way we think and write to each different in the enterprise. It has created a greater informal ecosystem, affecting communications, marketing, free advertising and branding in trendy. human beings appear to find it irresistible so do not combat it. Be a part of the trend when writing your website reproduction to quite simply have interaction your target audience.

It’s clean, a laugh and natural to jot down conversationally to certified web possibilities you need to attract. But, do not be fooled by means of this light-hearted method. It’s nonetheless commercial enterprise as usual and your informal writing has to nevertheless persuade humans to buy. Grow to be too acquainted in your writing style and you hazard the perception of being a little too carefree and pleasant for a few prospective clients. Gain they believe and self-assurance as you set up your income techniques and you are properly in the manner to making a sale.

Tip eight – put your shovel away

a few business websites percentage a common mistake. The writing is almost solely approximately the commercial enterprise and appears to pass over what’s, in reality, crucial…The client. Does this sound acquaint within the paragraphs of your internet site in the mean time?

We are the industry leader of the planet earth.

Our commercial enterprise is the finest factor for the reason that invention of time itself.

I am the leading expert of the whole universe

My team of skilled professionals is satisfied that will help you

Obviously, I had a bit of fun making this listing. Do you spot a sample Right here? How do the words make you experience approximately the business and its employees? the permit does a rewrite to Force the factor home.

As an industry leader, you enjoy aggressive fees and a recognition built on quality.

you could accept as true with a business that has served clients for 3 generations.

enterprise professionals are certified to provide you with best solutions to your commercial enterprise.

A team of experts anticipate your call 24/7 with the stable recommendation and help Whilst you want it.

Get the idea? It needs to always be the purchaser and the way you are able to assist them. Limit using the words we, our, I and my. Replace them with the words you and your. Make your customers sense which you truly care about them, their Desires and their commercial enterprise and you will start to build a dating of accepting as true with.

Tip 9 – If an image paints a thousand phrases…

Pictures sprinkled in the course of your text have a beneficial reason:

1. They run-up the monotony of textual content blocks

2. They assist convey your message, occasionally better than words

3. They appeal to attention and arouse curiosity

the use of formatting is some other beneficial tool that allows internet site visitors to experiment your writing looking for unique regions of a hobby. you could use a combination of formidable type, textual content colors, numbered or bulleted lists, symbols, charts and different principles to encourage site visitors to hold the reading.

Tip 10 – Now what?

You’ve got invested significant time getting ready your copywriting for all your internet pages. Incredible! Don’t forget the maximum vital factor of all. give interested possibilities clear directions about what you want them to do Subsequent. This could not necessarily be an immediate call to action.

1. on occasion you may want to encourage people to shop for now.

2. In case your services and products are pretty complicated and immediately sales are uncommon, tell them how to touch a consultant who can answer their questions.

three. You would possibly want to accumulate email addresses through presenting a freebie or percent cut price if traffic enrolls in your month-to-month eNewsletter.

There are numerous approaches to request touch details out of your target audience. However, If you provide a hyperlink to another considered one of your net pages, Here’s a Search engine optimization tip. Use key phrases whilst practical to your hyperlink. Search engines like google adore it because they are able to follow your link to more content material. As an example, If your business is selling powerboats, try the use of, ‘touch a strength boat professional’ as your link – not the conventional ‘contact us.’

help Tip – Stuck for phrases?

Each person reports the dreaded ‘author’s block.’ It also afflicts the fine of copywriter service. In case you are suffering from a specific page or and tormented by sleepless nights, assistance is an e-mail or telephone name away.

We frequently forget our protection internet to catch a frustrated DIY copywriter service that Needs a little raise to get them back on course. No activity is simply too small and Every project is crucial.

approximately the author – Bob Hoffman is a Search engine optimization Virtual and Print copywriter service. He has greater than 30 years enterprise enjoy in management, sales, and photography arts and is currently the director of Pebble Ridge Organisation Pty Ltd trading as % free advertising.

Free Reprint Articles – you can reprint this text the use of Virtual or print media copywriter service furnished which you do now not change the article. While you reprint the thing, you be given and comply with indemnify Pebble Ridge Company Pty Ltd, buying and selling as Percent free advertising and its directors, officers, employees and retailers from and towards all losses, claims, damages and liabilities which stand up out of using the article attention.

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