Roll the Dice

M. Kate McCulloch

September 12, 2012

We went to the Wizard's Chest the other day so Brian could buy L5R cards. All good gamer geeks out there know what that means. If you are not such an individual, there are myriad search engines out there to facilitate your further understanding. While he was speaking with the associate on hand I was looking at stuff.

I have a tendency to wander around stores and just look at stuff. Must be from years of falling within the category of the have-not's. I do this in the grocery store, too. We'll go shopping and I will stop in an aisle and look at the panoramic display of barbeque sauce, or the fifty-seven types of bacon.

I found something I wanted while I was looking. Typically, when I find something I want, a quick cost-benefit analysis runs. Most of the time, I pass by the object, reasoning that I don't need it, it costs too much, or maybe that I don't have the money myself and I would have to impose on my fiance to obtain said object on my behalf. This time the benefit out won the cost and the imposition of appropriating the funding. I told Brian, "I gotta get these!"

These are a dice game, if you will, called Rory’s Story Cubes(r). These cubes are cool. These cubes are a writers tool for overcoming brain block. As a game, one should pick a theme, roll the dice, and make up a story. As a writer, I am going to use them to get my groove back. They also have a use as a device for school age kids, like my own school age boys, to generate story ideas or complete them, as the case may be.

I rolled the dice. There is a face cube with a sheepish expression, a dragon, a Tepee, a magnifying glass, a crescent moon, an arrow pointer, a talk bubble, a pyramid and a fish, a striped fish that looks like a tiger-Nemo.

My task is to compose a story, and not necessarily a narrative as there is a talk bubble die. But i find that the stories [prompted by the roll of the dice only reminds me of other stories by other authors. To tell a story that's already been told, or at least a story I know, to re-tell iit, seems disingenuous.

I know there are only so many plot lines and so many variations on a theme. many of the TV shows and movies I watch are predictable, as I'm certain is the case for many an audience before me. But it feels wrong, regardless of how obscure or unknown a piece may be, and most of my examples are neither, to change the names to protect someone's copyright.

But if I had to, think the Never-Ending Story...

See what I mean? Back to the drawring board...

September 11, 2012

I woke up this morning cranky. I briefly but pointedly snarked at both the future hubby, and grumbled about having to drive all the way across town to drop off the boysies at school and then all the way back, plus, to get to work.

On the trip leg leading to work, I switched on CPR/NPR and heard, right up front and first thing, that today is the 11th Anniversary of the September 11th terrorist attacks.

Two thoughts crossed my mind in quick consecutive order. First: all this bitchiness of mine must be related to the general miasma related to the date. And second: I am so lucky to have my boys, to have a car, to have a job. It's time to shut up, now.

Of course, like many of us, when I realized the significance of the date, I remembered not where I was, but how I felt when I saw that image of the plane puncturing the side of the tower. The smoke. The woman who jumped. The white powdery dust. The shock on thousands upon thousands of faces.

I wept today.

When I was young, selfish and very immature, I could understand why and how individuals and groups could become violent in defense of their beliefs. Some people begin open minded and become rigid; my path was from fear to freedom. I'm very lucky.

The people who want war, terror, sanctions, exclusivity, in a word, power over others are living in fear - a constant, unwavering fear - of the loss of some thing. Sentimentality over things has always baffled me. A human life cannot be replaced. Once it's gone it's gone. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. But things can be replaced.

Enmity with some one because they are a different color, religion, ethnicity or because they dress or speak or move differently is, well, very immature. It brings to mind the nature of a two-year-old who only knows that he wants what he wants and he will do whatever he can to get it and keep it. It's understandable in a two-year-old, but by the time a person reaches three, the lessons on tolerance, acceptance, diversity and sharing, of all the human-forsaken things, should be in the curriculum.

The hardest part is this: How can we, quite literally, turn the other cheek? We must come to understand, collectively, that resistance only creates resistance. To win a "war on terror" we cannot be afraid, and we cannot meet terror with violence. They are simply different words for the same thing - Fear.

From your non religious writer, I recommend that if you are religious, pray to your god to learn how to forgive - everything - starting with yourself. If you are non-religious but spiritual then reflect on the nature of fear and the nature of peace. If you are atheist or agnostic, try examining the properties of Newtonian Physics and thermodynamics. These are principals that function in the human dynamic as well. And if you are like me - all of the above and more.

Now, I'm going to get up tomorrow and try to remember, for my own peace, that I am here, now. That I am grateful for all the unremembered little things and try to remember those, too. And that driving my boys all the way across town so they can attend a school we chose is an enormous privilege.

M. Kate McCulloch

The Eye of the Storm

There is approximately a foot of that granular, icy, powdery snow on the driveway.

Ardor and Other Things

July 22, 2011

Does anyone actually like their cooktop stoves?  I've been out with my fiance, for the purposes of house-hunting - he has not proposed yet, looking for a suitable place to rent in the Denver Metro area.  Ha! 

How Do You Do It?

I was standing in the kitchen when I heard the knock on the door.  My son ran to answer it and was standing there, in the doorway when I arrived, wiping my hands on a dish towel. There were two men there waiting. 

"Hello," I said to the odd pair on my porch. "How may I help you?" 

Side bar: I once received a critique on a novel section submitted for a writing contest.  The critic wrote, and I quote, "Who talks like that?"  I do.

The elder gentleman, a light-skinned, soft-spoken and genteel black man spoke. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"How do you think," he asked, "are we supposed to honor God?"

I was amused by his question, as it presented me with an immediate and telling insight about my inquisitor.  I smile at him, thinking, Let the Games begin!, nodded to his partner and replied, "Let us assume that we are, in fact, created in the Image and Likeness of our Creator - God, for lack of a better word."

He looked sideways at the younger man who somewhat resembled every action movie, bad guy side kick. Short dark hair, greying and thinning but cunningly styled to conceal the wispy-ness, a dark blue suit that could have been a thrift store find or a well worn Armani, shiny, shiny shoes, and one front tooth which had been replaced at some point not too recently.  The younger man nodded back, a grim expression crossing his features."Please continue," said the elder.

"Within each of us, you, me, every man on Earth, is a Divine Spark - our Essence.  It is incumbent upon each of us, in this marvelous experiment of Life, to find out what our unique purpose is - or create it ourselves.  As reflections of our Creator, we similarly have the ability to create.  But, we are Human."

"Indeed we are," says the elder. "We are all just Men."  He looked again at the younger with a wry smile.

"Yes.  We are only Men," I agreed.  I suspect the pair expected me to be offended, as I am female. To their slight, but noticeable dismay, I did not object to the sexism. Why feed a fire over a misunderstood word?  Man refers to Human.  One of the whole of  Humanity, of which I am a part.  That is nothing to be offended about. "As men, we operate in matter and it limits us, yet, as creators we should create.  This would is the way I try to honor God, the Creator, the Universal Life."

The elder considered this and said, "But what do we call this 'Creator' of yours?  Is it God? Buddha? Allah? Jehova?"

"Yes. You see, ultimately there is one truth. But God, or whatever anyone calls God based on their culture, understanding or conditioning, is not limited in the same way we are. And this one truth that some of us seek is so far above and beyond our comprehension as Human Being, that it is not possible to understand it in our limited condition as Human Being.  Also, I cannot imagine that a creative entity capable of manifesting here on Earth millions of different species would be so narrow in its conception as to have to be called 'God,' or 'Allah,' or 'Jehova.'  It is known by all of these names and while not one of them can contain the entirely of It, neither can any name diminish It. Further, as we are created in its likeness and image, are we not also a part of It and It a part of us?"

The conversation went on this way for some time.  His questions became less about trying to sway me to his beliefs, and more about explaining these ideas further.  Drawing upon experience, religion, psychology and even a touch of physics (I could not resist after the Higgs boson was confirmed to mention how similar quantum physics and quantum mechanics are to the process of intentional manifestation!). 

The two who knocked at my door were, and may still be, Jehova's Witnesses come looking to spread the Word, as they see it.  But at the end of the conversation, the younger looked distraught and the elder said, "Ma'am, you have given me something to think about.  You stuck a chord.  I am going to go home and meditate on what you have said to me and see if I can understand it."

"Good!" I said.  "Remember: to seek outside of yourself for what is already within is a waste of time and our biggest vanity.  Vanity - look up the Latin root." 

The truth is everywhere and nowhere, existing within us, waiting to be uncovered, waiting for us to rid ourselves of the blindness from which we all suffer.  The exceedingly rare Human Being arrives here ready to see the truth early in life - the rest of us either work very hard to catch glimpses until we are much more experienced and can begin to awaken, or work very hard to avoid seeing the truth.

Question Everything.  Conduct life like an experiment, neither accept nor dismiss anything without weighing it thoroughly, and if possible, without bias.  Or not. There may be one truth, but not every one seeks.

M. Kate McCulloch

 

Don't Put All Your Ducks In One Basket

A weblog is a weblog is a weblog.  Previously, when I was contracted to write for a newspaper, then later for an Ezine, I wrote whatever I wanted.  My editors did not edit, they published, errors and all, whatever I gave to them.  My writing was an extension of my Ego. 

It is still an extension of my Ego.  When I was writing before, I would blithely ignore the suggestions, read: assignments the Editors gave, and write whatever came to mind.  The columns composed largely consisted of Social Commentary. My official post was the political correspondent. I recall exactly one column where I actually took the assignment given, wrote on topic, and submitted the piece before deadline. Brian, the Editor not the Husbandish Guy, read the piece, thanked me for doing the assignment, threw it in the shred bin and told me to write, "something, anything, we need to fill three column inches," by the deadline in a few minutes.  I edited to keep things PG-13. 

Brian the Husbandish Guy has encouraged me to write.  Brian says I should do something that will make me happy.  My Beautiful Sister, Sara, encouraged me to write.  I would talk to her about story ideas, trying to give them to her to write down, and she repeatedly told me to write them down myself. My teacher, friend and mentor encourages me to write.  He has implied it will be good for me.

It has been a few years since I last wrote a column.  I'm finding that without someone to tell me what I should be writing about, I have no one to rebel against.  Where's the fun in that?  I'm trying my hand at fiction, with results.  I know how to write fiction. I'm not so sure that I know how to write fiction well.  For some authors, writing is not only an extension of ego but a very simple process of putting their thoughts down on paper.  For me, I am going to have to learn the Craft.  I have to learn everything from organizing my thoughts to point of view to voice to verb tense and, I'm quite certain that if I should be successful in completing a full manuscript that is worth the trouble to read, I will have to learn how to properly spell and punctuate.  I have a fondness for ellipses and appositional phrases that I suspect most Editors of fiction will not share.

For the sake of learning how to write and for the dual purposes of others leisure activity and my own discipline, it occurred to me that I should blog it up again.  So, I am not putting all my ducks in one basket because a bird in hand is better than a poke with a stick. 

I welcome feedback, positive, negative or simply informative/critical/analytical.  I take writing seriously, but do not take myself so seriously as a writer.  I want to learn the craft, I want to write well, I want to entertain you, inform you and make you think.  I want even the fiction to spark something within that can inspire you to reach for the highest level you can achieve.  I want to attempt to keep my Ego out of the whole process.  If you write me, I will likely respond.

Side note in closing: Mel's Diner, the previous column series, always had some food or coffee reference.  This series, They, Inc., will usually include some euphemism, idiom or colloquialism, either mixed, as above, or not.  If you come across some peculiar turn of phrase you find amusing, please forward it to me along with your meaning or definition and perhaps I will use it here.

Welcome to They, Inc.

Kate McCulloch