I've started work on a new game in RPG maker, mostly as a writing experiment. I've decided to keep my progress here, because otherwise, the cobwebs might come back.

16 Generic Faces Done/~225
12 Unique Faces Done/~225
13,000 Words Done/300,000+ (?)
2 Sprites Kinda Done/God knows how many
1 Full Body Picture Done/~100
0 Cutscene Pictures Done/~500

As you can see, I don't have any conception of the idea of 'restraint' or 'reasonableness'

Self-published

Christ, it's been forever since I dusted off this old thing! Truth be told, I'd completely forgotten about it.

Self-published an ebook now, so I may keep this a little more active in the coming months. Check it out if you get a chance!

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FM6EIRI/ref=tsm_1_fb_lk

A story of my own

"Is he ready?" I asked the doctor exiting the cell. 

"Uh, yes general. He's perfectly healthy, just a few cuts and bruises." Grigory muttered. Grigory Korovin was a good man, a good friend, and a good physician, but sometimes I think he lacked the stomach for government work. I waved him off, and he gratefully scampered out. I drew myself to my full height and straightened my saber before I entered the room. When I did, I saw a man who looked like he lost an argument with the business end of a mace. His face was bloody and smashed to hell. He glared at me sullenly as I walked in and closed the door behind me. "Captain." I said. "I believe you should salute your superior officer."

He spat a glob of blood on the table. I could immediately tell that this man was going to be a handful. I sat down across from him. Ignoring his attitude, I said "Captain Kvavsov, your service record is commendable. You were the best shot in your regiment, the 5th Turiyov Infantry, if I'm not mistaken. You were awarded the Order of the Golden Sun and thus a non-hereditary knighthood for your valor at the Battle of the Two Rivers; I note it is rather conspicuously missing from your uniform-" 

"As bugles blow and trumpets roar
We cry: 'Man is man, and who is more?'" He muttered.

"Ah. A traitor, then." These Republican types were always quoting scripture. As if it meant anything.

He immediately straightened up in his seat, struggling against his constraints. "I am not a traitor!" He shouted "The Tzar is the traitor! He sold-" I brought my fist across his face hard enough to almost tip the chair over.

"You will not disgrace our Autocrat in my presence. Is that quite clear?" 

His head rolled to the side as he gasped in pain.

"I won't ask again, captain."

He brought his gaze up to meet mine, slowly. "Yes. Sir." He said through gritted teeth.

"Good. Continue in a manner that respects Tzar Viktor. Tell me what happened"

He dropped his gaze to the ground. "I killed them. That's what you want to hear, isn't it?" 

I shrugged. "Yes and no. Tell me how. Tell me exactly what happened in Goyiv."

"I ordered my men to round up the prisoners, all of them. Colonel Melnikov was quite pleased to have them taken off of his hands. I forced a local farmer to loan us his shovel, and then I made each of those blank-eyed bastards dig a grave, and kneel in front of it." He lifted his head when he said that, as though he were proud of what he did. "Then I ordered my men to fire by rank, all hundred and thirteen of them." He smiled. "There is no feeling more satisfying than doing the work of Man, which is the work of God."

"What you did was neither the work of man nor God." I snarled. "You killed prisoners that were going to be exchanged for our own men! You disobeyed your Tzar's commands, and you have threatened the peace that he worked so hard to create!"

The traitor tipped the chair forward and spat "He has created a Godless peace with sub-human scum! He has bowed down to elves and craven creatures of the night!" I brought my fist across his face again, to no avail. "No god but God! No man but Man!" He cried "No god but God! No man but Man!" I got out of my chair, disgusted. I walked over beside him and calmly tipped his chair over. It shut him up for a moment, long enough for me to leave the room. I left to find Carl Weber, a pale, blond-haired eastern piece of shit, calmly sliding two knives across each other. 

"I take it you need my assistance?" He said, with his characteristic near-unintelligible accent and that slimy little smile of his.

"Get him to recant. We need him to recant in front of a crowd. If he reverses his opinion when we get him to the gallows-" 

"Yes, yes, I am familiar with the purpose of a recantation. I'll have him begging for death by tomorrow, I promise you." I shook my head and walked off. "I know you disapprove of my methods, General," He said "But I assure you, I only do what is best for the Empire." Men like Weber are sick, cruel for the sake of cruelty. For all of his sweet talk of necessity and patriotism, he's just another parasite, feeding off the pain of others with government permission. Before he was Head Interrogator for the Tzar, he was the Head Jailer for some eastern knight, and before that, a mercenary. He has no allegiance to anyone or anything, save himself. 

And yet... He is right that he's necessary. A necessary evil, perhaps, but necessary nonetheless...

---

"Hail Tzar Viktor, first of his name, Emperor and Autocrat of all the Selonans!" I shouted, raising my right hand in the air and taking a knee in front of the Tzar. "Please, Pyotr, get up, I don't have time for this nonsense. Are the rumors true?" I tensed as I stood. Revealing bad news to the Tzar was never a good idea. He was a good man, and a fair ruler, but his temper was... Mecurial, at best. 

"Tzar, the rumors... Are, indeed true. One of our officers rounded up unarmed elvish prisoners, and massacred them. He didn't even deny it when I confronted him." 

The Tzar turned around and paced back to his writing desk. He picked up a piece of paper, hands shaking. "Do you see this, Pyotr?" He asked, voice quivering. I gritted my teeth. I could tell by his tone that this was going to be nasty. 

"Yes, Tzar, I see it." I said quietly.

"Do you know what it is, Pyotr?" His voice rose to a crescendo, and he looked as though he were about to tear the paper apart.

"It-it's a peace treaty, Tzar." I said.

He brought his other hand to the paper and softly ripped it in half, then into quarters, and threw the scraps in my face. "Not anymore, Pyotr! Not anymore! Because of your men!" I deeply resented the association, but I held my tongue. The Tzar didn't like being contradicted. "I've fought this war for ten years, Pyotr! Ten years! And now that little shit of a soldier is going to unravel it all! We could have had peace! At a cost, but any cost is better than slavery and death at the hands of elves! Do you realize what the Ostenians will do once they hear of this?"

"They might send a diplomat to request reparations-"

"They will come in here, and they will burn the city to the ground, and then they'll salt the earth behind it! That's what they'll do, and you know it!" The Tzar shouted in my face. Striding over to his window, he gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. He took a few breaths of seaside air and ran a hand through his hair before turning back to me. A thunderstorm crackled distantly as he quietly continued. "This is the end, Pyotr. Of everything. We've fought inside and out of this Empire for years, haven't we? It's been sixteen years since I took the throne, but it seems a lifetime. And we are nearing the end. We've given up so much for this peace... And now..."

"Viktor," I said quietly "It's not all over. If we can get the captain to publicly recant, maybe his confession and execution will smooth things over enough-"

The Tzar waved me off. "Do as you will, Pyotr. I... I have some last letters to write. Tell Nicholas to bring me the carrier birds. All of them. I think it's time for them to take one last trip." I frowned and looked at the Tzar. He was barely a child when he took the throne, only fifteen. Now he looked almost fifty. His hair was already starting to grey, and his figure had become frail and gaunt after years of the burden of rule. He hadn't inherited this empire in good condition, but he had hoped to leave it in peace and prosperity. Now it seemed that he wasn't going to leave it at all. I silently left his room, leaving him to write his final letters in peace.

----

I made my way to a quaint little tavern that was constantly changing it's name (I think it was the Black Horse at that time, or maybe the Blind Pig) that was a favorite haunt of two of my oldest and closest friends. I smiled faintly as I smelled the familiar smoky aroma of the tavern, tinged with boar, and dully lit by a number of lanterns hanging from the ceiling. I nodded cordially to the tavern's owner, a broad, mustached man by the name of Ivan Shryenko, who returned the nod respectfully. I found Grigory and Vasily sitting in their usual corner, drinking and talking. Vasily was smoking a pipe, as usual, when I came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He snarled "What the hell do you want?" as he turned his head around, but his angry sneer quickly turned into a smile when he saw me. "Petya!" He pulled me into a big bear hug, a huge grin on his rough, scarred face. He looked like a vicious bastard, but Vasily was all soft on the inside. I'd had him as senior sergeant back when I was just a green lieutenant, and I haven't been able to tear myself away from him since. "Here I thought you'd be too busy with, y'know, 'affairs of state' to come in to drink with us."

I grimaced. "Well, if affairs keep going as badly as they have been, there may not be a state to worry about." 

A sympathetic look crossed Vasily's face. "That bad, huh?" 

I shrugged. "Yeah. But I'd rather try and forget about it for a few hours." I pulled a chair away from a nearby table and sat down. 

Grigory rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Did you get what you needed out of the captain?" He asked

I shook my head and said "Weber is." Grigory shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I can't blame him, we both knew what kind of a man Weber was. "So Grisha, how is Anna coming along?"

Grigory smiled. "She should be due in about a month." He said, and laughed. "To think I'll be a grandfather soon... Makes me feel old." Out of the three of us, he was the youngest, but only barely, at forty-seven. I was forty-nine, and Vasily was fifty-five.

Vasily snorted. "You think you feel old now? Just wait until your youngest is starting a family. That's when you feel ancient."

Sofiya, Ivan's daughter, came up to me and placed a pint of Eastern Lager in front of me. "Your usual, General." I smiled and thanked her.

"I remember when Mariya had her first kid, I felt like the whole world was coming down on me. Now Vira is already on her second and I feel just fine. Calm as can be." Vasily took a puff from his pipe and calmly blew smoke up towards the ceiling.

"Don't you know that stuff is terrible for your health?" Grigory coughed and waved some smoke away from his face.

Vasily gave him a patronizing smile and said "So you keep telling me. I've never been convinced."

"The fact that it makes people cough should be a dead giveaway."

Vasily rolled his eyes. "People cough when they drink water too - when they drink it the wrong way. Do you see me coughing?" Vasily turned to me. "You've been quiet Petya, what's going on in that head of yours?" 

Fear. "I'm anxious. In a bad way." 

Vasily raised his eyebrows. "Should I be anxious?"

I stood up, my drink untouched. "Yeah, probably. I'll see you two later, I need to go check on the men."

-----

It seemed the more I tried to push my fears away, the stronger they took hold of me. It was only natural, of course. If I wasn't worried, if I didn't try to do something against the inevitable Ostenian reaction, would I really have been worthy of my rank? That question ran through my head as I roughly kicked the leg of Colonel Kastarov's bed. He startled, cursing and fumbling out of his blankets. When he saw me, he gritted his teeth together and rubbed his eyes, muttering "It's three in the bloody morning, so this had better be a goddamn emergency!" He then added, as an afterthought "Sir."

"Colonel." I acknowledged him with a slight nod. "Rest assured, this is an emergency."

Kastarov sighed angrily and slipped his pants and boots on. "Goddammit. How far away are they?"

"I'm not sure yet. There's been no official break, but I'm sure you've heard the rumors."

Kastarov affixed his cap neatly on his head and slipped on his jacket. "Fresh out of one war and into the next." I was always amazed at the Colonel's ability to look like a proper soldier on a moment's notice. Always clean shaven, save for a well-trimmed red mustache under his prominent eagle-like nose. As he finished slipping on his uniform, I would never have thought that not a minute beforehand he was fast asleep and in bed. 

"Get the militia ready and below the west wall," I said "I've already informed colonels Golovin and Potemkin to marshal the regular army."

"Tell the truth Pyotr. How bad is it going to be?"

I balled my hands into fists. "I don't know colonel. But if we're caught off guard-"

"They'll sacrifice the lot of us." Kastarov said bitterly. "To Jawin, or whatever heathen god it is they worship." It's Chwin, actually, but I didn't feel like interrupting the colonel. He scowled "I'll see to it that the men are impressed as to the importance of this. They still won't be happy about being dragged back to the ranks after a month of peace."

"I don't think we have much of a choice. Godspeed colonel."

"Godspeed general."

------

Warm rain pelted my face and ran down my back as I paced across the walls towards the western gatehouse. The men were aligned in rows three ranks deep, wheellocks ready and loaded. They stood at attention as I moved past, recognizing my distinctive peaked cap even in the heavy rain. Colonel Nikita Golovin saw me and quickly joined my side at a brisk pace. "General," He said "We have to talk."

"By all means, go ahead." I said

"Sir," He hissed in my ear "We can't possibly expect to win this battle. Between the rain and the fact that we don't know anything about their force; we don't know how many there are, we don't know who's leading them, we don't even know when they're coming, means that staying here and fighting is suicide!" 

I turned quickly and snapped "What else-" I looked away for a moment to calm myself down. I couldn't show any fear, any uncertainty in front of the men. An officer must serve as an example for the rank and file. Lightning flashed as I took a deep breath and continued. "What else can we do, colonel? Do you think that the Ostenians will just let us murder their soldiers without retribution? Have you forgotten what started the war in the first place?" I heard a few voices in the distance, drowned out by the rain and the thunder.

Colonel Golovin's voice took on a conciliatory tone. "Sir, I'm not saying that. What I am saying is that we're not even at a fourth of our strength, even counting the militia as regulars, and the riders to Volovin and Turiyov won't reach the cities for days. Even if this was a clear, dry day, we still wouldn't be able to take a fifth of the Ostenian army. Sir, we could..." He bit his lower lip hesitantly. "We could abandon the city. Move the men southeast, to Turiyov, form our army there."

I turned away in disgust, and in turn Golovin's voice rose to an almost pleading timbre. "General, please, it's our only chance. If we're caught here, there'll be no saving Selonan."

"Nikita." I said quietly. "Do you remember what happened at Stavvich?"

"Y... Yes sir."

"Apparently you don't, so let me remind you. The city surrendered, Nikita. Surrendered. And..." I closed my eyes, tried not to pciture the aftermath, the bodies laying in the streets, the profane symbols painted in blood... "They sacrificed one-hundred thousand human beings. Men, women, children, it didn't matter, all murdered for their heathen gods. What the hell do you think is going to happen if we give up this city without a fight? We hold here until relieved by reinforcements from Volovin and Turiyov." 

"Sir, I-"

"We hold here until relieved, colonel." I snarled "Is that understood?"

He nodded. "Yes sir." He whispered. He looked as though he had at least enough common fucking decency to be ashamed of his proposal. He saw what happened at Stavvich too. He had family in Stavvich. Of all people, he should have been the last to propose abandoning another city to those inhuman monsters.

"Good."

In the distance, I heard the voice of one of my scouts, Ivan, I think, I don't remember his last name, over the storm shout "Let me in, dammit! I told you I have a message for the general!" I saw a lantern swinging back and forth in front of a pair of mounted silhouettes, one in a cloak.

I found it odd, as I had ordered the scouts out alone rather than in pairs. Still, I raised my voice over the cacophony of the storm. "Let them through!" The gate guards must have recognized my voice, because a few seconds later I heard the gate groan and start to open. I turned to Colonel Golovin. "Find Colonel Potemkin and Kastarov, and meet me with them in the gatehouse. The guards will know which room."

-------

As I entered a small side room of the gatehouse and motioned for the guards to clear out, I took off my hat and wrung it of water. "What do you have for me, soldier?"

Ivan saluted. "General sir, I uh, well, he's a messenger, sir." The cloaked man- no, the cloaked thing drew it's hood back to reveal telltale pointed ears and clear, slightly luminescent eyes.

I straightened up and balled my hands into fists when I saw it. "There had better be a good reason for this, Ivan. Or I'll have you against a wall before his... Comrades... See the city."

"Please general sir, you have to listen to what he has to say."

The elf looked smug, although I think they all do. I can't tell them apart, they're all the same, they all look the same, they all think the same, they all act the same. They treat us like dogs who have yet to learn their place. Well, I suppose if that's the case, we've spent the past ten years teaching them what happens when you kick a dog one too many times. "General Pyotr." It smiled. "I believe you are just the man I'm looking for."

"General Vorontovich to you." I said coldly. 

"General Vwrontwovrich." It said, still smiling as his accent butchered my name. "My sincere apologies. There seems to be a misunderstanding between our two countries about the intentions of my masters." Masters. Like a slave. Like a dog. Not like a man.

Colonel Potemkin entered the room, and drew his pistol as soon as he saw the elf standing there. Luckily, I grabbed his hand before he could level it at the messenger. "He's a messenger, Alexander."

"Like hell. He's a spy, I don't care what he-"

"Alexander. We're hearing him out." Alexander put his pistol back into it's holster, reluctantly. His thick gray mustache bristled as he sneered at the elf and moved out of the doorway to let Colonel Golovin and Colonel Kastarov in, who both eyed the elf warily.

"Please." I said "Continue."

"Our 'force', as your soldier put it, is only the retinue of a diplomat, who has come here in light of... Certain events that have transpired recently." The Ostenian elf's smug little smile didn't leave it's face.

Ivan nodded eagerly. "There wasn't more than twenty elves there, I promise you general sir. Er, sirs."

"It's lying." Snarled Colonel Potemkin. "You remember how many times we attacked a supply caravan of 'just' fifty or sixty elves, and then how a whole damn division would come out of the woods? Elves are cowards, and liars. It's trying to make us let our guard down, so when they do attack they can butcher us!" The elf just continued smiling, which only encouraged Alexander. "You see? It doesn't even try to deny it! We should kill it now while we still have the chance!"

"Alexander. Please, calm down." I said. "Nikita?" 

Colonel Golovin shrugged. "I don't know. I think he's telling the truth... But Alexander is right, elves are notorious liars. And we've had our share of ambushes during the war."

I looked over at Colonel Kastarov, who was studying the elf intently, hand rubbing his chin. "Mikhail. What do you think?"

Colonel Kastarov narrowed his eyes at the elf. "I think he's telling the truth. Partially. I think he's also hiding something."

I drew my saber from it's sheathe and looked it over carefully, judging the elf's reaction. Nothing. "You think yourself safe here?" 

The elf nodded. "I think you... Humans... Have enough sense to not kill diplomatic envoys."

"Really? Well, by your own admission, you aren't the diplomat. You're just part of 'his' retinue. How angry do you think your master would be if one of 'his' servents went missing? Travellers go missing all the time along these roads. Ivan, I believe you have some leave days left? And family in Turiyov?"

The smile ran away from the elf's face. "He would be very upset, General Vwrontwovrich, and not quite so foolish as to buy such a contrived tale." Ah, that's all I wanted. I just couldn't stand that smug little shit's smile.

I put my saber back in it's sheathe. "Colonels. Tell the men, regulars and militia, to stand down, and march them to the Citadel of Stars. We can't risk Republicans... Or nervous recruits... Taking a shot and risking spoiling this opportunity for a renewed peace."

Colonel Potemkin frowned. "And if he's lying?"

"If he's lying, the guns in the Citadel of Stars are the biggest in the empire, and the artillerymen there have the calibrations to hit anywhere on the western side of the city. You'll take command and storm the walls with shot and bayonet." He seemed satisfied with that, and saluted before leaving the room, as did Mikhail and Nikita.

--------

"I think we should get down to business." The elven diplomat, by the name of 'Nuallan', said to Tzar Viktor.

"Of course." Tzar Viktor said, and smiled thinly. "I believe you are here to discuss the nature of some rumours that have been circulating lately-"

"They are no rumors. Truth travels on the wings of eagles, and there are ears in every forest." I hate how they always need to be so... Enigmatic. "We know what happened. But my masters are willing to forgive this little incident, for a price."

Tzar Viktor hesitated. "And what price do you ask?"

"The hundred men that committed the deed."

"Just a minute," I objected "The only man responsible for this was the officer in command. The men were just following orders."

Nuallan cocked it's head. "Is that what you human soldiers tell yourselves? I seem to remember this business of executing prisoners being quite common-"

"During the war! Not in peace, and not to-" Tzar Viktor raised his hand to silence me.

"Please, Pyotr. You want the hundred men as prisoners, correct? And the officer for execution?" Tzar Viktor asked, a hint of hope entering his voice.

"As sacrifices." Nuallan said.

"Get out." Viktor whispered. I knew that tone, and braced myself for his reaction.

"Pardon? I'm-"

"Get the hell out of my sight, and be happy that I don't take your head! You dare enter MY city, come into MY land, and demand that I give MY people to be sacrificed for your gods? You should be happy I don't throw you to the dogs, you subhuman bastard!" Viktor roared "You think that you can just come in here and demand the world? I'd sooner hang myself than betray my own wards!"

The Tzar sat down slowly. Nuallan just looked stunned, like a rabbit or a deer who's just seen a hunter. "My men will tell you when you can leave, Nuallan. They will escort you to your quarters until I've decided just what to do with you." The elf looked as pale as a ghost as he stumbled out the door.

The Tzar pinched the bridge of his nose and choked down a sob when Nuallan was gone. "Pyotr... Pyotr... God, what can I do?" The Tzar took a deep breath. "We... I can't, couldn't accept their terms could I? How-how could I call myself a man of God if I did?" He ground his teeth together. "How can I call myself king if I don't? Oh God, Pyotr... If they come out in full force, we can't stop them. They'll torch the cities, sacrifice thousands to their heathen gods." He slammed his fist on the table. His entire body with shaking with rage, or maybe fear. He put his hand on his forehead and went quiet. I stood up and walked over to the door. He sat there, in silence and despair, with only the burden of the crown to keep him.

God help him; I can't.

Why this blog is never updated

So, a short post here, for reasons detailed in the post. My apologies for anyone who reads this and was expecting updates. I have a nasty tendency to take on projects upon projects (Currently at... Five projects, six including this one) and never keep up with them. This may get updated at some point in the future, but for now it can be considered to be 'dormant'.

Apologies, again.

On Change

"The universe is change; our life is what our thoughts make it." - Marcus Aurelius

Thought I'd start out with a quote. Let's get to the post, shall we?


I. Change as a catalyst

Let's look at change where most storytellers get it right; change as a catalyst for the story. After all, if there's nothing going on but the status quo, what's to tell? While there are stories that can pull such a situation off well due to an excellent writer at the helm (Such as One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich) most plots do better when they're kicked off by an event creating a great deal of change and thrusting the main characters into the plotline.

Change, thus, must be wide-reaching enough to affect the protagonist and justify his involvement in the story. Whether he is already in a position to be concerned, such as in Terry Pratchett's Guards Guards! with Captain Vimes, or whether he is forced into a position where it suddenly becomes his concern, such as in Lord of the Rings with Frodo (Though not several other characters). Of course, then you have that rare story in which the hero is not the one affected by and trying to react to change but rather trying to change the world around him, such as in L. Sprague De Camp's Lest Darkness Fall with Martin Padaway trying to change the world around him to suit his own ideas and lifestyle. This is arguably not the best example, as Padaway's world was certainly changed from 20th Century Italy to 6th century Rome, but as I said, it's a rare story where the hero is the active component instead of the reactive component.

II. Change as a storytelling device

Now, change doesn't have to just start the story, or even simply continue in spite of or in reaction to the protagonist's efforts. Change within the plot is important to give your audience a sense of progress with the hero's efforts. In some bad media, the change of choice is 'training' the protagonist to fight the villain/enemy. Again, I'm not saying that this is always a bad choice, only that I've rarely seen it done well. To name a few movies (Not even going to get into books) where this has been tried and poorly executed: Eragon, The Mutant Chronicles, and . I regret watching all of them. Batman Begins is a mixed case where the training scene wasn't necessary for the further development of the main character but necessary to set up the plot. As such, I wouldn't say it was poorly done so much as only partially relevant. A rare example of successfully showing training would be the 1979 version of All Quiet on the Western Front. The reason that All Quiet does it well is because:

A. It gives a sense of considerable passage of time.

B. It shows the training in a realistic manner, and not as the character suddenly and skillfully mastering everything taught while developing a sense of camaraderie with their trainer.

And

C. It is relevant to the plot and not just the development of the character being trained.

Change, then, can include such things as the destruction of Saruman as a major player in The Lord of the Rings, or the development of Padaway's reputation from an unknown brandy merchant to a major political player in Lest Darkness Fall. To move from the beginning of either of those stories to the end of either results in an odd sort of disconnect, even if the narrative is adjusted. It feels as though one had skipped over a proper resolution and march towards the end of a story, it makes the end feel rushed if there is little or no change in the middle, in the main plotline.


III. Change as an ending

Now, if everything returns to the status quo at the end, one must wonder what the purpose of the protagonist's struggle? There is neither a sense of victory nor despair. Everything simply falls into place without purpose or reason. Stories must end with change. The change doesn't need to be final, it doesn't need to be world-shattering, but there must be change. If it is bittersweet, if the protagonists have won but at a cost, let that show in the end. Show the protagonists counting their losses despite the defeat of the threat, or the completion of their goal. If they've won a total victory, show their victory, show them returning to a world changed, whether for better or for worse then what the story started out in.

But don't make the mistake of creating an end without change, whether that be a return to the status quo or a simple refusal to wrap-up ongoing conflict. That's what makes the comic book industry so unbearable at times and endless movie sequels so annoying.

To recap again...

I. Change starts stories, few people can make a story about the status quo and make it interesting!

II. Change moves stories and gives a sense of progress.

III. Change in the end gives a sense of finality and completion, as well as payoff and reward for one's audience better than a simple return to status quo.

On subtlety

So, I just got finished watching Andrei Tarkovsky's Stalker, and I must say it's made an impact on me. So because of that movie, I'll be doing today's post on subtlety.



Now, it is very important to remember that subtlety is part of what makes a story bearable. Every story worth reading has some subtlety in it, even the most overblown fantasy and sci-fi (Warhammer 40k comes to mind) has some amount of subtlety in it, no matter how small. Otherwise you end up with something along the lines of the infamous 'SPESS MEHREENS' speech. All bluster and no substance. Subtlety, you see, cannot be substance in and of itself, subtlety is a quality. However, substance cannot exist without subtlety. Ice cannot exist without being a solid, but 'solid' is a quality, it cannot be ice on it's own, follow?

Subtlety then is yet another component of storytelling that simply cannot be done without if one wishes to tell anything even vaguely approaching a serious story, even non-serious stories need some degree of subtlety. Subtlety gives characters life as much as unsubtlety (Struggling for words here). Without subtlety, all actions and events would seem exaggerated. I would say that one would have to make an effort to write a story with no subtlety at all. Therefore, it is the skillful use of subtlety and it's relative abundance that improves a work, rather than it's mere existence.

Let's take another example to help get me going, shall we? Let's take All Quiet on the Western Front as a prime example of subtlety and... Guns of the South as a non-subtle example. Now, one might object to this, say that the two works are as different as apples and oranges and one cannot compare them. But I disagree, one can compare apples and oranges, apples have a sweeter taste and a firmer skin, while oranges tend to more spongelike in consistency and quite tangy. But that's beside the point. While I realize that these two works are completely different in purpose, time, style, just about everything that can be compared, I promise I will only compare the subtlety or lack thereof of the two works in comparison to one another rather than quality or style.

Guns of the South is a work that works (Ha) on a relative lack of subtlety. Hell, the book is about time-traveling racists who give Robert E. Lee AK-47s to beat the Union with. I don't think subtlety ever consciously crossed Mr. Turtledove's mind. There are characters who are bloodthirsty raving monsters, and characters that are good, honest open-minded types, and very little gray area between the two. All the actions of the characters are dramatized, overwrought reactions, everything that happens is a big dramatic ordeal. Every battle is a massacre, every conversation is world-changing and so on.

All Quiet on the Western Front, on the other hand, almost defies my previous statement about a work not being able to be made entirely out of subtlety. I believe that nothing can sum up the book's style and feeling better than the foreword itself:  

"This book is to be neither an accusation nor a confession, and least of all an adventure, for death is not an adventure to those who stand face to face with it. It will try simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped shells, were destroyed by the war."

Every part of the book revels in subtlety. Every moment is carefully crafted as to give a sense of overwhelming despair, to give a sense of a changed man who no longer looks upon the horrors of war as frightful, but so commonplace that he no longer feels that he is himself. Battles are not long, drawn out narratives of excitement and violence (And one is almost certain that they should not be) in order to draw attention both to Paul's mindset and to emphasize the actual important events that happen. The subtlety of Remarque's storytelling makes every event more meaningful rather than less. By not exaggerating events with overblown prose and pages of buildup, he manages to make every event count, he manages to do what a thousand pages of purple prose would not and could not do.


And that's about all I have to say. I ran out of steam early on this one, I blame it on watching Stalker and thinking "I need to make a post on subtlety" once I finished picking up the pieces of my blown mind up off the floor.

On Balanced Characters

Another problem I often see. Unbalanced characters. Well, let's get to it then, shall we?


I. Flaws make the world go 'round, or, Why Characters NEED flaws

Flaws are a necessary part of any character. Really, get this through your head right now. It took me a bit. Flaws are an important part of any character. But flaws alone won't do it, mind. If you just give a character a short temper, or make them forgetful, that's not enough. Flaws need to be real, believable, and impact the character's personality. Let's use another example from popular media, shall we? Avatar (Shudder) and District 9, since examples help my thought and writing processes.

While here I'll be talking about entire species rather than individual characters, all the points will remain mostly the same. Let's start with a bad example, Avatar. In that movie, the Navi or Na'vi or N'avi, I don't really remember where the apostrophe goes, lack serious flaws. They're all a bunch of peace loving hippies who are perfect in every way and convince an ex-marine that their way of life is better than mankind's. Since they lack flaws, because they are 'perfect', they become imperfect as characters. They are shown to a number of the audience as shallow caricatures of perfection, they lack the ability to make the audience sympathize with them. The Navi then lack the ability to connect with the audience, and thus remain little more than cardboard cutouts.

However, District 9 provides a strong contrast to Avatar. The Prawns, the aliens of D9, are far from perfect. They are shown as troublemakers, criminals, not merely mischievous but violent. However, they are also shown as in such a state because of the effects of their environment, because of the situation they are in. Because they are downtrodden, because they are oppressed and forced into a state of poverty, ignorance, and powerlessness, where the government is hostile to their prescence and society at large hates them, they find themselves forced into such roles. As such, their flaws, their unsaintly actions make them more sympathetic instead of less.

This is why flaws are important to establish a character. Without flaws, a character will not seem real to an audience, they will appear as the saintly but ultimately meaningless cardboard cutouts of Avatar, rather than the troubled and sympathetic Prawns of D9. Without flaws, a character is not that - a character. Perhaps more importantly, however, while flaws in general make a character able to evoke sympathy by virtue of making them 'real' to the audience, specific flaws can evoke more sympathy than any amount of suffering or hardship spent in virtue. Take John Proctor from The Crucible. John is a adulterer, and this flaw is one of many that makes him human and thus able to be sympathized with. But it is his pride and his temper are two of the biggest contributors both to his downfall as a character and the sympathy that he evokes. It is his pride that allows him to stand up against the world, his pride, while a flaw, one that dooms him in the end, also makes him seem an upright character, someone to be inspired by, while his anger at the world, and at those he views as unjust makes him more sympathetic, for who has not looked at the world around them and felt dissatisfied with those around them?

Which brings me to my second point...

II. Flaws are not bad!

Now this might seem odd at first. "But Vae!" I hear you say (Or perhaps I am hearing voices in my head again), "Isn't the fact that they are flaws and not virtues make them bad?" This is true, to a certain degree. But virtues and flaws are both double edged swords. A man who holds onto his pacifism even in the face of death, violence towards him or those he cares about, or other such threats will be seen by some as a morally upright and willfull man who refuses to allow the injustices and sins of the world reach his own moral center. But by others, he can be seen as a morally weak man for holding onto his passive refusal to act for what they may see as good. They may view such a man as weak, as a coward or perhaps as simply too stubborn to do what they see as right. In the demostration of virtues, virtues can easily be seen as flaws.

Likewise, flaws may also be seen as virtues. Proctor's pride, while it is what damns him in the end, is also what makes him, in the eyes of many, a morally upright and strong man. His pride defines his character, causes his refusal to sell out his neighbors, and also what grants him a noble death. However, without his pride, he would also could have ended the entire farce of the witch-trial before it started, by outing both himself and Abigail as adulterers before the town. Seeing as that would have ruined his reputation and wounded his pride, however, he waited until it was too late for the accusation to have any real impact.

Flaws are what create a character, and should not be seen just as something one 'has to' tack onto a character in order to make them real. They should be taken and celebrated as an important aspect of the character, one that may adversely impact their life (In fact, it should adversely impact their life), but also one that grants the character depth and perhaps from time to time should be beneficial. A coward may be hated, and a coward may be a weak man who runs from conflict of any kind, but also a coward may be a survivor at all costs, a coward may be a man who knows that dying will not help him or anyone else, or in a non-violent conflict, knowing that coming into conflict with others may burn metaphorical bridges with the characters he comes in conflict with. Of course, it's hard for complete cowardice to be written as a 'noble' flaw (Ciaphias Cain, for example, is far from a coward, despite his claims, and fits 'Opportunist' or 'Survivor' more), but this does not mean one should shy away from the flaw. After all, while flaws can inspire readers to like a character more, they also can and should make readers like a character less. Flaws can be good in the eyes of the audience, but they should also be bad on some level in the eyes of the audience, and they should adversely impact the character's actions in the story.

Which, again, brings me into my next point...

III. Flaws in characters should impact them!

For God's/Cthulhu's/Jupiter's sake, do not make the mistake of creating a character with flaws, and then fail to demonstrate them, or make the flaws only come up in minor events. Flaws are a big part of people as any extended interaction with them will clearly show (There's my arrogance flaring up again), and should affect them when in major plot points are concerned. Don't give a character flaws and then refuse to have those flaws affect the story. Don't make a hot-headed character suddenly calm when in heated negotiations. Don't forget that he's got a temper. Make him Khrushchev! Let him get mad! If it spoils the negotiations, well, sometimes the author writes the story and sometimes the characters do. That's one of the little joys of creating interesting characters. Sometimes what they do is just as entertaining as any pre-planned even in the story.

Flaws in characters should always be present. They may not come up depending on the situation, but they should always be a part of the character no matter where he is or how important an event is to the plot. A flaw should never be ignored, but at the same time, they should not be overplayed. Which, again, leads me quite nicely to my next point...

IV. Flaws are not the only aspect of a character!

If there's one thing I don't want anyone to walk away from reading this (If anyone is reading this) thinking, it's "Well, obviously since flaws make a character, I should make a character with nothing but flaws!" If you claim that no one would read this and think that, I'm either a bad judge of my own writing and have already went over virtues and flaws well enough to have presented them both fairly, or you haven't read/seen/experienced enough bad fiction to understand that this does crop up from time to time.

Always remember that though flaws make a character interesting, virtues make a character interesting as well, and also that flaws and virtues without personality are like thumbtacks and posters without a wall. While a character's flaws and virtues are definitely part of his personality, they cannot be all that character is. A character also has life experiences, a character has memories and quirks that are neither flaws nor virtues, a character has views on life and relationships apart from his own qualities and vices. Always remember that a character is not merely a set of good things and bad things, but a person in their own right, with things to say and do that are not necessarily good or bad, but merely reflective of who they are.

Sin and Saintliness cannot exist in a vacuum. Both must exist on a person, a living breathing being, even if they aren't real and must be made so through a fiction of thought. Characters are not all good, and they are not all bad, they aren't even all a mix of the two. Characters are just that: characters. Sometimes with good aspects, sometimes with bad aspects, sometimes with aspects that don't fit any sort of postive or negative judgment, aspects that are just part of who they are, little things that make them just like you or me.

So, to recap as usual...

I. Use flaws to make your characters real! Don't ignore vice for virtue!

II. Don't add flaws just as something that you 'have to' do! Celebrate your characters' flaws! Revel in the good and the harm they do!

III. Don't add a flaw and then ignore it whenever it becomes convienent! Remember flaws are a part of the character, not a cheap device to be used only when they pose no threat!

IV. Don't add only flaws to a character, or only virtues or even only both! Characters are more than the sum of their parts, but they still need those parts! People have good parts, bad parts, and parts that don't fit in either category!