Playing Reality

Author's Note: I had a crazy dream last night up on a camp out. Directing this play, some things happened. I've tweeked it, and put it here in a story.

--Jim Blow

Playing Reality

Director Charles Everton stepped off the stage, calling for the play to be done from the top. The actors on stage groaned. They'd been rehearsing for hours, and were in dire need of a break. Charles didn't listen, this was his play, and it was going to be perfect! He'd written the play himself, and loved it.

The play was another Cinderella spin-off. Currently, the scene being rehearsed was of the Prince finding Cinderella. She was down among the lentils, that hadn't been picked up yet.

Lights dimmed, and the scene played.

"My dearest Cinderella! It is you!" Prince Charming exclaimed.

"Yes." Cinderella said, smiling.

Prince Charming stepped toward his bride-to-be. His foot landed on the lentils, and he slipped. With a hard thud, the actor landed on his crown.

The play stopped. People rushed to the actor's aid. With a little help, he stood up.

"Who are you?" he asked, holding his pounding head.

"Us? We're the Stage Crew! Are you all right?" one crew member asked.

"Stage Crew? What is that? My name is Prince Charming! I demand to be released. Stand back you fiends!"

With that the actor jumped to his feet, swishing his pretend sword through the air, and turned around. In a flash he had grabbed Cinderella and fled the stage.

The assistant director ran up to the director. "What just happened? What do we do?"

Charles Everton shook his head. "When Charming hit his head, he must have become dillusional. He now believes he is actually Prince Charming, and not just an actor!"

Who Would Win

Author's Note: For some strange reason, people have a tendency to ask stupid questions. Yeah, I know. One of their favorite questions is: Why? Another common question, one I will actually address in this post, is: Who Would Win...
Prepare to have your mind blown, because I know exactly who would win in a fight between anybody and anybody else.

--Jim Blow

Who Would Win In A Fight?

By Jim Blow

People love people. No, not real people, characters. They'll take their two most treasured--and often powerful--characters, and wonder to the world which of them would win. This question is asked so often because there is pretty much an infinite number of Character Combinations.

Other times they'll take a really good character, and a really bad character, and ask who would win. This is called Sarcasm. It is stupid in this scenario.Back to who would win.

For selfish reasons, I'll use to of my own characters as examples.

Who Would Win In A Fight, Bromet or Redfang?

(Who are these characters? Visit Jimblowauthor.blogspot.com to learn more.)

The answer isn't very complex, but it boggles people's minds. They write page after page, post after post, about who they think should win. These beliefs are all biased. According to a renowned author...that may or may not be me...95% of the people vote for their favorite character to win. So does it really matter? The question is useless. Why not just ask who they like better? The answers will correspond with one another either way you put it.

There is a right answer, though. I'll use the example of Star Wars this time. Who would win, Qui Gon Jinn, or Darth Maul. There is a wrong answer. Most people would vote for the Jedi--come on, it's Liam Neeson, and he's sick--but we all know that the battle actually occurred, and Maul won. Nerds argue that, if only the circumstances had been different,

Garbage. What do I say about garbage? "Take your garbage and leave!" --Jim Blow

After all this, and more, has been said and done, you're still wondering what the point is. I keep leading up to revealing the point of my Who Would Win blog post, and then diverting. Let me explain.

I'll use the example of The Murder Mystery at the Murder Mystery by Brian Taylor. Look it up. In the play, Brian, who plays Brian--it's a very confusing play--mentions that *SPOILER* he is the murderer. How? Because he wrote the play, and he controlled who lived, and who died.

Understand? Most likely you're more confused than before.

Let me put it simply.

Who Would Win In A Fight?

Answer: Whoever the writer wants to win.

Writer's Block

JIM BLOW’S TRIP TO THE  DANGER ZONE:   Writer’s Block uncovered!

You may notice that WRITER'S BLOCK is a plague. It attacks writers day in and day out.

Although I haven't solved this problem, I came up with a graph to show it.

Maybe someone else will discover my work, and carry it on to something better.

When you start a story, you want to start with as wide a base as possible. Imagine there are two lines. The more space between the lines, the better. The amount of room between the lines represents the number of possibilities. The more you reveal, the less room between your lines. As more is revealed, limits are set on your story. As more and more plot occurs, less and less other things can happen.

Example: You start a story. The base is enormous, so anything can happen. Then you reveal the characters. It is a story about secret agents. The base begins to close up. Magic and things like that are now not possible. It is placed on the outside of your base. Here are two lines.

LINE 1 (wide base) --It was a dark and stormy night. (See, anything can happen from here. This is a very wide base.)

LINE 2 (small base) --The elves kept to themselves, they couldn’t allow the wizards to find them. (See how this is a smaller base? Limitations are set, and things are revealed. Though the base is still pretty big, it is smaller than the base in LINE 1.)

Eventually you’ll have revealed so much that the two lines representing the two sides of your original base now touch. When the two lines touch, several things can happen.

1. WRITER’S BLOCK--You have so many limits, there are only few things you can do. When there are only a number of options, you don’t always discover one. Thus the story is deserted. An awful circumstance. 90% of writers leave one or more stories deserted due to this awful plague.
2. DISCOVERY--One of the very few options are discovered, so a line shoots out from the touching point. The writer can walk this line. The line of few solutions. The writer must be careful. If even one wrong word is written, the writer will fall off the line, and eaten by category 1. Category 2 stories are often lacking because the author had put himself in a corner so to speak.
3. ANXIETY--The writer will hit the touching point and freak out. They may go back through the story and change things, in a futile attempt to widen their base, and avoid the touching point. Or the writer will hit the point and freak out, ending the story abruptly, and in a lame way. In rare cases the writer will even have a heart attack.
4. CHEAT--The writer may get confused, not sure what to do, and step outside the line. If the writer is writing about secret agents, and comes to the touching point Climax, they may abandon hope and suddenly a wizard will appear and help. The wizard exists outside the lines, and the author just ruined the book unknowingly.
5. SUDDEN DEATH--The writer will freak out and a natural/unnatural disaster will kill everybody. This can happen due to category three or due to a sudden homicidal feeling in the writer. If written correctly category 5 can actually end up all right.
6. GOLDEN--This happens in extremely rare cases. An author will put himself in a corner, or simply not know what to do next, then suddenly have an epiphany. The writer will find a million dollars in the corner he’s trapped himself in, and an escape from the corner in a limo, riding off to the sunset to stay in a mansion on the coast of Italy... The writer optimistically finds a solution to Writer’s Block, and it’s so perfect.
7. LOOSE ENDS--To avoid that tragic Touching Point in the graph, some people try to escape it. When a writer ends the story before the Touching Point, then that means there are loose ends, and other unsolved problems. If there is a sequel, these unsolved problems are okay.

TOUCHING POINT--The Touching Point should occur at the very end. Everything’s wrapped up neatly, and it all works out. However when the Touching Point occurs earlier, it’s more of a problem. The ideal spots in a story for the Touching Point are The End, The Climax, or in rare cases, The Beginning can be a great Touching Point.

Solutions to overcome Writer’s Block. (These don’t always work, and they probably won’t all help. But find one that works for you, or come up with your own.) Each of these work for me, some more than others, so I hope they help you too. Since I’ve tried all these, you might think I have problems...a little bit, yes.

1. BATHROOM--Although this sounds weird, it isn’t. This is the one that helps me most. Just being in the bathroom and staring at the textures of the wall and floor gives me the most absurd (yet helpful) ideas ever!
2. WALK--Hey you! Go for a run. Clear your mind. Nobody likes to run. Not intentionally at least. However, it can help. I don’t particularly like runs, so instead I pace around the house. People think it’s weird, and you may end up with a psychiatrist, but at least you could get out of Writer’s Block! Plus the psychiatrist could give you ideas, especially by analyzing your dreams and putting new crazy things in your head. Because there aren’t enough crazy ideas there already… Pacing helps me to clear my mind, and it doesn’t feel like I’m having to go for a run. Try it!
3. ACTING--Although it can be embarrassing, and you may never hear the end of it, it too can work for you! (And not just because it rhymed). Acting is where you take what has happened in the story thus far, and go act it out. (Yes, you can dress up). Once you’ve acted out everything up to where you had Writer’s Block, you may find yourself still playing. That’s good! Keep track of what you do while playing after you’ve passed that point in the story. Then write what happened into the story. Congrats, you just got passed Writer’s Block!
4. PLAGIARISM--No, this doesn’t mean you should copy somebody else’s idea or something. This is where you watch a movie or read a book. Something that happens in either of these cases may inspire an idea. Hard work, huh?

RE-Extension: Can the graph be reopened? The answer is Yes. If the graph is close to the Touching Point, you can open it back up. The way to open it back up is by introducing a new character, plot twists, etc. Re-extending your graph may sound swell, but you’ll hit the Touching Point eventually. All Re-extension will do is prolong the inevitable.

      Star (Story’s end) is reached. Writer’s           *

      Block is overcome.                                            I

                                                                                 I

                                                                                 I             Author chooses category 2

                                                                                 I                  Author hits Writer’s Block

                                                                                I I

                                                                             I      I                      Climax approaches.

                                                                          I           I

            Hero escapes.                                  I                  I

                                                                I                             I

           Hero is captured.                     I                                    I

                                                       I                                              I

                                               I                                                            I

                                        I                    More is revealed                      I

                                   I                                                                               I

                              I                                                                                        I

                         I                              Slowly the plot thickens                             I

                    I                                                                                                          I

               I                                        The wizard’s evil.                                                 I

         I                                                                                                                                 I

 I             Now we reveal that there is a wizard that makes it so it’s always sunny.           I

I                                                                                                                                               I

I                                                      not much happens                                                            I

I                                                                                                                                                  I

l

I                  For a Wide Base, lets start with this sentence: It was  sunny outside.                 I

Spamediting

Author's Note: There are many strange phenomenon in our Fabular World. Even more strange, are the things that happen in writings. One great example: Writer's Block. This is a truly intriguing subject that has baffled man for years. Many have attempted to map out the strange condition, but all has been to no avail.
Although Writer's Block is extraordinary to research, something else comes to play today in my mind. What comes to mind? Spamediting. Don't bother looking it up, I gave the name myself. We will talk more about this strange phenomena another time, but for now, enjoy this sample.
Jim Blow's Definition of Spamediting: Editing a book by randomness, not actually helping along the writing and punctuation, but commenting strange posts at every turn.
Don't like my definition? Read the example and make your own comment on what it should really be.

--Jim Blow

Spamedit Case Study #1

The Strange Case of Arthur Dittle

For time's sake, I'm only showing parts of this story--the parts with edits and Spamedits alike. Enjoy.

In addition the edits are all in blue writing.

The sun was just coming up over the horizon, and it felt nice and warm. Mr. Dittle walked with a skip in his step down a very nicely made pathway. There were beautiful birds flying all around him chirping lovely songs. Suddenly he thought he heard voices. They were coming from all around him. Then there was a horrible noise. It was loud and awful. It was as though a thousand voices in a choir all trying to sing at the same time, and, to say it in the nicest way possible, they completely and utterly failed. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to an opera in which the main character simply can’t sing. It’s not entirely that they are presently incapable, merely that they can’t. At least, not well. Generally, you’re not sure whether the noises they’re making are supposed to be mimicking a dying cat screeching across a blackboard, or if that’s just an accident. And then you have to wonder if the director is deaf or something. Then you want to go find them and sign to them after the performance, but that doesn’t work cause they’re dead. Probably died cause he wasn’t actually deaf, and it was just too horrible. Then you realize that the man next to you is also dead. Awkward. Hopefully they won’t blame it on you. That would be awkward. On the plus side, you know you can dump all of your bodies in operas where this person is singing. Nobody will ever know. This is the sound his ears were suffering from now. Mr. Dittle jammed his fingers into his ears in an effort to drown out the awful sound. Then, just as quickly as it came, it ended. He stood up from his knees and let his arms drop down to his side. The beautiful birds and the luscious grass was gone. Instead he now stood in a wasteland. There were dead trees where living ones had stood just a few seconds earlier. The wonderful path on the wonderful grass changed to dirty muck, and moss-covered cracking stone.

Mr. Dittle looked around him at bones of unfortunate animals, and tumbleweed-type bushes flying by in the light wind. Very much confused, he stood still and silent, not daring to lift even a finger. Then a voice came from behind him. An old, yet small, bear stood at waist height, staring up at him from under large bushy eyebrows. Yay! I don’t suppose he’s a yellow bear with a red shirt? And does he have friends who are an owl and a pig and a donkey and kangaroos and tigers with bouncy tails? Also a rabbit. Some people eat rabbits, you know. I think it’s actually pretty racist, just calling them “Rabbit” or “Owl.” Like they don’t even have names. Just species. People get in big trouble if they just call someone “White boy” or something like that. “Hey you. American. Get over here.” The bear grunted and began to speak. “You don’t look as heroic as Nocar Oh poor him! He’s the only one in the whole Hundred Acre Woods without a car. Sad day. Well, at least he has a name. described. You are just a miserable old human with a matter of months left in you.” The bear said sternly in his large deep voice.

Mr. Dittle was too confused to answer. He just stared at the talking animal. Then Mr. Dittle came to. “What is this place? What just happened? Who are you? Who’s Noc-whatever?” Now he’s the NOC list. Jason Bourne will be very mad at you. He spent a whole movie getting that back. Watch out. He will kill you with some pocket lint.

“All in good time. I am Chief Yelzirg. Nocar is the small raccoon you saved. Does he not have a car because all the other reindeer laughed and called him names? Come, I will show you the camp. If you are the Warrior, then we must keep you hidden, and safe.” Keep it secret. Keep it safe. Gandalf would be sad you said “hidden” instead of “secret.” Tut tut.

Mr. Dittle stood blinking for a second before nodding slowly. Yelzirg gestured for him to follow before turning and marching off into the distance. He walked for hours behind the old bear. Finally, Yelzirg stopped and Mr. Dittle fell over, exhausted. And this poor old man isn’t very good at balancing. He probably only has one leg. Meanie. Why would you make a character with only one leg? You’re dooming him to a life as a dude with one leg. It’s like being a pirate, but not having any of the benefits of being a pirate, just the disabilities. How would you like to only have one leg? I’m sure Jason Bourne could arrange for that. If you keep NOC, you’ll find exactly what that’s like. Yelzirg rolled his eyes, but it was hard to tell that he was doing so from behind his large, hairy eyebrows. In his big booming voice, he made a big empty sound that echoed several times before stopping abruptly and changing to a clanging, which vibrated for several seconds before making a clicking noise and ceasing to make any further noises. What? No whirring? Or beeping? I guess it’s not a starship, is it? Glad I got that out of the way by this point in the story. Mr. Dittle Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such sport, and the Pooh ran away with the NOC. On orders from the wizard, of course. But not the Doctor. Sometimes a wizard comes flying in a blue helicopter and he shows me a film just for free, and then he gives me five hundred popsicles and say, “Happy birthday”! sat looking this way and that, trying to find where all the noises were coming from. Then the desert in front of him shook and many trees appeared with wooden bridges between them. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times. Yelzirg helped him to his feet and together they walked into the city. Once they were safely on a wooden platform, Yelzirg yelled once again in his deep booming voice and it echoed all around. All the surrounding desert shook once more in a similar fashion to before and their surroundings became very faint.

“Protection spell.” Chief Yelzirg said, before Mr. Dittle could ask. “We can see out, but without the code, you can’t see in.” Is it the codes on the NOC list?

Mr. Dittle shut his mouth and nodded as if to say “oh yes of course, everyone knows that.” Well, I certainly did. Duh. Why else? Come on. It’s not like this is my first story about racist bears and one-legged men stealing super top secret lists that get wizards mad at him. How uncultured do you think I am? I mean, come on. Do they have to have cheerleaders at a track meet? (10 points for naming that movie) Oh, hey. You’re Violet, right? No, I’m blue. I was purple before, but now I’m back to blue. Duh. Mr. Colorblind. At least you have two legs. Mr. Dittle continued to follow the bear up and all around the treetops. He crossed rickety old wooden bridges that felt like they would fall out from under him, Shrek knows about those bridges. We talked about parfaits in English today. And I almost said something about them to Alina. But then I didn’t. Everybody loves a parfait. Parfaits have layers. Cakes have layers. and he walked on wooden sidewalks that circled each treetop. Like in Lothlorien or Endor? Galadriel is in charge of Lorien, in case you forgot. Not Thranduil or Elrond. Silly Jim. Trix are for kids. Or maybe they’re for rabbits...I’m not very good at remembering these things. Hey, that reminds me of how RACIST your story is. Also, I learned in English that we’re all just racist against spiders. Like dragon-racists, but with spiders. Just cause they have eight legs and a bajillion eyes doesn’t mean you get to kill them. Maybe I should kill you ‘cause you look funny. There. I put an apostrophe in front of “cause.” Aren’t you so proud? Little huts were made out of the trunks of trees, and various animals sat in the houses staring out at him, wide-eyed. Mr. Dittle gave small waves to all of them, but only got blank stares in return. Were they princess waves? parade waves? ocean waves? sound waves?

Mr. Dittle didn’t exactly watch where he was going and ended up banging his head on the door frame of a rather large hut. Don’t be mean to the poor man. He only has one leg. You would run into doors too if you only had one leg. Well, maybe not. You’re a little short. Mr. Dittle stumbled backward and grabbed his head with his hands. Well, at least he has two hands. Unlike the Skywalkers. I wonder, does Leia ever lose a hand? Well, I guess Padme never did. Or maybe they donated her body to science and now she’s a robot. Or Harry. Yelzirg shook his head and disappeared into the enormous hut. Then he goes, “Tut, tut, Mr. Dittle. Mind the door, Mr. Dittle. Watch your head, Mr. Dittle. Don’t trip over your leg, Mr. Dittle. Notice how I just said ‘leg’ instead of ‘legs’? Yeah, Mr. Dittle, it’s cause I’m discriminating against you based on your handicap. But at least you have a name. Poor rabbit. Neither a name nor Trix. Also, a potted plant. Silly Mr. Dittle. Sillly-willy Dittly-wittly.” Mr. Dittle ducked Quack under the door’s frame and found himself in a large room. There were wooden logs for chairs and only two stumps left. Tree stumps or leg stumps? Mr. Dittle took a seat on one of them and found it surprisingly comfy. Eeeewwwww. Comfy body parts. Severed, crippled body parts. I wouldn’t sit on a leg stump. That’s worse than eating sardines on an executive line of used toilets. Suddenly all the other animals in the room began grunting and pointing at him. It’s cause they think it’s gross, too. Yuck. He stood up and switched seats and their grunts stopped. Called it! Now he’s not on a leg anymore. The seat he now sat in was not as comfy, but was still pleasurable. Mr. Dittle looked up from the floor to see all the other animals standing. Mr. Dittle stood also but with no idea why, that is until a fox entered wearing a purple cape and brown boots. The fox took a seat on the last stump, and as he did everyone else sat down too. Yuck. Now he can eat his chair. Nasty. Nasty town. If I lived in a town called Nasty, I would leave. Or maybe not, cause then I could just say “Nasty” all the time, and I could say “Nasty town” all the time.

“We all are aware why we are here, of course? That is, except for you, Mr. Dittle.” The fox said his name as if it were a cuss word. Yay yay yay yay! You used “were” properly! I’m so proud. Well, relatively proud. Not much, actually, but much more than I was before. “Now let us move on to role. Chief Yelzirg the bear?” Eheheh. Mr. The Frog. Oh! Is Kermit here? Yay! Well, they’re in a forest. Oh, he could be a tree frog instead of a swamp frog. Or maybe tree frogs live in swamps, too. I don’t know.

“Here!” said Yelzirg, standing up and raising a paw.

“I see. Commander Esome the rat? Commander Trutly the turtle? Captain Anton the anteater? Captain Nocar the raccoon? General Frost the frog? Are we frosting poor Kermit? Oh no! Kermit doesn’t like frosting. He’s allergic. Just like all foxes are slightly allergic to linoleum. Kind of racist here, too, aren’t they? It’s like saying, “Jared the white? Scott the black? Bryan the Asian?” RACIST. Then there’s Mr. Dittle, and myself, the Great Leader Master Trox!” When Trox said his own name he stood and lifted his boot onto his chair, striking a glorious pose. The Cheerleader? Is Trox a Master of photobombing? Hey, Trox sounds like Trix. It’s a good thing he’s not a rabbit. Also, he’s at a track meet.

All the other animals in the room held their fists (or paws) in the air and shouted, “Huzzah the Glorious Master Trox!” Oooh, he’s glorious, is he? Is he also fabulous? Like Margaret and Wibbily? Maybe Margaret and Megan are actually the same person. You should change Megan’s name to Margaret, and then Mr. Dittle’s first name can be Wibbily, and they can be fabulous together. OH, and maybe that’s why Trox hates him. It’s because he’s jealous of how much more fabulous they are than him. Maybe he had Margaret/Megan killed because of his jealousy! Poor flowers. Dead just like Mrs. Dittle. Also Boromir. But not dead like Gandalf, because he comes back.

“Huzzah me!” Master Trox said, withdrawing his sword and pointing it in the air to make his pose just that much cooler.

After a short while of huzzahing and poses, everyone sat back down. Master Trox sheathed his sword and twirled his whiskers with his finger, as if they were a mustache. Mr. Dittle was very much confused. He wondered how one fox could be so self-absorbed! Pushaw. (Pishaw) It’s cause he’s so happy that he finally can compete with how fabulous Mr. Dittle is. Master Trox began to speak again. “So. I am told the ‘Warrior’ one is this--no offense--old, stinky, scrawny, miserable, crippled, racist human. You’re even racist against spiders. I can’t believe you. They wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, they do. But not maliciously. Well, some of them. But nothing much bigger than flies. Well, except for the really big spiders. They kinda scare me. A lot. Now I need some dry pants. For Christmas? Narrrgh.”

Mr. Dittle was pretty sure he resented that. He had just been insulted by a fox, and was not sure how to proceed, or what to say. Hey, at least he knows what the fox says. Oh, maybe the fox actually just needs to be sort of a “fantastic Mr. Fox,” and he’s not very good at spelling, so he thinks “fantastic” and “fabulous” are the same thing. Foxes aren’t very good at spelling, are they? Well, you wouldn’t be either if you had paws. Stop judging. He just needs a hug. Like Loki. But not like Sauron. If you hugged him, you would burn up and die. Also your soul would be sold to the Dark Lord. Gingers and Scott would be safe. Also cats. Ginger cats named Scott. Maybe Sauron’s real name is Scott. And he was a ginger cat before he was a great lidless eye wreathed in flame. You know who else is a dark lord? Voldemort. Voldemort, voldemort, voldy-voldy-voldy-voldemort. Ahahaha I just named He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named. Maybe he shouldn’t be named because he’s offended that everyone calls him “Voldemort” instead of his real name, “Scott.” Like, really. Who names their kid “Voldemort”? Child abuse name. Obviously, everyone in school was just jealous that he was so much ahead of them, so they made up a mean nickname for him. Maybe he just needs a hug, too. And a nose. And hair. Well, lots of people need hair. Mr. Dittle probably needs hair, too. Maybe I’ll go add “bald” to the fox’s list of insults. He decided it was best to just not talk, and did so. He listened intently for the next few minutes as Master Trox went over all that had happened. Apparently the trolls used to not bother the animals. Then one day the Troll King invented a machine that could literally suck life away. The Troll King had used his machine all over the land. Trees died, animals died, and all other life that hadn’t gotten away, perished. Every animal that had survived got away to The Treetops, which is where Mr. Dittle was now. Master Trox explained to him that the trolls had not yet made adjustments to the machine to take away human life, and that is why a troll had invaded his house. The troll’s job was to take a human sample and bring it back to the Troll King. When Mr. Dittle had been standing out on the path by the grass, and he heard a loud awful noise, that was the machine. Master Trox had sent Chief Yelzirg to fetch him, because Captain Nocar had said he was the Warrior.

Author's Note #2: If anything in here was offensive, I'm obliged to apologized. (rhyme). Thanks for reading!

--Jim Blow