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!