parrinoyed

Bad-Apples_Fallen-Apples-Grass__61854

It's autumn at home! Fall has always been my favorite season, likely because it's the shortest season in my climate.



I've lived in the high desert most of my life. We don't get many of the seasons in their proper order, though they sometimes will all show up in the same day. I loved rain here, when thunderstorms are rare and cloud cover barely lasts the day.



Fall, though, fall is easy to miss. We get some glorious color changes, to rival anything in the east, but it lasts all of a week, and never at the same time of year.



The newest trees in front of the high school have the most vibrant wine-red leaves right now, so strong they almost glow. All the cottonwood's silvered branches are shot with gold, and the apples are blushing. So much is still green, but the elms are going bald. Our marigolds still glow red and yellow and the dahlias are still showy.



Even the mornings broken clouds: all blue and grey and fawn, and only just shading the mountain rises in golden light. The day was warm but with just the hint of northern chill in the wind.



It's autumn here, and it's what I look forward to every year.

Autumn Leaves

I'm a member of what I've heard called "Generation Y", "The Millennials" or "Generation Why". (Admittedly, the last is my favorite).



Can you draw a conclusion? The first generation to grow up with technology and the rise of the internet. I tend to believe our use is more healthy than the this next generation, who can't get off their phones for ten seconds, given that the phones and internet have combined, and they don't even have to distract from each other. But while I don't have a tablet, or even a smartphone...



...well, yes. I spend too much time on the internet.



Living in a small town is much easier, mentally, connected to the internet. I've never been one to have all that many close friends, and none of my school friends are hear anymore. It's hard to only have good conversations in person once a month. Speaking of--another generational name is the "Boomerangs," because the economy keeps sending us back home.



The internet is an escape from that. I can talk with so many people who share my interests, and introduce me to new ones. Unlike driving, where I'm exposed to all people, and the majority are stupid: while there are, of course, more stupid people on the internet than perhaps anything else, groups of smart people have also formed their own pockets of sanity where we discuss cool things like literary critiques and Dr. Who inspired knitting. Geek crafts are the best!



Given that my time on the internet is spend on mental health, professional advancement, and education, I don't think I suffer too much. It's not like there's anything else to do. But perhaps going out for a walk while the leaves are falling might be a better way to refresh than the artificial light of the computer screen.

Happiness Is Only Real When Shared

If there's a single idea that I simply can't stand in fiction...by which, I can't or can only just bear to read it's the concept of The Chosen One.



And I find it difficult to articulate exactly why.



I think in part because it's so easy. Once you know that this story has a Chosen One, you know the Chosen One wins. Even in Star Wars, when the Chosen One goes evil, he still gets what he wants. Well, okay, that's not the best example, because I've never been a very big fan and I've only seen the original trilogy (the 'good' one) in bits and pieces, though I think I've seen more of it. And that's the story after the Chosen One's story is over.



So the Chosen One always wins. That removes a significant layer of tension right there. Not that you don't know most protagonists are going to win, or at least survive, in genre fiction. It's conventional storytelling, and I don't mind that. But Chosen Ones are born through prophecy, which by definition is true. And with some (even if vague) detail. Which is more information than I really want to know.



And worse, what the Chosen One does is right. I think that's my biggest issue. Because it's the Chosen One. He or She is going to save the world, has to be the one to save the world, and so no one else can tell them no. Generally, they can't be wrong. Even if they make bad choices, the absolute worse consequence is a slap on the wrist.



Okay, so I confess I haven't actually read many Chosen One stories. I tend not to be a big fan of genres that use that trope, and I avoid those stories that use it.



But I realized recently that I stopped reading Harry Potter when the Harry Potter as *the* Chosen One showed up. Not that he wasn't all along, but in some ways that could be justified by chance, accident. Lord Voldemort can't kill him by the Power Of Love (which I also find a more than a little aggravating, because it's so passive in that instance) and Harry has to deal with it. Instead, it turns out that all along Harry has been the Chosen One, and is the only one who can destroy Lord Voldemort. Yeah, there was some 'confusion' if it could be Neville, but since Harry Potter main character and what it says on the tin, even the other (good) characters don't consider it.



I haven't read even the fifth book and after all the commercialization, really have no interest in the series anymore. It makes me sad, but that's the way it goes. I have read both defenses and attacks on the later books, and I have to say the attackers have stronger arguments.



Maybe it's not as bad as that. But I've been burned enough, and unless it's the most awesomest of awesome books ever—and feel free to leave recommendations—the concept of the Chosen One is the idea that up with which I will not put.

Books
Because I love to read, and it gives me such access to such a wide world.

Cats
Especially cats who don't really know they're cats. And despite their reputation, they love attention and cuddling, and, of course, they are just so eccentric.

Blogging
I can talk about all sorts of niche-y type things, things that friends and family either don't know or care about, and would think me weird for even knowing. And so many people have such a great sense of humor with their intelligence online (at least on the sites I visit).

House plants
Greens and cleaner air. What's not to like?

Writing
When I manage to keep writing, I'm happier. And I get better the more I write. And my stuff is not nearly as bad as I think it is.

Art
As above, there's such a great sense of...inspiration...as soon as I start drawing or painting. Now, it's never in advance, thinking about my art, but when I actually sit down and just start.

Museums
Especially art museums of course. For instance, it's very difficult to appreciate the modern artists through tiny reproduced in a textbook, but when you can see the brushwork...



And visiting the actual items used by people thousands and thousands of years ago. Like everyone else with an overactive, easily fired imagination (who's inspired by old things) it gives me the shivers

Pancakes
My mom made these orange/ricotta cheese version that was just so rich and sweet and delicious...I suppose I could call this cooking, but a representative is easier.

Early mornings
I've been waking up at six in the morning for the past few days, so I can have the house to myself for at least half-an-hour. The sky is still dark except the slight burn of gold along the mountains. It's still cold and even the animals are quiet. It's a beautiful time to work.

Dreams
The dreams I remember are fascinating, and bright and beautiful and interesting...as so many others have described. And then there's that moment where you can't quite remember what's real.

Exploding Head Syndrome
This is real. It means that when you're just on the edge of sleep you suddenly hear this great loud bang, usually, and it shocks you awake.



I have that. Now, it makes me happy, one, because of the name--which you can't deny is awesome. And two, it only happens occasionally, so while I get a great jolt of adrenaline and half to go double check all the house locks, I can still get back to sleep.

kroppkakor

I can't say my mom's "big dumplings" are all that weird, but she didn't make them for me until I was in college, and they were a little different.



And not like those described by the taker of the photo, who refers to pork and onions, the so-called 'big dumplings' of our family still have the potato dough, but are filled with hamburger. And when they are finished boiling, you fish them out of the water, plot up some butter and sprinkle them with sugar. That's why I began to think of them as a little odd, sugar not being my condiment of choice with hamburger of any kind.



Maybe it's because we're Norwegian.



I mean, as far as I've found googling--which I acknowledge to be less than totally reliable--hamburger may never be used by anyone else in this kind of thing. So maybe my family just does it wrong. And generally the family style calls for butter and sugar topping everything from the lefse to the milk mush.



I love the family recipe book. At least for great-grandmother's Depression-era recipes. Simple, good, and filling. Perfect college fare.

'Cause I have trouble with plots.

Dark Trail

Plot? I work on much more organic level.



As in, I can barely write. I don't think I've written a word of fiction for several months.



Plot plot plot. Plot. Climax! Plot.



Yeah, I got nothin'.



Okay, seriously now.



Let's start with a girl.



No, wait, a boy. Guy.



Has a brother, ahh, twenties? Maybe don't want to get too far away from my realm of experience, or too close to previous characters.



Okay, so there's a character. That isn't plot. I need to get him at least in a situation. Say he's on the lower social strata...and I just looked at my bookshelf and saw "Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell" so let's make him magical! I've never written magic before.



So that's not a plot, and might be too close to Rogue Agent Gerald Dunwoody. Maybe he stole it?



Call him Blake for now. Blake the anti-hero? Don't think I can make that work. Guess he's just a little confused with not-so-great friends who stole the magic and dumped it on him for safe keeping. Which will get him in trouble. Let's put him space! That's a bit much. Here we have a character and situation and impetus.



What happens next? Find out in November!

Rusty Truck

I'm not sure I was a person until after high school.



So my advice would be: at least go out once. Talk to people on occasion. Read better books, because even though you read all the time already, no one takes you seriously unless you can quote random Latin literature. Make up is actually wonderful, and makes you feel pretty, as do clothes and shoes that at least fit. Cut your hair, it looks bedraggled and ridiculous. Smile more. Sneak into pictures on occasion: it's more flattering than sneaking out. Wear shorts and skirts more often, so at least you're equally freckled. No, I guess learning to drive earlier really wouldn't change anything. Apply to better schools, even if you can't afford to go. You can always wave the acceptance letter in naysayers faces.



Are you kidding? I wouldn't say any of that!



Well, maybe I should have talked more with my friends. At least gone hiking more often, up in the local mountains of which there were many. Gotten lost near A's house, up in the hills. And also, the smiling and wearing make up was good.



But, remember that time with A, when we went up past the pond that we used to visit when we were younger and still caught frogs and lizards? Only it was summer this time and almost completely dry, so we went exploring. Those old gnarled posts of juniper wood with strings of barbed wire weren't of enough of a deterrent when it's late afternoon and we were completely bored. And we walked past the rusting truck, although maybe you should have dared to go nearer, and then you might remember more than it was orange.



Her cat ran lightly alongside.



At least we didn't stop. Even we came across the bleached bones of some poor cow and could only regret that it wasn't the skull. Wasn't it a pelvis? The grey-green sagebrush wasn't too dense for walking, and we came up across that hill. After that, wow, we could see so far--the Warners dropped along the horizon looking even less looming since we were so high. It was a little scary then, because we turned around and it was sunset, and we didn't know where we were.



This is what happens when you don't have a trail. Even the fences were out of sight. Of course A knows the area better than you do, so the frisson of nervousness was better off ignored. Keeping back in a straight line from where was the logical thing to do.



Before long we came across the horses that belonged to A's neighbor--the last home on this side! Nothing but wilderness on the other. I wish she hadn't told us that, although we were still probably close enough. Still, it was good timing since the dark was really falling. We followed the barbed wire line around the horses and made our way to the end of the road and the cat wasn't with us. Even as long as we stayed the cat just didn't come back. And it was full dark and the cougars had been really active over the past few months. A waited anxiously by the sliding glass doors, but then we had to go home. If we hadn't gone too far, no one would have been lost. That's always the first thing I remember.



But when A called too late at night, it was because the cat found her way home.

Engrish

I would never, never say "I told you so"! Especially with a "Hah!"



In fact, I assure you I will go out of my way to assure you that you weren't entirely wrong, and in fact had many good points. Surely there were mitigating circumstances.



No, I promise I'm not laughing at you. No, really, just a tickle in the throat, you know.

Character is the first thing I look for when reading, but a definite, clear setting is a close second. Fortunately, I've been on a reading kick lately, and actually have an example that covers both.

The Accidental Sorcerer by K.E. Mills (pseudonym for Karen Miller) has strong characters that are fully part of their entirely fictional fantasy world. Which is especially interesting because I don't think the world is given a name.



I think that indicates how strong a fantasy setting it is. In this book, the first of the Rogue Agent series, three different countries are in play: or rather, primary protagonist Gerald Dunwoody moves from Ottosland to New Ottosland, the colony, which is entirely surrounded by the desert country of Kallarapi.



Never, in any of these settings, is the audience given a rundown of the political system, the laws, the culture or the population statistics. Instead, the characters move through their surroundings, and like people reflect only on what immediately impacts them. So Gerald doesn't really think about how his government operates, but as a third-grade wizard and cog of bureaucracy, we learn about out it operates on a day-to-day level, and more importantly the attitude the government has to its function. Gerald's whole story begins when, at the factory he was sent to inspect , there is an explosion as a result of lax safety standards. Instead of the illustrious company being investigated, Gerald is fired.



Because he is only a third-grade wizard, several self-important first-class wizards go out of their way to make him further miserable--a very clear class structure that is only emphasized by his absent-minded, genius-inclined best friend Monk who is so far up the social ladder that, while he cannot directly get Gerald out of trouble, he can make the others back off. However, when his own stunts go awry, he isn't immune from the consequences.



The focus of the book is Gerald's time in New Ottosland. Unlike the mother country, New Ottosland follows Tradition with the capital "T". They speak the same language, every building is an exact copy, and every king is named Lionel and every queen Melisande--as are the first male and female heir. Gerald's problem is the new King Lionel disbelieves in any need for advisors or anything other than strict obedience.



And war is brewing with Kallarapi, the desert that surrounds New Ottosland. Given descriptions of turbans, camels, and very prominent Holy Men and gods, at first glance, Kallarapi might read as the stereotypical middle-eastern backwards country. But holy man Shugat is, well, if not good, especially to our protagonists, at least right. Kallarapi is a fully independent county--it represents mostly how backwards New Ottosland has become.



The beginning the The Accidental Sorcerer is in many ways whimsical. There's a great deal of witty banter, and wry observations on the fabric of society. But the strongest part of the book, the most moving, is that there really is evil in this world, and no one can be perfectly good.



Evil is human, and there is death--and it actually affects the characters. Someone is tortured, and changed forever. Everyone is actually impacted by the end, and there is no magical healing.

A vivid imagination can do wonders for your state of mind.

Cubicle Panorama

I have a lot of affection for my hometown.



That said, I don't want to stay here for the rest of my life. And as much as I enjoyed being in the suburbs in college, I never really met anyone.



But more importantly, I'm very good at entertaining myself. I see no reason to define myself by what I do. If I have to take a job that isn't exactly what I'm looking for...I'll manage. I've always been able to generate interest simply by doing, by learning. So if I do end up in a cubicle, I'll just put a few pictures on the wall and resolve to work the situation into the next Great American Novel.



The environment, culture, feel of a place: those things have always had the greatest effect on my mood. If I can't go out, get some sunshine, meet my friends at the great little shop on the corner...I stay home. And the inside of any place gets the same stale feeling when you haven't left.



Whatever I end up doing, I'd better be somewhere I can live.