Sorry, The Governor Said ’No’

It is probably just my own naivete, but I always believed that anyone could write, if they only set their minds to it. After all, putting words on paper is really no different than speaking, and we even managed to train chimps to push the pretty coloured buttons in the capsule in the right sequence.

It turns out, however, that I was grossly mistaken, and it seems I owe an apology to the chimps.

I have a friend who believes that the phenomenon of "fan fiction" - the use of fictional characters and their worlds created by others in original stories as a show of support and affection for a given TV production, movie, book, etc. - is the root of all evil. Or, at the very least, that it should be outlawed. I must say, though, that after having now read numerous fine examples of this art, that my friend is wrong.

Fan fiction should most definitely not be outlawed. Rather, the perpetrators of these atrocities should all be rounded up and shot. Immediately.

Never have I seen the English language so tortured and abused, even taking the sad state of education in this country into account. But it does seem as if English as a second language is a prerequisite for writing fan fiction. As far as I can determine, the rules for this endeavour seem to be as follows:

1) Construct a run-on sentence that lasts for at least half a page. Longer, of course, would be better, but I suspect that the lung capacity of the authors pretty much sets the three-quarters of a page or full page sentence as an unattainable goal. Still, there may yet be an aspiring fan fic author who will conquer this Everest of the written word and incoherent thought. Hope springs eternal, as they say.

2) When unsure, forget punctuation entirely. Alternatively, when you're not sure which punctuation mark to use, throw in as many of them as you think you need or can get away with.

3) If your typing fingers are getting cramped up, and you don't think you can pull off a really good run-on sentence, make sure that all of your paragraphs consist of just a single sentence. Two sentence paragraphs are sometimes allowable but, really, the true artist in this genre aims for one.

4) Change tenses frequently. In a single paragraph is good, in a single sentence is even better.

5) Capitalize randomly. Look, we all know that proper nouns are prima donnas, so we should revel in letting other words, like verbs and adjectives, bask in the limelight of capitalization.

6) Never use a comma when a good period will do just as well. As in: "'It is cold today.' He said."

7) If you are going to write a fan fic about a television show that is currently still airing original episodes, absolutely do try and tie your story into what the show's writers are trying to do. Who cares if you couldn't possibly have any idea where they are trying to take things?

8) If you are stuck for ideas, absolutely inject yourself into the story as a major character. After all, what could be more entertaining than reading horribly written prose about your juvenile fantasies?

9) Frequently forget what the names of the characters are. Nothing quite demonstrates your devotion that not knowing who they are.

10) Have absolutely no idea what it is you are writing about, but try and sound as if you do. This is especially true of those fan fics that attempt to portray things like the military or the police. Here's a free piece of advice: no one says "over and out" on the radio, because that means you're acknowledging a transmission you can't hear as you have signed off the net. Nor does anyone say "wilco," except in Hollywood and bad fiction, and even "roger" tends to be frowned on.

11) When you are absolutely strapped for ideas, do make sure that your story consists entirely of some good man-on-man, woman-on-woman, and/or man-on-woman luvin'.

And this is where I must apologize to the chimps. Even randomly banging away on the keys, our primate friends are capable of producing much better work than the best fan fiction "author."

Mourning

He never cried for his father.

It's funny, what the mind chooses to dwell on in the small hours of the morning, as the minutes tick slowly on to the rising of the Sun. Like an old dog worrying at a well-gnawed bone, unwanted memories pick away at the defences, demanding their due.

Scenes played out like disjointed fragments from a silent movie, in a kind of fast-motion, jittery dance, and closing his eyes against them only threw them into sharper relief. A lilting tune, Lili Marlene, whistled on the walk to the neighbourhood playground, now just a haunting memory that could cut like a knife.

They told him that time heals all wounds, but that was a lie. Some never healed, no matter how much scar tissue was laid down. The pain never left, never faded, but it could be walled off, brick by brick, until it became like that dog's bone, old and comfortable.

The years passed, as they will, and yet he never cried for his father. Mourned him, perhaps, in a fashion, and yet he couldn't even admit to that. Was it the life that passed he mourned, or a promise unfulfilled, the dim notion that a future had been sacrificed for a past that was forever unalterable?

He never cried for his father. Or himself.

Things to do in 2009

Well, really, that should be "Things I should do in 2009" . . . Your mileage may vary.

1) Find a safe place to lock up my M4 because, I swear to God, if the neighbour's dog takes one more dump on my lawn, I may send a few rounds their way.

2) Help a senior citizen cross the street . . . whether they want to go or not.

3) Find a Terrier-proof dog toy - preferably one that doesn't squeak.

4) Actually finish something I start to write. That would be a nice change of pace.

5) Keep telling myself "Don't kill the civilians."

6) Show my friends that I do, indeed, appreciate them.

7) Move my tax bracket up.

8) Move my blood pressure down.

9) Stop missing cigarettes. After all, they don't miss me.

10) Actually buy a book the next time I go to a bookstore.

11) Not that I want to rush things, but maybe fix that flat tire on my Bronco. I mean, it's been six months all ready . . .

12) Stop laughing hysterically every time I think of Rod Blagojevich going to jail . . . but it's so damned funny.

13) On a related note, stop waiting for Illinois to produce an honest politician. It's not going to happen.

14) Adopt another dog.

15) Become God-Emperor of the Universe. Okay, this one might take a little longer than a year . . .

Ho, Ho, Ho, and Har Har de Har Har Har

Is it over yet? The holidays, I mean. That wonderfully magical time of the year when we all pretend to be nice to each other, and that we actually like our relatives. That glorious season where retailers tell us that if we don't start spending those holiday dollars in October, our friends will curse us for all eternity, our children will grow up irrepairably harmed, and our significant others will run off with the nearest available neighbour . . .

Oh, crap. We still have New Year's to get through . . .

Well, on the bright side, there are only 362 more shopping days until Christmas, and 332 days until certain talking heads can start trotting out the "war on Christmas" stories. I can hardly wait.

You know, it's funny. Granted, I went to a private school, but when I was growing up, I don't recall people getting this worked up over the holidays. When we had school assemblies to "celebrate" Christmas, those parents and students who were Jewish, for example, didn't object or protest. Likewise, when we had school assemblies to acknowledge Hannukah, those parents and students who were Christian didn't object.

So, what happened?

Really, I've got to tell you, I could care less if you are Christian, Jewish, Muslim, whatever. Good on you. All I ask is that you obey the law, treat me with the same respect you expect me to treat you, and I could care less how you choose to worship, or whether you chose to worship at all.

But, please, let's get over ourselves. If there is a God, chances are He doesn't care how you choose to worship Him, either.

By the way, Christmas is not Christ's birthday. How do I know this? Because Christ was born during the Roman census, and the Romans did their census in the Spring. In the Classical world, the new year began in March, not January. Christmas is, however, an appropriation by the early Church of a pagan winter festival.

Oops. There I go, prosecuting my very own "war on Christmas." Oh, well. The good news is, as it is now after minight here . . . there are only 361 more shopping days left . . .