I stopped posting on here a while ago because I was afraid of offending people with my odd worldview.
Granted, sometimes I was actually being ignorant or assholish and it was wonderful that people pointed this out to me and prompted me to learn more about the world. That's great, but I became extremely hesitant to post about anything at all.
I've recently re-grown the courage to express my viewpoints and stick to my own moral values- only this time I think I have a better grasp of how to listen to people and actually judge if something will come across as offensive before I post it.
I think it's time I started writing again. That Star-Trek novel/fanfic isn't going so well and I feel like I need a place to exercise my fingers- so you can soon look forward to many rambly posts about the future of pie. You're welcome.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Monday, October 13, 2014
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Publishers and the Adherance to Phantasmic Posulations
So there's this story that I've been working on lately. I've written tons of snippets, side stories, and notes for it. I've spent time obsessing, researching, and perfecting. You'd think that, with all the work I've put into it, I might get some money from it some day. Wrong.
My work does not completely belong to me. Why? Because the universe in which it's set belongs to Gene Roddenberry and CBS. That's right, it's a Star Trek fanfiction!
However, unlike most fanfiction, this one is going to be huge. About the size of an actual book. And the crazy part? All of the characters are original.
At this point, you're probably shouting at your screen in frustration at my stupid choices. Why would I relinquish almost all of my creative rights and write about a universe that already exists when I could just as easily create my own?
Because it's a challenge.
I'm being forced to write within the bounds of a pre-written universe. This means that I have to adhere to the laws of nature and heavily research everything. It means that, even though all the characters are original and I'm creating an entirely new species and planet, I have to do things like look up the appropriate uniform for their era, observe proper Starfleet conduct, and make sure that I know the starship's floor plan.
A lot of work is going into this and a lot of work will continue to go into this, and I'm probably never going to get paid (unless they want to buy the story off me). I know this, and I'm fine with it. Sure, it would be nice to see some cash flow from a published book, but that's not really the point of writing. Honestly, I'd be happy if just one person read it. As long as a single person finds themselves enjoying the story, if it opens them to new ideas or viewpoints, even just a little, then my work has paid off.
Plus, if it ends up being a hit, pieces of it may just worm its way into Canon! Did you know that Uhura's first name was created by William Rotsler, an avid Star Trek fan who wrote Star Trek II Biographies, a licensed Star Trek novel (basically a glorified fanfic)? Gene Rodenberry and Nichelle Nichols liked the name, so it was adopted as canon. However, Nyota Uhura's name was never mentioned in the Star Trek movies or show until the 2009 film, taking place in the Alternate Reality.
<takes breaths/>
Whew! Did not mean to geek out so much there. What was I saying?
Oh yeah!
So I'm making this super cool, super long Star Trek fanfic that will probably never make me any money, but I'm totally fine with that and I hope that you guys will read it someday.
Phew.
Logging out. Live long and prosper.
My work does not completely belong to me. Why? Because the universe in which it's set belongs to Gene Roddenberry and CBS. That's right, it's a Star Trek fanfiction!
However, unlike most fanfiction, this one is going to be huge. About the size of an actual book. And the crazy part? All of the characters are original.
At this point, you're probably shouting at your screen in frustration at my stupid choices. Why would I relinquish almost all of my creative rights and write about a universe that already exists when I could just as easily create my own?
Because it's a challenge.
I'm being forced to write within the bounds of a pre-written universe. This means that I have to adhere to the laws of nature and heavily research everything. It means that, even though all the characters are original and I'm creating an entirely new species and planet, I have to do things like look up the appropriate uniform for their era, observe proper Starfleet conduct, and make sure that I know the starship's floor plan.
A lot of work is going into this and a lot of work will continue to go into this, and I'm probably never going to get paid (unless they want to buy the story off me). I know this, and I'm fine with it. Sure, it would be nice to see some cash flow from a published book, but that's not really the point of writing. Honestly, I'd be happy if just one person read it. As long as a single person finds themselves enjoying the story, if it opens them to new ideas or viewpoints, even just a little, then my work has paid off.
Plus, if it ends up being a hit, pieces of it may just worm its way into Canon! Did you know that Uhura's first name was created by William Rotsler, an avid Star Trek fan who wrote Star Trek II Biographies, a licensed Star Trek novel (basically a glorified fanfic)? Gene Rodenberry and Nichelle Nichols liked the name, so it was adopted as canon. However, Nyota Uhura's name was never mentioned in the Star Trek movies or show until the 2009 film, taking place in the Alternate Reality.
<takes breaths/>
Whew! Did not mean to geek out so much there. What was I saying?
Oh yeah!
So I'm making this super cool, super long Star Trek fanfic that will probably never make me any money, but I'm totally fine with that and I hope that you guys will read it someday.
Phew.
Logging out. Live long and prosper.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Existential Angst Under the Guise of a Series of Well-Constructed Sentences
I was at my grandma's house without internet today, so I opened up OpenOffice and wrote. Here is the wacky result.
_____________________
From time to time, I feel like an un-person. It is startling to realize that, if I were to die right now, the world would keep spinning. My life doesn't actually affect others that strongly, despite their vehement claims to the contrary.
I've had an increasing premonition that I am not exactly here. With all the media, opinions, and useless facts that I have gathered over the years, I am constantly reminded that I appear to just act as a vessel for information. I used to believe that we all contain an inherent personality, but I'm starting to doubt this. I've come to realize that our personality is like software that is easily mutable by outside forces. Although this is a necessary quality that must be present in a being that's main purpose is to store and transmit data, it does not cease to be disconcerting.
In the past, I've attempted to prove myself wrong by compiling a list of qualities that I thought would set me apart from other people and prove that I am, in fact, a being with control of my own thoughts and feelings. The results have been a bit saddening.
I have found that a worryingly large part of myself is based around books and TV shows. My love of Doctor Who and Neil Gaiman's works is part of myself, but it exists as a feeling that attaches itself to an outside source of data that happens to intrigues me- it is a link that I create to make sure that I don't loose the information.
This same process goes for my interest in astrology, my fondness for the word “defenestration,” my opinion of gun laws, and the loathing I feel when I accidentally use the word “gotten.”
All of these things make up a vast collection of connections to outside sources, storing and keeping track of huge amounts of information that appear to have little purpose in my practical life.
Although the exact grouping of these connections is unique to myself, anyone could (in theory) develop a similar enough pattern in their own brain so as to essentially become me.
Sometimes this finding makes me feel uneasy, which further fuels my paranoia and existential angst. What does it mean to feel uneasy about my feelings of uneasiness, and what purpose would it serve? None, as far as I can tell.
Yet the unease, this foggy emotional connection, must be important. It would appear as if everyone has experienced some existential angst as some point or another; however, this near- universal feeling does not seem to have a practical use in our lives. For example, the fear of snakes is entirely natural and serves a very obvious purpose, as does the fear of heights and of darkness. This connection to a possibly dangerous object or situation and a feeling of unease and repulsion serves a wonderful purpose- to keep us alive. Likewise, feelings of love, satisfaction, and exhilaration serve the same great purpose. We are wired to be driven to survive.
Our fear of the oblivion, however, does not seem to contribute to this drive; if anything, it tends to inhibit it. Why would we fear our own perception of the world if it cannot be changed? What purpose would the terror we feel when we look at a map of our galaxy serve if it does nothing to help us survive?
I may never know. We may never know.
In spite of this simple fact, the feeling remains. It is a connection that has been passed down for as long as we can remember, hardwired into our brains, universally emblazoned in our skulls as if it were the most important piece of data that has ever been recorded.
We must understand why this connection remains and, if possible, learn why it is there in the first place.
Again, this is a tall order. One that may never be attainable.
It is, however, worth a try.
_____________________
From time to time, I feel like an un-person. It is startling to realize that, if I were to die right now, the world would keep spinning. My life doesn't actually affect others that strongly, despite their vehement claims to the contrary.
I've had an increasing premonition that I am not exactly here. With all the media, opinions, and useless facts that I have gathered over the years, I am constantly reminded that I appear to just act as a vessel for information. I used to believe that we all contain an inherent personality, but I'm starting to doubt this. I've come to realize that our personality is like software that is easily mutable by outside forces. Although this is a necessary quality that must be present in a being that's main purpose is to store and transmit data, it does not cease to be disconcerting.
In the past, I've attempted to prove myself wrong by compiling a list of qualities that I thought would set me apart from other people and prove that I am, in fact, a being with control of my own thoughts and feelings. The results have been a bit saddening.
I have found that a worryingly large part of myself is based around books and TV shows. My love of Doctor Who and Neil Gaiman's works is part of myself, but it exists as a feeling that attaches itself to an outside source of data that happens to intrigues me- it is a link that I create to make sure that I don't loose the information.
This same process goes for my interest in astrology, my fondness for the word “defenestration,” my opinion of gun laws, and the loathing I feel when I accidentally use the word “gotten.”
All of these things make up a vast collection of connections to outside sources, storing and keeping track of huge amounts of information that appear to have little purpose in my practical life.
Although the exact grouping of these connections is unique to myself, anyone could (in theory) develop a similar enough pattern in their own brain so as to essentially become me.
Sometimes this finding makes me feel uneasy, which further fuels my paranoia and existential angst. What does it mean to feel uneasy about my feelings of uneasiness, and what purpose would it serve? None, as far as I can tell.
Yet the unease, this foggy emotional connection, must be important. It would appear as if everyone has experienced some existential angst as some point or another; however, this near- universal feeling does not seem to have a practical use in our lives. For example, the fear of snakes is entirely natural and serves a very obvious purpose, as does the fear of heights and of darkness. This connection to a possibly dangerous object or situation and a feeling of unease and repulsion serves a wonderful purpose- to keep us alive. Likewise, feelings of love, satisfaction, and exhilaration serve the same great purpose. We are wired to be driven to survive.
Our fear of the oblivion, however, does not seem to contribute to this drive; if anything, it tends to inhibit it. Why would we fear our own perception of the world if it cannot be changed? What purpose would the terror we feel when we look at a map of our galaxy serve if it does nothing to help us survive?
I may never know. We may never know.
In spite of this simple fact, the feeling remains. It is a connection that has been passed down for as long as we can remember, hardwired into our brains, universally emblazoned in our skulls as if it were the most important piece of data that has ever been recorded.
We must understand why this connection remains and, if possible, learn why it is there in the first place.
Again, this is a tall order. One that may never be attainable.
It is, however, worth a try.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Sweltering Lettuce and Caution Tape
Soooo. Long time, no see. What's it been, a week? Yikes.
WELL. To start this thing off with a bang, I'm gonna share something kinda morbid and fun that I wrote! Ready, kids? =D
All of this is, of course, a huge exaggeration; While I do find playing dead rather fun (just as I like imagining what it would feel like to have a pencil shoved through the eye), it isn't all I do and I have no wish to die. Although death doesn't terrify me (much), I rather like being alive and I would like to keep it that way. XD
Maybe this would make a good opening for a book.... Which reminds me.
I HAVEN'T BEEN WRITING. O_O
And I mean ANYTHING. No fanfics, no graphic novels, no blogging, no snippets of books, no coding.... Not even Twitter. ALL WEEK.
I HATE IT. I'm going to get in gear and BACK into writing. I'm going to go SWELTERING LETTUCE. ...Or something. What's the opposite of Cold Turkey? Fresh-cooked turkey? Fresh cooked steak? Raw steak??
Whatever it is, i'm gonna do it. XD
WELL. To start this thing off with a bang, I'm gonna share something kinda morbid and fun that I wrote! Ready, kids? =D
I took a certain pride in being dead; lying (arms limp, breath held, mouth agape) in an imaginary pool of blood, yellow striped caution tape surrounding me like a foreboding web spun by a crack-addicted spider. People would hurry around me, police lights flashing across the limp and untroubled form.
The picture was messy, but there was a peacefulness to it and I took to imagining my own death whenever possible.
All of this is, of course, a huge exaggeration; While I do find playing dead rather fun (just as I like imagining what it would feel like to have a pencil shoved through the eye), it isn't all I do and I have no wish to die. Although death doesn't terrify me (much), I rather like being alive and I would like to keep it that way. XD
Maybe this would make a good opening for a book.... Which reminds me.
I HAVEN'T BEEN WRITING. O_O
And I mean ANYTHING. No fanfics, no graphic novels, no blogging, no snippets of books, no coding.... Not even Twitter. ALL WEEK.
I HATE IT. I'm going to get in gear and BACK into writing. I'm going to go SWELTERING LETTUCE. ...Or something. What's the opposite of Cold Turkey? Fresh-cooked turkey? Fresh cooked steak? Raw steak??
Whatever it is, i'm gonna do it. XD
Saturday, June 9, 2012
An Inside Glimpse of My Personal Journal
I have started writing in my journal again!! I started when I was 10.
Let me tell you.
Six years appears to actually be a huge difference. For one, my handwriting was neater, my grammar and spelling was atrocious, and everything was seen from a very different perspective. (By which I mean that my life was needlessly complicated) I was also hell-bent on saving the dragons of the world. Yes, dragons. I have to admit though. I LOVE dragons. Always have always will.
Reading it made me also realize just how awesome Alena is now.
My goddess, she used to be unbearable.
....Okay. I am now going to do something a bit insane. I am going to show you the the cover and first pages of my childhood journal.
I started translating it in case you couldn't read it, but then I realized that I would probably die of shame if someone browsed through my blog, saw this, thought that I write like this now, and never come again. Or maybe I'd move to Alaska. No. Alaska is cold. Mexico? No, then I'd die in some other way probably not involving shame. ....Probably.
ANYWAY, that's my journal! And I'm writing in it again! W00T!!
Sunday, February 26, 2012
The Whipping of the Rogue
Hey all! I just wrote the first very short chapter to a story I thought of starting today! It's set in the D&D world, and it features a rogue as the main character. Tell me what you think. =^^=
PS!! I originally wrote the story in the present-tense, but I couldn't keep it up for long. It was really cool though!! It had a Twilight Zone kind of ring to it...
_______________________
Chapter One
In which we are introduced to our protagonist.
The crack of a whip rang through the biting spring air, followed by a low moan. A man of about 20 knelt in the half frozen mud, his thin wrists secured in the wooden stocks. He gritted his teeth this time, his eyelids squeezed tightly shut, as he felt the whip lash across his cold back. Blood welled, beginning to stream down lean flesh. Four more followed, each more agonizing then the last. Then it stopped and he was unshackled and hauled up. The guards handed him his shirt, cloak, and light leather armor. His wounds smarted at the air, though he didn’t dare put on his clothing just yet. Every movement caused his wounds to twinge horribly and stretch and bleed even more. Before he could quite get his balance, he was pushed aside and forced to walk away down the road, each step jarring his ragged flesh, tears welling unbidden and unwanted, threatening to drown his vision. With no one to help him, he sat down near the bottom of a mossy wall to patch himself up. He reminisced at having no herbs with which to heal himself as he clumsily tied bandages around his torso. Stealing some flitted briefly into his mind, but the idea was almost immediately pushed away. Stealing was what got himself into this mess in the first place, and he wasn’t in any shape to get away with it anyway. Besides, he didn’t like stealing herbs. Sure, he was fine with pickpocketing people in the marketplace who looked like they could afford it (They were asking for it anyway, dressing like that), but stealing someones medicine bordered on very different territory. So he cleaned himself up as much as he could, donned his clothing, and moved to find a relatively sheltered area where he laid down, wincing at the pain of movement. “I guess one never really gets used to being whipped. I'll have to find a healer in the morning. If I make it. At least they didn’t throw offal this time.” He had a moment to think gratefully before he closed his eyes and exhaustion took hold.
_______________________
Ehh? What did you think? I really like it, though I'm not that great with dialogue tags yet. I'm gettin there though! =D
ALSO, I'm not really quite sure what they'd do about turning him loose. Just shoving him back onto the streets seems kinda silly, although this is the middle ages and I'm sure they didn't have very much time to dally in the 'proper' punishment of thieves. That being said, getting wounds was a potential death-sentence in those days (what with their lack of sanitation), so maybe it would be more efficient to just kill wrongdoers? Then they wouldn't have to go through the trouble of finding the bodies and disposing of them before they became major health-hazards. ...Meih. I guess it doesn't really matter that much. Just so long as it kinda sticks with what we know of the Medieval times, and works with the story, it shouldn't be a problem. Besides, D&D isn't even true to our records of the Middle Ages, so what the heck am I so worried about? XD
I hope you enjoyed this!! =}
-Rahel Sewell
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Freezing in Fresno
My friend went to Fresno last year. (or earlier this year) We emailed each other while he was away, and a wrote him a story. =)
Cooper: "Today, on the other hand, I froze stocking freezer shelves. 0 degrees inside the freezer, 115 outside the store. My body was very confused"
Me: "XD Okay. That's funny. You were lucky your body didn't decide to paralyze itself so that it could stay in the freezer.......
Heheheh.
Cooper was stocking the shelves in a Fresno super market. He walked back and forth, from the hot store to the freezer, all day. It was hot as 5 hells. Then it wasn't. It was more like Hoth. Wait no! 5 hells. Hoth. 5 hells. Hoth. hell. hoth. hell. hoth. hell, hoth, hell, hoth-
Suddenly a voice screamed out in the store. "Cooper! Make. Up. Your. Mind."
Cooper paid it no notice. It was arguable if he heard it at all. He continued going back and forth. Hell. hoth. hell. hoth. hot. cold. hot. cold. hot-
The voice spoke again, this time laden with reproach. "Cooper, I'm not kidding. Stop moving. Now. Make up your mind. Hot or cold?"
Cooper continued to not respond. hot-cold-hot-cold-hot-cold-
The voice cut into Cooper's mind. "Okay. That's it. This is your last chance."
Cooper paused and cocked his ear for a moment, then attributed the sound to the vent blowing in the background. He kept stocking shelves. hot,cold,hot,cold,hot,cold-
The voice spoke again, with laden with cynicism. "Okay, I warned ya...." hotcoldhotcoldhotco-
Suddenly Cooper found that he couldn't move his arms. They just didn't want to move. They felt heavy........ Wait. No, he didn't really feel his arms. He had but a split second to mull over this before his fingers failed. The can he was holding crashed to the floor, spewing baked beans all over the freezer's floor. Cooper hardly noticed because he was trying to stop his fall as well as he could. It was only a few feet, but his legs and arms refused to cooperate. He crashed to the floor, glasses slightly askew.
"See? Toldja." Said the voice, smugly.
He attempted to squirm around to find the voice, but found it impossible. He stopped trying and instead attempted to ignore the baked beans that were freezing to his glasses.
The voice harrumphed dryly. "If you had listened to me the first time and stayed in one place instead of dashing around like some kind of lunatic, then maybe this wouldn't have happened. Do you know just how hard it is just to maintain someone's core temperature without being in a freezer? In Fresno??"
Cooper considered this. He found that didn't know. It must be very hard though. Suddenly, he wondered what he was doing in Fresno. It was hot. He lay face-down on the floor and felt a faint spark of hope. At least he would be go home tomorrow. In the meantime, well- ........At least it was cold."
Me: "XD Okay. That's funny. You were lucky your body didn't decide to paralyze itself so that it could stay in the freezer.......
Heheheh.
Cooper was stocking the shelves in a Fresno super market. He walked back and forth, from the hot store to the freezer, all day. It was hot as 5 hells. Then it wasn't. It was more like Hoth. Wait no! 5 hells. Hoth. 5 hells. Hoth. hell. hoth. hell. hoth. hell, hoth, hell, hoth-
Suddenly a voice screamed out in the store. "Cooper! Make. Up. Your. Mind."
Cooper paid it no notice. It was arguable if he heard it at all. He continued going back and forth. Hell. hoth. hell. hoth. hot. cold. hot. cold. hot-
The voice spoke again, this time laden with reproach. "Cooper, I'm not kidding. Stop moving. Now. Make up your mind. Hot or cold?"
Cooper continued to not respond. hot-cold-hot-cold-hot-cold-
The voice cut into Cooper's mind. "Okay. That's it. This is your last chance."
Cooper paused and cocked his ear for a moment, then attributed the sound to the vent blowing in the background. He kept stocking shelves. hot,cold,hot,cold,hot,cold-
The voice spoke again, with laden with cynicism. "Okay, I warned ya...." hotcoldhotcoldhotco-
Suddenly Cooper found that he couldn't move his arms. They just didn't want to move. They felt heavy........ Wait. No, he didn't really feel his arms. He had but a split second to mull over this before his fingers failed. The can he was holding crashed to the floor, spewing baked beans all over the freezer's floor. Cooper hardly noticed because he was trying to stop his fall as well as he could. It was only a few feet, but his legs and arms refused to cooperate. He crashed to the floor, glasses slightly askew.
"See? Toldja." Said the voice, smugly.
He attempted to squirm around to find the voice, but found it impossible. He stopped trying and instead attempted to ignore the baked beans that were freezing to his glasses.
The voice harrumphed dryly. "If you had listened to me the first time and stayed in one place instead of dashing around like some kind of lunatic, then maybe this wouldn't have happened. Do you know just how hard it is just to maintain someone's core temperature without being in a freezer? In Fresno??"
Cooper considered this. He found that didn't know. It must be very hard though. Suddenly, he wondered what he was doing in Fresno. It was hot. He lay face-down on the floor and felt a faint spark of hope. At least he would be go home tomorrow. In the meantime, well- ........At least it was cold."
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