One of the biggest challenges that I run into while writing is finding a place where I don’t have to actively think. That is not to say that my fingers move unbidden by my brain, but rather that the ideas come easily, flowing into existence nearly as quickly as they are imagined. This kind of freedom is rarely found in academic writing, because of the constant concerns of keeping on target, or maintaining format. I had the same trouble while writing the essay, and the beginnings of the story for the final. However, thanks to the suggestion of starting in the middle during the conference, I was able to find that freedom with some effort in the last draft of the story. It certainly wasn’t perfect by any means. Still, there were moments when the story freed itself as if it existed on its own, and I was merely the catalyst. Okay, that’s a bit romantic and unrealistic but there was a sense of freedom writing the draft.

I have experienced that only once before, when I took up a writing challenge called camp nanowrimo where I set my own goal of 25,000 words for the month. It’s likely awful, and I dread going back to read it. The experience of living in that story was something special. I briefly experienced a similar euphoria while working on the final project. It seems that the only way to induce this state is to write with reckless abandon, headless of the steaming heap of crap that may result. I find that I get better results when I’m not worried about how a project might turn out. However, revision is a step that usually gets less love. It’s fun to make a mess, but cleaning is a chore. Revision is definitely one of my weaknesses. I don’t like going back to old work. It’s a bit frustrating to know that this habit will halt my progress as a writer. Nobody get’s it perfect the first time, let alone a part timer. Old habits die hard, and resisted lessons eternally reprise.

Before I had committed to attend SAU, I was perusing over the courses in the catalogue for Game, Animation, and Simulation degree. It was there that I first saw that this course was offered, and I was immediately excited to take it. World building has always been something I enjoyed, and the chance to formally learn how it should be done was enticing, to say the least. This course wasn’t what I expected. However, it wasn’t a disappointment either. I didn’t expect the course to be so focused on consuming literature, nor did I imagine that all the actual world building would be crammed into a single month. As we learned in many of the texts we read over the course of the semester, it can be good to have your expectations subverted.

I learned a lot this semester, and this class was a big part of that. For one, I didn’t think that I could finish that many books while keeping up with my other courses. Maybe it’s not much for some, but I hadn’t ever read so many texts in so short a time. I learned that I could do more than I thought I could. However, I also learned that sometimes you just can’t do it all. Regardless, I still try. If I hadn’t, there wouldn’t be a mountain in an ocean ripe with a story waiting to be told in the surrounding lands. I am grateful for the opportunity to push into a new direction in my storytelling.

I only had a few gripes with the class. For one, it was difficult to keep up with everything, primarily due to the reading that had to be done each week. Somehow, I doubt that everyone kept up with it all. Almost like clockwork, the days that I hadn’t been able to finish my reading, were days where our reading was tested. I’m exaggerating a little, but towards the end it was rough. I also, wish that we had been given more time to work on our worlds. The month of November flew by, and the break didn’t help. Basically, I lost a week of work when I went home.

However, I really enjoyed this class and I got a lot out of it. Thanks! 😊

Writing is strange. Like most creative processes, it takes passion, or at least interest to thrive. But the very odd thing about it is that one could have the same idea in mind when sitting down to write, and based on when they begin, the words that find themselves on the page may be entirely different! If I had written this journal yesterday, it wouldn’t have been the same journal. I haven’t noticed this phenomenon in other creative fields. I suppose improvised fields work the same. I certainly could have had the same exact scenario planned for my dnd group, but it may play out completely differently one night as opposed to another, with the same people, in the same room, playing the same characters. Creative writing is almost like a conversation with yourself. The first word could be anything, and the rest is continual reactions and responses. It makes me wonder just how many worlds I might have created had I committed myself to the keyboard. What if some of those unwritten ideas were my best? Can an opportunity be lost so easily? Sadly, it seems the answer is yes. Even a moment without a way to record ideas can damn a creative work to oblivion.

In a way, this concept is connected to my previous journal about consistency. Writing, and drawing are fields where ideas can easily be lost if not sketched or drafted. I have had some of my best ideas suddenly come upon me while sketching to pass the time while trapped in a social situation where leaving would not be acceptable. Actually, being stuck helps me stay on task. Maybe I could force myself into situations where I am not allowed to leave. Whether mentally, or physically, I don’t know (probably the latter). Either way, it seems a waste that there are ideas that will never be born due to my lack of self-discipline. Maybe the thought of losing such ideas will motivate me into the future.

Taking this class made me more aware of my bad habits, especially my lack of consistency. As it is likely evident in these journals, I have a hard time doing anything every day. Well, eating is easy. I’m not sure if it’s intentional on some level, or… It’s gotta be. I used to hate it when my parents tried to force a routine on me. I would resist it until they gave up (bless their souls). I never really learned the lesson of self-discipline. If I think I have something to lose, I can make myself do almost anything. However, if its just for me, I usually fail to accomplish my goals. I’ve been aware of this bad habit for years, but never took the steps to change it. I am beginning to see the importance of it. In most cases, I was able to just barely slide by when I put things off. Getting away with it reinforced the bad habit. This semester, I had less time to put things off. I was like I had to choose which work not to do, because there was almost never enough time, energy, or motivation ever available. It’s rough when you feel guilty for taking a couple of hours off, because something else isn’t getting done. However, even when I was in the thick of things, maybe especially in those cases, it’s important to keep whittling away at the goals you have set. A little here and there adds up. I am terrible at this.

I love the feeling of completion. I thrive off the feeling of getting things done. Inversely, I hate things that seem too big to complete in a single sitting. The larger the task, the more likely I am to put it off. This flaw in my character really gets in way sometimes, especially as I realize that your skill in a certain area is largely dependent on the time spent practicing it. It’s a tough realization when you see your potential and know you aren’t reaching it because you aren’t trying hard enough. I’ve set a goal over the winter break to make my creative work a part time job, requiring at least 20 hours a week. Hopefully this will be the first step in reversing harmful habits.

There is an overabundance of characters in the world these days. We probably know more of these characters than people in our lives. One in particular that stands out to me is Matt Murdock of Netflix’s Daredevil series. Matt is a well-rounded character, as VanderMeer would categorize him. While this character may indeed fall into “literary mainstream,” as is WonderBook suggests is often the case, he is nonetheless an interesting character. The audience is taken into his morality, thought process, and personal history that drives him to continue his lifestyle, which mainly consists of beating the daylights out of criminals at night. Daredevil’s struggle with the morality of his actions is perhaps his most interesting feature, especially since he is Catholic. He doesn’t know if it is moral that he enjoys the hurting people for doing bad things, nor that he cares. He fights for himself as much as he believes it needs to be done, and he knows this. His struggle to accept the disparity between worlds is a fascinating conflict. And let’s be honest, most of us would be willing to fight people that abuse others, given the strength and opportunity. While nearly none of us would engage in nocturnal crime fighting in actual life, the character of Daredevil connects with the audience because of our shared desire to stop bad things from happening.

Daredevil could have easily been written as a flat character, one that fights bad guys because he can. Superheroes are often portrayed as partial characters, since all that is required to make them interesting in many cases are powers and cool villains for them to fight. There’s definitely a kind of brainless entertainment to be had in watching unusual people fighting in extraordinary places. Daredevil would have been enjoyable to me even if it was little more than cool fights, like many old martial arts flicks. However, Daredevil has more depth to his character, and it transforms a decent premise into an engaging story.

Plot devices are everywhere. There are few texts that escape their use entirely. Television and movies are especially guilty of leaning on plot devices. Even well-respected texts like the Lord of the Rings makes use of them. The One Ring is Macguffin. Characters want it because it makes them want it. But really, in the hands of anyone but Sauron, the ring would do little good. The LOTR films and books also make use of dues ex machina as well. Just like the Hobbit, its Gandalf showing up to save the day at Helms Deep. Just as everything is about to fail, he shows up and saves them.

Other offenders are Agents of Shield and Supernatural. I cannot even count the amount of times someone has been about to die, when suddenly, out of nowhere, they are saved at the last second by their teammate or some unexpected outside force. A whole slew of Macguffins can be found, and caught, in Pokemon. Whether the games or the Anime, all we know is that we gotta catch em all. Why? Because you gotta catch em all, weren’t you listening? Toy Story 3 also offends as the toys are all about to be burned up in the trash incinerator but are rescued just in the nick of time by the little green men operating the claw. Toy Story does a much better job of not making this plot device feel cheesy. There is a real sense of tension and release in this moment. Of all the plot devices, dues ex machina is the most prevalent. While the last second rescue can create tension, it loses all its efficacy when used repeatedly throughout a text, as is the case in many television shows and superhero movies.

One of my favorite beginnings is the beginning of Devil May Cry 3, a game released in 2006 for the Playstation 2. The introduction fulfills many of VanderMeer’s criteria for good beginnings as well, yet it also strays a bit from the formula as well. The intro starts with a secondary character narrating the background and setting information. The narration occurs while the two main characters are fighting, and the details about their past is being filled in by the narrator. After the intro, still part of the beginning, the we are introduced to the main character, the problem, and plenty of movement. This section of the beginning also serves to set the tone secondary tone of the text. The text bounces back and forth between cheesy and edgy and over the top. It’s a fun combination. During the first third it also introduces the secondary conflict, which is nicely tied into the main plot later in the text.

A text with an even better beginning however, is Breaking Bad. The intro shoves the viewer straight into the action as an RV crashes in the desert. The main character is then introduced, spilling out into the desert in only his underwear. The intro does a great job of foreshadowing later events while also drawing in the viewer. The audience likely finds themselves anxious for answers, just as I was. The main problem is also introduced here, though it is not immediately clear. The antagonist is really the main character, as he consistently places himself in progressively worse situations. The audience is pulled along with him through his adventures, usually feeling disoriented and helpless, just like the main characters.

An issue with this story from its inception is a lack of risk, and therefore tension. During the beginning of the story, this is less of a risk since the boy is being pursued by Dux. (Duux?) In most stories, the primary risk is regarding one’s life, especially in fantasy and adventure stories. However, this risk is already gone, due to the setting being after death in the mortal realm has already occurred. The boy isn’t at risk of dying in the regular sense. But he is at risk of remaining trapped in Exanimalis (The land of the dead and grieving). By the end of the first section, chapter, or other break of some kind, the threat of perpetual entrapment dwindles greatly, since the boy chooses to travel with Duux by the end. Thus, there needs to be another source of danger, or risk present in the world.

            During the play, Next to Normal, I had several ideas which I wasn’t sure fit in this story but it seems that indeed they might. One was the presence of a spirit or other entity that could only exist so long as a person believed in it. Given its nature, such a creature would seek to cause people to believe it. If denied, it would die. Essentially, it is a living lie. Like a lie or other falsehood, belief is all that sustains it. Rats used to come from old socks, and flies from spoiled meat, yet when the truth about how organisms procreate came to light, the lie about the origins of rats and flies died.

This creature has numerous offshoots which connect to every person in Exanimalis, much like an enormous, invisible tree (Or maybe not). The creature’s name is Unylitheia, Untruth. It finds ways to perpetuate itself throughout both death and life, striving to keep anyone from escaping to the Beyond (Whatever lies past the final river). Each person has its words in their mind, speaking such things as, you are not good enough, nobody loves you, and you cause nothing but trouble. It also disguises reality to appear as one wishes, while never satisfying a person’s true desires. Though few know of its existence, most resent the creature for lying and controlling them.

Duux fought Unlylitheia in ages past, but without the support of the people, he was defeated, losing the blade to his scythe in the process. The scythe was the only weapon capable of cutting away the human attachment to Unlylitheia. There is an intangible cord attached to the back of the head of humans. Humans must reach Acceptance the final stage of Grief before the cord can be seen and cut away by the scythe. The human must also be willing to give up their attachment to the Tree of Lie, Unylitheia. (Perhaps there is an engraving that appears to say tree of life, but the “f” is scratched out, or worn away.)

The boy will have a friend by the name of Saimah (Alternate spelling of the Greek word, ”Psèma,” meaning lie or untruth), or Sai for short. Sai will try to convince the boy that he is his only friend, and keep the boy trapped in Negashioh and away from Duux. Towards the end of short story, the boy will learn that Sai is a liar and he’ll be hurt. He will have to choose to “kill” Sai by denying him, or be taken back into Negashioh, trapped indefinitely.

Boy arrives by train. He explores Negashioh and learns about the city. They do not like hearing him ask questions. He represents a threat to the illusion. Something occurs that allows him to see through the spell and he panics when he sees the reality of the people inhabiting the area. He falls off one of the bridges into the valley below.

The boy meets Dux, who tells him about the journey ahead. The two of them avoid the Skirmishes below (Or become involved in the fighting.) The consequences of violence are explored

The pair arrive at the markets where the boy learns about the trade with the Negashioh and the coins (Optional) for passage across the river. People try to trade with Dux to return back to the living world.

They leave the Markets and reach the Mire. They travel through and some of the people beg for death, but they cannot achieve it because they have already passed. They are unwilling, or unable to leave the Mire.

They escape the Swamp and reach the fortress. (Why is there a fortress anyway?) (May artificially lengthen the story)

Reach the brink of Acceptance. May be another bridge that the boy is afraid to cross. (References earlier trauma) Eventually they both cross and reach the Graveyard where they must come to terms with their death before passing on. (Each person may have to make their own decision about what this place means) Most see this place as a disappointment and return to the other locations. They find futility in their acceptance of the world. The boy instead finds hope and is able to pass on. (Alternate ending: The boy sees the journey as another lie, and laments that Dux will not join him. He refuses to cross and extends the cycle.) (Does Dux decide to leave with Vagus? If he leaves, Dux is sad to see him go, but has hope that others will follow. If he stays, Dux may see this as another example of the futility of his position.)

 

Above story is too long for the parameters of this assignment

            The boy arrives at the station. The view of the land is described in more detail. The narrator is not introduced until later in the story to make him seem more imposing when he meets the boy. The boy, Vagus, will meet some other characters inside Negashioh and will become dissatisfied with the city because it is too much like his home. He will then begin to notice the spectre following him (The Narrator). The legends about the narrator will be told by the townspeople. Shortly after he begins seeing the spectre, he will begin to notice things that are not adding up, and some of his memory of life before the train will start coming back to him. There needs to be a character that is trying to keep him from remembering, thus breaking the illusion on the city (Perhaps this character is the one that fades if denied). One tipping point will be when he meets a woman that he knew back in his other life. This woman died before he did, and he realizes this. He becomes afraid of the other people as their illusions wear off and he sees the corpses for what they are, wandering an ancient city devoid of life or meaningful actions. He then tries to escape, but sees the spectre is chasing him now, whereas he was always just barely out of view before. Eventually, the spectre leads him to the bridge, where Vagus falls, leaving the city. When he comes too, he sees that he isn’t dead, although hurt. He sees his reflection in a puddle and sees that his eye sockets are hollow and his skin taught and pale. He then realizes that his last memory from before the city was his last night alive. Dux ( The Narrator then introduces himself and offers to lead Vagus to the other side of the continent, where he can escape the land of the dead. (He may talk about his past, at this point.) Vagus decides to follow Dux, unsure of what other option he has. The story will not solve all of the problems, but rather leave the reader wondering what happens next.

An issue with this approach is that nothing might seem to be resolved at all. Maybe the Aspect of Denial is the antagonist and he is defeated when Vagus accepts that Negashioh is a lie. This allows for a role reversal where the friend (Denail) becomes an enemy, and the spectre (Dux) becomes ally.

 

The more thought I put into the world, the more I am convinced that it is actually a kind of pre-afterlife that people pass through on their way to eternity. However, most are probably not privy to this information because they have instead decided to remain on the island instead of crossing over to their final destination. This idea may be too obvious and needs further exploration before I commit to the idea. The setting should communicate fairly early on that it is a journey through the stages of grief. However, whether that idea is meant to be taken literally or not should remain ambiguous. The reader should be able to decide if this world is a place that everyone passes through or if it is a tertiary world that only characters from the secondary world visit. In my mind, it is the second case, but I do not intend to explore that “land of the living” much, if at all.

There will be locations that the two main characters travel across, each representing one of the stages of grief. The most largely inhabited of those locations will be the city of Denial. A name from another language, or combination of names may be used instead, as the exact definition should not be too obvious lest the effect on the reader be lessened. The people of the upper cities refuse to acknowledge that anything is amiss, yet they seemingly do not age or require sustenance, although they are able to consume food and drink. Those that question the nature of the inhabitants of Denial are cast out where they enter the plains (or valleys?) of Anger.

Anger is a violent place. The inhabitants are spiteful and often warlike, channeling their rage at the lies told to them from above into outright assaults. (This necessitates guards or soldiers from Denial. This may not make logical, unless they identify those below as crazy or savage and are thus able to preserve their denial that they are essentially the same.) Most inhabitants of Anger put the blame off on others, very few own up to their anger.

Nearby are the markets of Bargaining, a place where trade occurs between the various regions. All kinds of things are traded here but very little satisfies (Much like actual shopping. What is bought does not bring lasting joy). Many are trying to buy their way back up to Denial, the most comfortable region.

The swamps (forests? Mire? Other more significant geographical landmass?) of Depression lie beyond the markets. Those who realize that the markets are ultimately meaningless usually move here. Depression is a place of guilt and self-harm, and loathing. The structures here are slowly rotting away, just like it’s populace. The motivation to improve the shacks is lost in the mires for most. Occasionally there will be some who briefly lift themselves up and begin to fix their habitations, only to fall silently back into states of loathsome waiting.

The fortress of Acceptance blocks the way off the Island. Those who first reached Acceptance saw the truth and saw it as their responsibility to defend the inhabitants of the island. They (He/she?) guard the way out. Most are not permitted to enter. The way off the island is feared because nobody ever returns from beyond it. They fear it just as people fear death, even though it is necessary. The leader of the fortress accepted the state of the island but reached the wrong conclusion, seeing it now as their responsibility to govern the people.

There are two forms of Acceptance on the island. The former, is a grim acceptance that things will not change, the cycle cannot be broken or else it wouldn’t be a cycle. The lighter Acceptance comes with a bright hope. A Hope for something better. This is the way beyond the Island.