I've been Published

Well, folks. It seems things are going alright for me at the moment. I've just finished writing a rough draft of my first book with the basic storyline for the sequal and the premise of the third worked out. Now I've just got to wait for a few people to get back to me with their interpretations and opinions so I can do some retooling and see about getting it published. There's bound to be some changes and a few re-writes in the works, so I'm trying not to get my hopes too high, but it's down to fine detail at this point, the story itself is already set. So it might be another month or two before I get the final manuscript ready to send out.

Of course I've got a lot of ground work to cover in the meantime. I've got to research all the different publishing houses that might be interested in this particular genre and list them all based on which ones are likely to pay me the most (I gots bills to pay, after all). Then there's the query letter to write. As it introduces the work to prospective publishers it's just as important as the book itself.

Today's been a pretty good day, all around. I got my short story, "Small Details" published at Alienskin Magazine and they just posted the new issue. Check it out.

On a similar note, I just got a letter back from one Dan Abnett. For those who haven't read his work, he's the king of military science fiction and all-around action, combining good ole-fashioned mayhem with colorful characters, incredible scenery, and some of the longest and most intriguing storylines I've ever read. He writes in a style that's both succinct and incredibly evocative, using a vocabulary that's just as expansive as that of the late, great H.P. Lovecraft with none of the bombacity. I found his blog not too long ago and was pleasantly surprised to discover that he presented an email address for fans and anyone who had questions.

I sent a hello to him to ask about his methodology, figuring that someone who had such incredibly detailed storylines (the kind that can cover a dozen different books and still stay gripping) couldn't possibly come up with it all on the fly. That was a few months ago, and I really didn't expect a reply in the first place.

Turns out his server's email was messed up and it just took him a really long time to cover the backlog of messages. It was a handwritten letter that answered a few of my questions and directed me to some more in-depth information about how he puts together his stories. I'm still a little star-struck at having received a reply and encouragement in my work from someone I idolize.

In order to keep this feeling for as long as possible I don't think I'll be getting out of bed tomorrow; something's bound to happen to even out this sense of elation. Night all.

Update Update

Well folks, it's been a while. Don't know if anyone's still hanging around to read this after being gone so long, but I'll write even if no one else ever reads it, I'm either that stubborn or stupid; you decide.

First, the good news. I am currently cancer free, which is a huge weight off my mind. The bad news is that my oncologist says that the cancer's likely to come back within the first year. Visions of IV fluids and bags of chemo drugs are still keeping me awake at night. I tell you, if it weren't for the dying part, I'd say the cure is worse than the disease. On top of that my last round of treatment resulted in a couple blood clots in my arms which migrated to my right lung. Can you say Pulmonary Embolism?

So now I'm on blood thinners for the next three months with strict instructions not to smoke or drink. That kinda kills my cancer-free celebration plans, but I suppose it could be worse.

Anyway I spent my down-time coming up with more story ideas, actually managing to write a few, and increasing the size of my rejection letter collection. I'm at about 60 now, which is pretty decent when you consider I haven't been trying to write professionally for all that long.

Most of my stories, the good ones at least, tend to be around 10,000 words long. The real kick in the teeth is that most magazines won't consider any story over 5,000 words. I tried trimming one of my stories down today. It didn't work out so well. The story is still readable, but frankly it lost all of the qualities that made it interesting, at least in my opinion. It's tough to present a meaningful story in such a short space. Practically no room to develop characters so you care about what happens to them.

The thing that gets me is that most of the short stories that I read are much longer. The shortest HP Lovecraft wrote was almost 15,000 words long. So why is there such a discrepency between what they'll print nowadays and what they printed back in the heyday of speculative and science fiction?

Anyway, moving on. I've come up with a number of other ghost stories featuring Miyamoto Musashi, the storylines atleast. Ideally I'll compile them in a book in which each story occurs at a different time in his life, showcasing how the man changed and grew. I've already researched the man's life and mentality in some detail, but I'll need to find reference material for life in Japan during the early 1600s as well as the story locations. I've got a really good one in mind which takes place in Himeji castle, where he designed its world-famous gardens. The castle is so old that I figure a few buried seals keeping long-dormant demons would be plausible, thanks to Joilene, a good friend, for the demon ideas.

I've also done a story featuring Heaven's bounty hunter. I like it, but since it pulls from Judaism rather than Christianity, most people who read it think that the portrayal of angels doesn't fit. Think "The Prophecy" set in the Old West and you won't be too far off. I've got to let it sit for a week or two before I go back and start chopping. Frankly that part is tougher than writing it. It always irks me, having to wait, leaving the story to sit. I've got about a half dozen stories sitting, and I'm champing at the bit to get at them, but for one reason or other I can't. Sons of Odin is a great example of this. People read it, they like, but something's always missing. I've decided to try to turn it into a full length novel as it shoves so much information at the reader that most of it is missed. I haven't even begun to collect research material for it yet, so I don't imagine it will be done for years to come, if ever.

I was working on scripting out a full-length novel, kind of a Dean Koontzish style supernatural murder mystery. Includes some of the local Native-American beliefs in the Orlando that only people who've lived there know. Unfortunately I've had to put that on hold for the forseeable future until I can get back to work and start making some money. I should be working on getting the bills paid right now, but the wrtiting bug has got me firmly by the lugs. It's all I can think about, all that I do, all that I am. I've got to wait on the local library to get my research material for most of my promising stories; I don't have the money to go out and buy them, and the waiting is driving me crazy...Well, crazier.

In the meantime I guess I'll just make the rest of my household nuts as I talk incessantly about my work, bouncing ideas back and forth until they want to scream.

I don't know how often I'll be updating. I've got a goodly amount of time on my hands while I recuperate, but not much more to talk about. When I'm working I may have something to talk about, but probably not the time to do so. Oh well, we'll see how things go.

Personal Update

Hey all. I just wanted to present a quick update of what's going on. You may find it turns into a rant, but I at least intended to keep it brief.

First off, I've just about completely healed from my surgery. This is good news because I may end up going under the knife again sometime in the near future. The results of my CT scan show several large masses in my pelvis surrounding my lower aorta. This is the primary vein that runs down from the heart, behind the stomach, and then splits off at the pelvis to provide blood to the legs. There aren't any major organs being affected by the masses, but the proximity to this vein is alarming for obvious reasons

The size of these masses suggests they are Choriocarcinoma in the 2nd stage. It's probably the first site the cancer had taken root, the testicular tumor being a secondary growth. They're still treatable at this point and typically respond well to radiation therapy, though I understand there's a high chance of being rendered sterile seeing as the radiation would be aimed directly at my groin. I never really wanted to have children anyway, but it's painful to be taken apart slowly... one piece after another.

I've lost so much of who I used to be to chronic illness over the years that I sometimes feel hollow, as if there's nothing left.

Anyway, I'm waiting for a phone call from a medical oncologist that I'm being referred to. I've been waiting since monday and think I'll be beating down his door sometime tomorrow. With the sheer number of other things I'm having to deal with at the moment I think I may be speaking literally.

Speaking of tomorrow, I have to go see my opthalmologist again in the morning. This is to check the progress of my treatment for my Superior Limbal Keratoconjunctivitis. For those who are not familiar with the term, it is an autoimmune disease in which my body is attempting to heal tissue on the surface of the eye, despite the fact that there's no actual damage. This buildup of aberrant scar tissue causes extreme pain and burning, making it incredibly difficult to even look at this screen for the few moments in which I am typing.

The treatment for this condition is going well, as far as I can tell, though the pain is not lessening in any way. The inflamation and redness has increased considerably over the past week. If the doctor sees no improvement I'll be heading to another specialist. If he does see improvement then I'll be asking for some kind of topical anesthetic so I can get on with my day with some degree of normalcy until the treatment is complete. It often takes up to a year to be fixed entirely.

As far as my work goes, the top secret job I was taking fell through. The company has pulled up stakes overnight and completely abandonned me, taking a full month's worth of my work and stiffing me for the $2,000 dollar bill. This organization is set up in the UK and it took me several days of checking before I was even able to come up with contact information, though no one will answer my letters of phone messages. At this point there's little I can do aside from flying to the UK and beating these dead beats to death with a cricket bat, though the thought had crossed my mind. It would be more tempting if I actually had the money to afford the trip.

What's even enraging is that their last message, which was sent around Christmas, contained a virulent Trojan virus which is called Vunbo11. This virus embeds itself in the windows system files of my computer and then replicates itself. Such system files cannot be manipulated or quarantined in any way, meaning I can't get to it, despite having one of the best virus protection software packages on the market. At the price I paid, their technical support line had better do their job.

This virus also prevents me from using my computer as anything other than a glorified typewriter. It cannot surf the web or be used for research, and the virus replicates itself all the while that the computer is running. To that effect I'm writing this from a different computer and can make no gaurantees regarding whether or not I'll be able to post tomorrow or the day after.

Having posted several stories in the past, I finally decided that some of my work is good enough for print. To that effect I have been submitting several short stories for publication to as many magazines I can find who are willing to pay for the rights to print them. It's taking some time and my chances seem slim to none given how badly the market is affecting small publications like this, but it helps me put out of my mind the fact that I spent the last month working 12 hour days for free.

If I ever find the man or woman who cheated me I will skin him alive, braid a whip from his own hide, tip it with his own shattered teeth, and beat him to death with it. I don't typically make casual threats and apologize if it comes as a shock, but by tricking me and using up my time they refuse me the right to make a living; to keep a roof over my head and food in my stomach. If I didn't live with my family I would be homeless by now. Writing is the one way that I can think of to try to earn a living, and the people who would cheat me might as well be making an attempt on my life. It amounts to the same. To that effect I don't see why action against them wouldn't be justified.

So, unable to work, to edit my rough draft of Sons of Odin, to work on a new Japanese ghost story I'm putting together, or submit my finished work in hopes of making a few extra bucks and bulking up my CV, I decided to take the day off until I could get some help from tech support. I sat down in front of the tv and fired up the old video game system, an XBOX 360 I got for Christmas several years ago. It quite literally fired up. Sparks flew and the smell of burning plastic filled the air.

After hurriedly pulling the plug to prevent fire I called customer service, finally managing to talk to a real flesh and blood human being after about a million automated messages and menus. Apparently this problem is common with XBOX 360s produced in the same batch as mine was, meaning Microsoft strikes again. Thankfully this problem is so common that they don't charge anything for it to be fixed, they even eat the cost of shipping. I used my folks' computer to fill out the forms online and printed up the shipping label to put on my package and took it to the UPS store. I figured I would get it back in two or three weeks, as the customer service rep said.

That would be too easy for someone as terminally cursed as I am. About an hour later a second email arrives. This one contains a full set of instructions on how to place the shipping label, specifying that it shouldn't be put on the inside of the box... Yes folks, it was that kind of customer service message.

It also included a small section explaining what other information should be included on the outside of the box aside from the shipping label. Nowhere on the customer service site or on any of the instructions was this message to be found, meaning I hadn't included said information when I had it shipped, seeing as the message wasn't sent until after I posted the box.

Now I've got to call up UPS in the morning when their service center is open in hopes that my package isn't lost for all freaking eternity.

Ladies and gentleman, it is at this point where I think awards, accolades, and above all, pity, is due. This has got to be the worst day of my life thus far. A term which I learned in my drama class in high school keeps coming back to haunt me: Theater of the Absurd. It's a story which is essentially so tragic that it can't possibly be real, making it funny by sheer exageration. To that effect I keep waiting for some alien intergalactic version of Ashton Kutcher to pop out of the ceiling in his faux trucker hat and vacant expression saying "Dude. Like, dude! You've been punked!"

Maybe then the last 15 years of my life will have made sense. Being on some sick version of camera candid may be psychologically crushing, but at least it will have entertained someone.

I'm not the type to think of harming myself, so please don't think I'm in any danger when I say this, but when I go to sleep tonight I'm really not looking forward to waking up.

Writing Sample Employment Scams

One of the more frustrating scams a writer can come across involves the hiring process. It’s quite simple and nearly impossible to determine from a legitimate job offer.

Occasionally an online employer may anticipate a high number of job applicants. To avoid going through all the applicants’ resumes and emails the employer comes up with a sample assignment. The assignment is given to all of the applicants and whoever best completes the writing assignment gets the job.

Speaking from personal experience, writers hate this process. I send in over 2 dozen applications a week and the majority of them I never hear back from. If I had to write up a sample for every one of those applications I’d never get anything done. Simply put, this process is a time waster for the vast majority of job applicants. Only one person gets the job, the other couple thousand writers just worked a few hours for free and will be completely unable to use the material they wrote for publication elsewhere.

As frustrating as it is, if a writer is desperate enough for the money, which pretty much sums up every member of the profession, he/she will do it anyway and write the damn sample. Herein lies the capacity for someone to take advantage of you.

A good scammer will know his/her mark. The scammer will know that writers are used to being turned down and rejected, putting in applications and still attempting to find work in the face of insurmountable odds. At times I don’t know if that makes us stubborn or stupid, probably a little of both. In any case, this presents the perfect opportunity to run a foolproof and almost undetectable low-key scam.

The scammer takes on a number of automated bottom-rung writing jobs like the kind that can be found on Textbroker. He then uses Craigslist or another job forum and writes up a post looking for writers. The post includes mention of a decent paycheck, acceptable telecommuting, and loose deadlines for basic informative or copy (advertisement) writing. The post also says that a sample essay will be required prior to hiring.

Whenever a writer applies for the job, the scammer provides them with a unique assignment from Textbroker. The writer, not knowing the assignment is not identical to what other writers will receive, will complete the assignment to the best of his/her ability and submit it to the scammer posing as an employer.

The scammer simply turns in the writer’s work as his own, making a couple bucks for his trouble from Textbroker. The writer never hears back from the employer and assumes he/she was turned down for the position like usual.

This may seem like an awful lot of work for the scammer to go through for a few bucks, but let’s think in terms of bulk. There are thousands of online freelance writers applying for jobs like the one I’ve described every day. If each one wrote an assignment that ended up paying $2 that would total several thousand dollars worth of work that the scammer got for free over the course of a couple days.

While this type of scam does not take much from the individual writer, it is still a violation of one’s trust and theft of one’s work. To make matters worse, there is absolutely nothing which can be done to detect this type of scam as it follows the exact same channels as legitimate employers.

The only way to avoid being taken in by such a scam is to refuse to apply for any job which requires you to write a sample article specified by the employer. This of course will negate any possibility for employment if the offer turned out to be genuine. Whether or not you want to take the risk of having your material stolen is entirely up to you.

My life, foibles, failures, pains, and anime (for some reason)

I’d like to take this opportunity to lend a little personal insight on a form of art and entertainment I’ve only recently been introduced to, anime. In order to fully do so I feel I must divulge a bit about myself along the way. I apologize if it rambles from one subject to another, but it’s a bit difficult to sum up the major experiences of one’s life in just a few short pages.

My younger brother came by my home several days ago and brought along a few DVDs of a series called Hellsing. I am a fan of Japanese and Eastern style art and music and have been for many years. My previous experiences with anime had been watered down television series like Pokemon and One Piece. These tend to be aimed at children from the age of 6 to 12 so it’s all pretty basic. I was thoroughly blown away by the intricate storylines and adult concepts that various anime portray and have become a bit of an addict over the last few weeks.

Netflix on Demand is a wonderful thing and I usually spend an hour in the evening watching a part of a series streaming on my computer after I’ve finished working for the day. It’s kind of a personal reward for getting up and writing for 8 or 10 hours straight. I realize that up to this point I’ve given away very little about myself on this blog. I will endeavor to change that. To that end let me start over.

I am a professional freelance writer working out of my house. Most of my work comes from contract positions writing up guides and reviews as well as small advertisements and various content for small business websites. Ever wonder where people found the time to write introductions to business websites or responses to just about any search engine term you could type in? That’s me and a legion of others. Mostly we are people who have a great love of the written word but for one reason or other are unable to find full time employment with larger writing firms or teams. Some people live in small towns too far away from any major centers of commerce to work in an office atmosphere; others do it as a part time supplement to their primary income, and yet more work in this fashion because they have no other option.

The third category is where I fit in. I began to show signs of some sort of gastrointestinal disorder at the age of 9. My parents took me from one doctor to another; some said it was in my head, a possibility given that I was emotionally volatile from a very young age; laughing one minutes and crying the next. Other physicians said I was faking it to avoid attending school. Again this was a possibility as I was the only Yankee attending school in a small, backwater, and very southern town. Consequently I was picked on and ridiculed just about every day. Its understandable that I wanted to limit my exposure to other people of my own age as much as possible.

After several years worth of pain and anguish on my part my parents finally conceded the fact that I might have been ill. To this day the most that can be said is that I have some sort of chronic gastrointestinal disorder that causes me crippling pain on a daily basis and prevents me from leaving the house most of the time. I won’t recount the war of attrition that school was. The pain, shame, embarrassment, and fear I experienced every school day. I could probably fill books with it if I hadn’t mentally repressed most of the memories.

I still think about it and wonder what those children were thinking when they picked on me and threatened me, sticking their chests out and strutting around like cockerels. I am a very big person, always have been. I’m currently standing at 6 feet and 6 inches; I was roughly a foot taller and 50 pounds heavier than any other boy I went to school with for most of my life. Admittedly I was overweight and had poor stamina, but at the age of 10 I was strong enough to pick up and carry my own father, who was well built himself. Yet they would pick on me as if I was some sort of weakling. It’s a good thing I was not at all aggressive as a child and sought to resolve disputes through words, rather than my fists.

I tend to kick myself over the whole thing now. If I had taken a few of them down a peg or two I would’ve been doing Darwin’s work in improving the gene pool. Ideally the dumb ones shouldn’t live long enough to breed. Funnily enough I look back on that time as a lost opportunity to get away with some serious damage while being underage and not subject to prosecution as an adult.

In any case what I’m trying to say is that I’m in a great deal of pain and can’t leave my home most days, negating any other line of employment.

While I do have a great love of the written word and have always written for my own enjoyment, I wanted most to be a psychologist. The human mind has been a great mystery to me for as long as I can remember. I don’t know why, but I’ve never understood human interaction and the thousand and one unspoken cues that it entails. Maybe I was brain damaged as a child, maybe I’m actually the spawn of an alien species, I don’t know.

What I do know is that I was gifted with a greater than average intellect and a very analytical mindset. I bounced from one career path or another as a child, as most children do. But found I had a bit of a knack for interpreting people’s interactions and figuring out why they acted the way they did. I did so in a very straightforward and logical process rather than an empathic or emotional one, making my insights pretty accurate. Also I have a very dour and solemn demeanor, regardless of how I’m feeling. I’m actually a very sensitive and emotional person, I just don’t show it on my face or in my body language, never have. I guess people liken me to a priest. They’re always confiding in me. My schoolmates, my teachers, my co-workers. Everyone always opens up to me regardless of how well I know them, and whether or not I actually want to hear about their problems. It gave me a lot of practice over the years so I thought I would put it to good use.

I managed to get through high school and college, despite the fact that I had to home school and teach myself most of the time as my attendance was sketchy at best. I even graduated Magna Cum Laude with a degree in Psychology. Too bad my guidance counselor was a senile old bat who hadn’t noticed the world had changed since the 50s. There were no job opportunities for someone who had no guarantees he would be able to get to work on any given day. I ended up working at my old job I had taken between college semesters working at a department store. My manager was an alcoholic so as long as I kept giving her a few bottles of the good stuff for every holiday and birthday she didn’t care if I was able to get to work each day. I am sad to say that, despite her personal problems, she was the best boss I’ve ever had.

After almost 2 years of taking abuse from the walking stiffs that we called customers (my town is largely a retirement community full of people from New York and New Jersey) I had had enough. (On a side note if you’ve ever seen the original Dawn of the Dead by George Romero, you’ll know exactly the sort of customers I’m talking about. The only difference between them and the zombies is that nobody will arrest you for shooting a zombie) I was making less than 300 bucks a week, wasting money on gas and dry cleaning for my suits at work, and had nothing to show for it except sore feet from standing 12 hour shifts. I was still living with my parents and just barely getting by. I quit the next day and starting writing for a living.

Don’t get me wrong. The job is not easy as you have to be very cut throat, meet tough deadlines, fight to get work, fight to get paid, and drum up your own business. But I’ll take it over the old rat race any day.

Having brought you up to speed with what I do and basically who I am I will continue with my initial statements. I was addicted to anime and watching them before bed each night. I was watching a new one called Utawarerumono. The exact translation of the name was beyond me, but the art, the storyline, I was in love with the entire thing…Until the second to last episode. The crowning glory of this series was the characters. They were funny, quirky, human, and lovable. After the first few episodes it felt like you knew them personally. (At this point you might want to stop reading for fear of story spoilers)

In any case, in the second to last episode before the final showdown between the mysterious amnesiac hero and the shadowy villain, the hero regains his memory. There is a flashback, in which the hero remembers a time long ago, in a post apocalyptic future. Mankind is forced to live beneath the surface of the earth because of its poisonous atmosphere, despite the fact that other flora and fauna lived in a naturist paradise.

The main character was a test subject who’d been discovered wandering the surface world. He was imprisoned in a research facility populated with human/animal hybrids that the facility overseers had engineered in an attempt to create human genome possessing life forms that could live on the surface. These hybrids were essentially human, with human feelings, emotions, and tendencies. Despite this they were treated more poorly than animals, their humanity was denied, they weren’t even given names.

One of the hybrids, a beautiful young girl befriended and eventually fell in love with the main character. They staged a breakout and fled to the surface world, where they lived for well over a year and had a child. One day they were caught. The hero was shot with a tranquilizer dart while the atmosphere-suit clad humans descended upon the woman and baby in her arms. The look of fear and shrieks of the mother as the child was ripped from her arms still haunts my dreams.

The husband awoke to find himself in the research facility again, strapped to a table. The head scientist of the facility came in to check on him. The hero immediately cried out to his wife. The scientist calmly replied that since she was the first of her kind to successfully bear a child, she had to be studied… She was dissected.

At that point I lost the capacity for reason and roared like a wounded beast. I tore through my room and ran to the garage where I have a heavy punching bag. I wailed on that bag for well over an hour, stopping only when my vision was too blurred with sweat and tears to see the bag. The knuckles of my fists were bereft of skin, blood smeared the bags, but I couldn’t have cared less. All I saw was red.

The anime did not show the dissection thankfully, but my imagination generated images which I don’t doubt were worse than any visual artist could’ve rendered. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a very emotional person at times, but the last time I reacted in this fashion was when I was working as a bouncer in a club when I was attending college. On my first night a drunken idiot tried to grab one of the dancers on stage. She stayed calm and waited for help while I was waved in to take care of the problem. I gave him a verbal warning as was required, repeating it in Spanish as his friends were speaking Spanish to him. When he did not respond I grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him down. As he came down he spun around to face me, triggering the switchblade knife that he had concealed in his other hand. He drove it right for my heart.

I managed to get an arm in the way to deflect the knife, though the blade cut deeply into my forearm. The only thing after that which I remember was another bouncer tackling me.

After the man was taken away by police for assault with a deadly weapon and one of the bouncers bandaged my arm, the head bouncer explained what had happened. I had a “red out” as he called it. Basically when some people are hurt or wounded they lose their minds with their anger, responding with maximum violence. I had broken the man’s wrist, which was holding the knife, then dislocated his shoulder, shattered his nose, clothes lined him to the ground, and then proceeded to jump up and down on his chest, shattering his ribs. It was at that point that another bouncer tackled me to stop me from killing that man.

Obviously I was not cut out to be a bouncer as I “Did more damage than I prevented” in the words of my boss.

This time I was not hurt, but it felt as though someone I knew and cared about had been violated in the most heinous and terrible way possible. That woman had not even been treated as a human being when she was killed.

I have a very strong and overdeveloped protective instinct toward women. I know it’s not politically correct to say so given that women are considered equal to men, but it’s just how I am. Perhaps it’s the result of trying to keep an abusive father from harming an emotionally vulnerable mother. She’s called me a big guard dog on more than one occasion. It’s just that violence against women sets me off like nothing else.

A day later and I still tremble with rage at the memory of what I saw; the mental image won’t leave me. I slept for only a few hours that night, waking up to bandage my hands before trying to get on with my day. The more and more I thought about it, the more I had to get it out. Writing has always been my chosen method of expressing myself and I thank anybody for their time whose read this far as there is a point to this ramble aside from telling you about myself.

After much rumination I realized that the purpose of art is to evoke a response, to generate emotion in the viewer. Not all art is beautiful, not all life is beautiful, and nevertheless it should be recognized for its value in portraying the full spectrum of human existence, emotion, and life. While my response was indeed extreme and unpleasant, it is representative of part of the human experience. Were this art form portrayed in a less skillful fashion I probably would not have identified with the characters and responded as I did. Feelings of loss, rage, and a sense of helplessness and being unable to do anything to stop it. These are common, though regrettable, emotions resulting from life experiences.

In this I must applaud anime as an able and powerful art form which I shall continue to patronize and would suggest you do the same. It is important to be aware that anime is not something intended solely for children. Not every story has a happy ending and indeed you may experience something akin to what I have described as you watch one series or other. While at times it may be painful, one would not be whole without experiencing and taking in the negative as well as the positive aspects of life, the same as with any true art form.

Now if I can only come to terms with the look of fear on that woman’s face that has burned itself into my mind’s eye.

Norwegian Hamsters

So I was watching a show on the Discovery Channel about the origin and care of certain household pets. This week’s episode; hamsters. Having owned a hamster in the past I was a little curious to know more about their background. Unwittingly in watching this show I gained a greater degree of insight on an ancient Scandinavian culture which has piqued my interest for years.

Apparently there are more than one breed of hamster. There is the Golden Hamster, which is the one that most people think of when they visualize this animal. I was surprised to find out that it comes from Africa. And that all Golden Hamsters are descended from about a dozen specimens collected from Syria. Obviously I’m no geneticist, but it seems to me that all the thousands and thousands of hamsters throughout the world being descended from just 12 hamsters would necessitate an astonishing degree of inbreeding. Perhaps all their cute behavior such as running in a wheel is the result, and indicates the apex of their intellectual capacity. In that respect I suppose hamsters are quite bright by comparison to some other species. I’ve known full grown adults who couldn’t walk and speak at the same time, let alone run in a stationary wheel.

If you’ve ever owned a hamster you would know what sort of bumbling oblivious animals they are, almost as bad as people. The idea that something as small, harmless, and crunchy as a hamster lived at one time out in the wild boggles my mind. They don’t blend in with their surroundings; they’re not fast, not smart, and not resilient. It’s like a hemophiliac sleeping on a bed of nails, if you’ll forgive the allusion, there’s no question what’s going to happen.

Anyway. There is another species of hamster which originates from Norway. The Norwegian Hamster is much smaller and difficult to care for. Apparently they are much tougher despite their size. It was considerably more difficult to domesticate this species. Based on their appearance I would have to say that it’s likely the early Norse settlers borrowed the Norwegian Hamster’s image when they became known as Vikings.

Just imagine it. You’re a Norwegian farmer, walking back through the fields after a hard day. Suddenly out of nowhere comes a high pitched ululating cry. Hundreds of hamsters come running out over the hill and make a beeline for the farmhouse. They’re chittering and frothing at the mouth in berserk fury, waving tiny battleaxes and swords as they hack a hole in the bottom of your house’s front door.

A few moments later, and after much shrieking and crashing of crockery, the hamsters emerge, their cheeks bulging with looted grain and cheese as they hightail it out of there as fast as they can.

Just as you think the horror is over and you thank the gods that your home and family has been spared, you catch a whiff of the first wisps of smoke. The little buggers set fire to the place on their way out.

Now if you were in this position and had to live with this sort of thing happening on a daily basis, wouldn’t you start to get ideas about a better way of life too?