My Christmas Eve

I tweeted this, verse by verse. Its funny how twitter helps structure things.

The night before Christmas, at the Ayers Hotel
the decor and music weave holiday spells
The guests all are laughin' with holiday cheer
a sure sign as any that Christmas is near!
There's a tree in the lobby, stockings over the fire,
there's a fat lady wearin' some santa attire
There's garlands and ribbons all matching the mood,
a party next door filled with wine and with food!
But the food's not for me, and the wine I can't drink;
I don't have a stocking, or bells that go clink.
I admire the tree and the presents below,
and I'd surely go sledding if C.A. got snow,
but I don't get presents to grab and unwrap...
A Californian Muslim in December's a sap.

now I'm depressed. *sigh*

So cleanse thy pallate!

As fun as "The Itch Only Love Can Surpass" was to write, its a bit much to have on my front page...as the first post people see on the blog.

I'd like to note that it was totally written on an implied dare.

That...I chose to imply...

ANYWAYS. I finished Brandon Sanderson's Way of Kings, and it was really very good. I can't wait for the rest of that series, as well as whatever else he's going to be throwing the public's way. I'm looking forward to next year's Alloy of Law and The Rithmatist.

In the meantime, Winter Break means I've got a bit of time to work on the ever looming Will of Thedosis, which is now at about 22,000 words. I've been stuck deep in the novel's 6th chapter for...well, 4 months now. I have this feeling that once this chapter is done it'll start flowing out a little more easily. Its a long, sort of complex chapter...

Enough excuses! in terms of page-count its 67 right now and I'm just getting started. I think its going to be a good length. As its my first novel I don't think I'm going to be looking into publishing right away. I think I want to just be able to prove to myself that I can write a novel from cover to cover. Its very different from writing a play. I think dialogue flows a little more easily for me. This description nonsense takes me forever to get just right.

That's the other thing! I tend to write very slowly, very deliberately, with very little editing later. Some people suggest writing quickly and editing heavily after, to just get the ideas on the page before you loose them. Maybe I ought to try to build some new habits.

Might take a while though.

Anyways, I'm super tired and bogged down now, so I'm going to probably stare at my word processor for another hour or so and then give up and go to bed.

Merry Holidaymas to you all

“The Itch Only Love Can Surpass”

You could call this a fanfiction. You could call it an abomination against humanity.

You would be right.

“The Itch Only Love Can Surpass”
Based on “Dance of the Manwhore” by Adzuken, Sexual Lobster, Dutchinlive, Ultius, SPace, and mattpoop. (May be NSFW...)


“Climb upon my trusty steed,” Fernando whispered. The scantily clad woman, in her pale blue bikini, saw little alternative. Anything was better than being eaten alive by the enormous dinosaur chasing them.
“Alright,” she said, mounting the stallion behind him.
“Later you will taste my seed.”
“What was that?”
“Love as large as Brontosaurus,” he grunted past his flowing black beard. He drove the horse onward, escaping the lumbering reptile’s gigantic feet. The woman clung from behind to his musk-stained wife-beater, grasping chunks of chest hair in her hands for leverage. “Passion...like a bleeding walrus.”
Out of nowhere, a walrus of untoward proportions burst from the sand (for they had left the forest and were now apparently on a beach), ichor running down its cracked, dry backskin. Fernando grabbed the woman by the hips, and flung her forward off the horse in perfect gymnast’s form.
Unfortunately, she was not a gymnast.
She hurtled through the air, somehow landing on the walrus’ bloodslicked back. Fernando followed, straddling the weeping beast with his black-boxer clad thighs. The horse he had left behind was immediately trampled by the rampaging brontosaurus. The woman wondered what mysticism was afoot here. Could she be dreaming? Could this be some sort of-
“Our love is real, its no mirage!” Fernando bellowed, willing the walrus into the sea to escape the dinosaur. Unlike his handling of the horse, which seemed to lend itself to classical rider’s form, he seemed to coax movement from the walrus by thrusting his pelvis back and forth along its back, the ever-present blood acting as a lubricant. “Want to lock you in my garage” he muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” the woman asked again. The brontosaurus drowned as it attempted to follow them. The man turned, as if to taunt the slowly gurgling monster.
“This heart of mine is yours to capture, from now until VELOCIRAPTURE.” He screamed at the dying animal.
That’s not even the right kind of dinosaur, is it? The woman asked herself. But there would be another time to ask these questions. For now...
A giant squid burst forth from the seemingly calm sea. Fernando lowered his gaze, glaring at the offending animal past wild locks of hair, eyes and hair both dark as the void. He uttered his challenge to the leviathan past clenched teeth.
“Love is like a ripened squid...it stings with limp appendages!” He thrust his arm out to the side, the very foam itself forming a frothing mass about his hand.
“I wield my passion like an axe...it’s warm and gooey, just like wax!”
And just like that, the boiling sea did form a great battle-axe in Fernando’s hand. He faced off against the giant squid, preparing to rend its tentacles from its body. He went to work.
Tentacles slapped against the water, staining the white foam red.
“You cannot tame such juicy lust!” he cried. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back to the woman behind him, asking with genuine concern, “Can you withstand my manly musk?” Before she had a chance to answer, he turned to address the squid, in its death throes.
“Know that I can never hold back!” he cried, raising his axe. “THAT - MIGHT - BE - WHY - I - SMOKE - THE - CRACK!” he continued, bringing his blade down across the monster’s face with every wrenching word. He raised a shaking hand, covered in red ichor.
“Drenched deep in sweaty brine...” He formed it into a fist, asking the corpse, the walrus, the very world itself...
“Is this blood yours or mine?!”
The woman could see that Fernando was deeply distraught. She did not know why this man, obviously endowed with the magics of a long forgotten God, was so deeply moved by the events of the past 47 seconds. Surely his life among whatever pantheon of dieties he fraternized with was less eventful than the life-shattering minute she had known him. Suddenly, he turned, dark eyes framed in rigid determination. A single tear ran down his cheek.
“Tonight I will have sex with you.” he said. It was a statement of fact. A foregone conclusion. She didn’t find herself arguing. He gestured with his bloodied axe to the squid’s carcass. “Then, we will prepare a stew.”
“Fernando...” the woman asked. She had questioned long enough, and it was calm now...who knew how long it would take for another calamity to befall them? “Why did you choose me?”
“You scratch the rash upon my ass. The itch only love can surpass.”
She found herself moved by his words. Such poetry. In fact, every phrase he uttered carried in it an unsung song.
“Oh, Fernando” she moaned. “Please, regale me with more of your divine prose!”
“Roses are red, Violets are blue, I must eat yogurt off of you” he whispered into her ear. She quivered at the simple, primal attraction of those words. She leant in to kiss him...but he backed away, a perplexed look upon his face. He seemed distracted by something.
“...F-Fernando?” She said. He closed his eyes in deep concentration.
“Yogurt is a dish best served chilled...” he said, screwing his eyes shut. Finally, he opened them in realization.
“I forgot to get my prescription filled!” he said, snapping his fingers. She eyed him with concern, but the demons were gone. He turned to her, looking at her with the desire of a hundred men.
“Tears and screams of pain and pleasure are gifts we will share forever.” He said to her. He began to lean in, slowly, majestically. “Stalk like a lizard of the night...come closer, Fernando won’t bite.”
“Oh, Fernando...I LOVE you” she said. Fernando was once again gripped by the odd distraction that had taken him moments before. He looked deep into her eyes, raising his hair-encrusted fists to his own.
“My...father...never loved me” he whispered. It was half confession, half crushing realization. She sat there, on the bleeding back of the walrus, unsure of what to do. She thought to maybe console the weeping demi-god...
A man, clad in spectacularly clashing pink shirt and orange tie, rose from the sea. The water shed itself from his mirrored sunglasses, his hair returning to a state that can only be described as “carefully tousled”. He placed a comforting hand on Fernando’s exposed shoulder, but the man pushed him away, crying openly. Fernando disappeared into the frothing ocean, his tears mingling with the foam. The pink-shirted, orange-tie’d man frowned, eyes hidden behind reflective lenses. He shook his head, slowly. He returned to the sea off the walrus’ other side, leaving the woman stranded, in the middle of the ocean, on the back of a bleeding walrus, in front of the desecrated corpse of a giant squid.
She was eaten by sharks within minutes.

'The Will' - Dialogue Challenge

For Brandon Sanderson's writing exercise:

The Will

“Its quite a banquet out there, Nina”

“Its quite the occasion, Diogenes. A great victory for my tribe. You’ve changed the Bluefeet’s lives, you know.”

“People’s lives are constantly changing...everything we do changes somebody’s life.”

“Please, Diogenes, don’t be so modest. It was a brilliant strategy, well executed and effective in ways we didn’t think possible. The Bluefeet needn’t worry about the Bronzebacks anymore. You can count that a significant change.”

“I wasn’t without my motives.”

“Ah. Of course not. Well, my men recovered it in the aftermath. Here’s your book.”

“The Will of Thedosis.”

“Mmhm. Few know of it now, and even less follow it. The Bronzebacks do."

“Did.”

“Did. Did you think that if what you’re looking for is really in those pages, the book wouldn’t have disappeared?”

“I had considered that, yes.”

“And yet...”

“Nina, why do we think magic is magic?”

“Because...it...lets people do the impossible.”

“But does it? The Mages have existed your entire life, my entire life - we’ve existed in the same world as them for years, centuries...and in all that time, everything they have been able to do has been possible...technically. Because they could do it.”

“Well yes, but its impossible for you and me.”

“Alright...say there’s an archer.”

“There’s an archer.”

“A world class archer, the envy of every would-be marksman in Ter-Thalla.”

“Mmhm?”

“If he were to strike a target at the center, ten times out of ten, could you match his feat?”

“No...”

“Then how are the Mages any different?”

“Well its not a skill with them, its just...an ability. Its something that just happens.”

“What about a blind man then? Take a man, born without sight, who has developed extraordinary hearing to compensate. Could you hear everything he hears?”

“Probably not...”

“It doesn’t matter that some have it and some don’t. Magic exists, and its existence lets us accept it. Its...commonplace, in a way. What’s so magical about that?”


“What’s your point, Diogenes?”

“We think magic is magical because there was a time before it. It was bestowed on humanity, and at that point, it was an impossibility.”

“No, I mean what does that have to do with the book?”

“If there was a time before magic, the people of that time would have longed for it. Imagined the impossible and made it their dearest wish. Everybody’s done that at some point.”

“And now we have magic. Well, not we, but somebody...”

“So there’s got to be something else fantastic and impossible to wish for. That’s what I seek.”

“So you’ve decided to look in a dead book?”

“There’s a reason it fell out of favor.”

“Being?”

“Well I don’t know. But there was a reason. Political, philosophical, maybe it just went out of style. In any case, there’s something in these pages about what I’m looking for. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, but like I said, its a dead book for a dead faith. You think you’ll find a way to bring your wife back in there?”

“Not...well...”

“What?”

“...The detective. Do you know his purpose?”

“The one out there? With the crowbar?”

“I really don’t understand the fascination with the crowbar...”

“He’s investigating...a series of murders, I think.”

“And the razing of Azugrad city.”

“But that was the Bronzebacks. They set Azugrad ablaze...he thinks that’s related?”

“It is related.”

“But he doesn’t think so.”

“No. He doesn’t know.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because the Bronzebacks didn’t burn down Azugrad.”

“And the killer did?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because the detective is looking for me.”

“...Stay back.”

“Nina, listen.”

“The Bronzebacks never went near Azugrad, did they?”

“Does that change anything? They still terrorized your people!”

“Do you even know how many people-”

“Twelve. Eleven in Saphiir, one in Azugrad.”

“One? The city burned all night!”

“I killed one person. It was one too many.”

“What about the other eleven?”

“Eleven too many.”

“I...Thedosis, this is...”

“Would you let me explain?”

“No! Diogenes, what...no.”

“Nina, listen!”

“The soldiers, the ones the Mages sent from the Capitol, they never had a reason to fight the Bronzebacks, did they? They were looking for you all along!”

“And those soldiers, once again, saved your tribe from-”

“You just lured them in and tricked them into dying for our cause?”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“And they don’t know.”

“Our deal was simple. I helped you defeat those brutes and I got the book.”

“Because you wanted to bring your wife back.”

“Yes, but what I’m trying to explain to you is that it wasn’t ever just my wife!”

“What?”

“Look, after I lost her I couldn’t stay...I couldn’t keep fighting in that awful war. So I left, to sort everything out in my mind...and after two years of searching, the only thing I thought would ease this wrenching feeling in me was...well, revenge.”

“So you started killing people.”

“The ones I knew were responsible for the war. Davin, for the weaponry that made it possible for the people to fight back against the Mages...the generals and commanders, on both sides...”

“And that made you feel better? So that justifies everything?

“No! Well...it did, but only for a little while. And every time, I’d feel this relief. Just...utter relief. Sometimes only for moments, but in that moment it was worth it.”

“Worth it.”

“It didn’t last.”

“Oh no?”

“No, it was always replaced with this ugly mixture of guilt and...crushing anxiety.”

“Anxiety?”

“Well that’s the only word I can think of to describe it.”

“No, it makes sense. I’d be anxious too if I’d just killed that many people!”

“Nina, try to stop passing judgment for just a minute and try to understand what I’m trying to say.”

“What are you trying to say?”

*“That this book is my way out! Out of the cycle...because the guilt keeps building and building, and the only way it goes away is when I...”

“Oh my god...you...”

“But then you told me about this book! About what it could, maybe, do...for years people believed that this man, or God, what you will...Thedosis. People believed he brought down his magic from the outside and gave it to us.”

“Wait, just...”

“Listen. He made the impossible possible.”

“This isn’t a guarantee! I don’t know what’s in that book, Gene.”

“Could you not call me that?”

“What?”

“She called me that...”

“So there’s no letting go for you is there?”

“I told you, its not just her. You told me this Thedosis brought us magic. And that he supposedly wrote this Will to help us lead our lives.”

“Supposedly.”

“Its better than nothing. Every time I slit one of their throats, this guilt kept building. Its always right here.”

“And what if you can’t bring them all back then? What if there’s some limitation, or its all fake to begin with?”

“Then that’s the reality I’ll be saddled with. That’s what I’ll have to accept, and I’ll either find another way to settle my soul or go insane. Until then, any possibility gives me something to focus on. To ward away the guilt.”

“And what of the soldiers you manipulated? You did that after I told you about the Will. You can’t take back their deaths, even if you could bring them back. Not completely.”

“I couldn’t. But at least they wouldn’t have to suffer for my wrongdoing. I’d still be guilty, yes...but I can’t even ask forgiveness from a corpse.”

“No, I can’t believe...Look, if I had never even mentioned the myths behind this book would you feel any obligation to find a way to absolve yourself? No, you’d continue on this path, killing people until there was nobody left to justify murdering! What would ease your anxiety then?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’d just go on killing anyone? Reason or no?”

“Maybe. Probably.”

“Then why shouldn’t I walk right back out there and tell them all what you’ve just told me?”

“Because then there would never be a chance to bring any of them back! This book would be lost again, I’m sure of it.”

“You’re doing this for you.”

“Yes. Everything we do is selfish.”

“Do you honestly think you deserve a chance at redemption?”

“Only because everybody is supposed to deserve one.”

“So you deserve to ‘settle your soul’ with this impossible quest, or, failing that, delusion?”

“Everything we do is selfish...but everything we do also changes somebody’s life. Sometimes what we might need most can be what someone else needs even more.”

“And if you fail?”

“Then the hope is gone. That doesn’t mean I’d forget why I tried.”

“You’re trying to save your soul.”

“Yes.”

“And if that’s impossible?”

“It is impossible. But who’s known for making the impossible possible?”

“Thedosis...”

“Thedosis.”

“...Open the book.”

The Will of Thedosis

I'm currently working on a fantasy novel, inspired by the works of Brandon Sanderson (really a very talented writer, check him out, seriously), titled "The Will of Thedosis"

It was up until recently titled 'The Will of Prometheus', but I luckily managed to conjure a more original title. Here's the basic premise:

In the land of Ter Thalla, there is a city called Saphiir. Saphiir was ruled by an aristocracy of Mages, who use their magic to subjugate the common people. While they took care of their base needs, they governed in a way that stifled any growth or advancement on the part of the people. For example, the government controlled which businesses were granted the permits necessary to hire Mages - and in a magocratic society, its impossible to stay competitive without magic assistance.

So industry and technology are stunted as magic is used to solve most problems. Then, one day an inventor named Davin meets a revolutionary named Aguina in the town of Azugrad, over the blue mountains. He returns to his home in Saphiir, and sets to work on a secret project - the Davin Explosive Projectile Triggered Weapon.

Also known as the gun.

Soon, Aguina's revolution breaks out and spreads to Saphiir, and a common people's army rises. Armed with Davin weaponry, they find that they actually prove a match for their magical oppressors. At the same time, infused with the spirit of independence, the common people form up a group of scientists and researchers tasked with unlocking the secret of magic. Why do a select few stumble on the power that keeps the majority of the populace in the dark?

Through their research and meditation they stumble on what they at first thing is magic...and it is, but not in the conventional sense. They discover that there are two kinds of magic: The magic of the aristocracy, which they dub Extromancy as it allows one to control things outside of oneself. I.E. telekinesis, heating and cooling objects, etc.

What they discover instead is Intromancy, a magic that allows full control over brain and body functions. All of a sudden the limits placed on muscles by the brain can be tangibly felt and manipulated as needed. Hearing can be dimmed for improved sight and vice versa.

Those researchers who discover Intromancy become the Generals of the Common People's Army. Between them and Davin's guns, the tide turns...

just enough to reach a stalemate.

The council of mages convened and declared that to end the war the restrictions on the common people would be laxed slightly, and a single representative could join them on the council. While the people saw this as not nearly enough, the aristocracy felt deeply betrayed.

And so, in the manner of most compromises, nobody was happy. On the other hand, nobody was dying anymore.

And this all takes place before the book starts! Isn't that fun?

The book opens on Saphiir two years later. Davin and his son Leo has a growing business through a forge that prides itself on products made without magic. Entias Olloi, the Council representative of the common people is doing his best to earn equality for the masses bit by bit.

And a forgotten figure from the war returns, killing key figures from the days of that conflict.

Perry Curtis the common detective, Leo Davin the inventor's son, Douglass Olloi the traitor magician and Phillip Aguina, son of a revolutionary come together to hunt a killer...and discover secrets about the land of Ter Thalla that have been lost for centuries.


So there you have it - Part murder mystery, part hero's journey, part redemption tale and all fun...I hope!

Brandon Sanderson Signing!

So I attended Brandon Sanderson's signing today in San Fransisco at a great little bookshop called Borderlands Books. Its completely fantasy/sci-fi dedicated and its kind of amazing guys. So visit it if you're in town, because its got everything there to geek out, and the people are SUPER super nice.

But anyways. Speaking of super nice people, Brandon Sanderson is one of them! and I'm so glad that's the case, because if my inspiration and role-model of a writer were a jerk, that would...be sad. But he's super awesome so its Ok!

The Man, The Legend, The Sanderson.

So first he did a reading from the prelude (aka, prologue to the prologue) of The Way of Kings, his new book. And already I am hooked and can't wait to actually read it for myself. Its unfortunately been a long day with a lot of choir performances before and after the signing, so time has been sadly lacking.

The Way of Kings is a gorgeous book, possibly the only tome of its kind that I have ever seen. Its filled with in-world illustrations (because sometimes we forget that characters can be documentors as well) and it just seems like a really intricate piece of fantasy that needs some heavy duty reading. And I'm very very excited to do that.

I got a question in during Brandon's Q&A About book endings, asking how he approached them and if he knew how books ended as he wrote them.

So what he said was that he plots out books backwards, but writes them forwards. He outlines the big climactic events and works back to figure out how they happen.

BUT, and this was the interesting part to me, the characters are the most important part of the writing process from there. Namely, if a character forms in a way that doesn't allow the outline to play out a planned, then the outline gets chucked and redone.

This was worrying to me because with the Will of Prometheus, I don't know how it ends yet. I have a vague idea of how it ends, but (I guess in the tradition of Stephen King) I'm trying to discovery write this piece.

I guess I have my vague ideas and if something better comes along as things form more concretely, I let that take over.

Revelations like that happen all the time for me. Just last night I realized that the reason why the plot outline I thought I was going to pursue wasn't going to work was because I was trying to write the story as a murder mystery, when really it isn't a pure detective story. Its an epic redemption tale that happens to feature a detective and a serial killer.

that was huge because it means that I don't have to conceal the killer most of the time. The reason why THAT doesn't work is because...well, there's no way to conceal him. He's at the center of the story. its HIS story.

It'd be like trying to tell Star Wars from the perspective of Wedge Antilles.

Note: If that was too nerdy for you, I've listed a couple other (probably equally nerdy) analogies to help you out.

It'd be like trying to tell the Lord of the Rings from the perspective of Treebeard. (except that would be pretty cool...)

Like telling the Titanic (the Leonardo DiCaprio one) from the perspective of the captain. How foolish!

Like telling Harry Potter from the perspective of Professor Flitwick, or, dare I say it, Twilight from the perspective of a rational human being!

that kid Mike comes to mind.

BUT I ramble. Back the Sanderson!

He's got a running joke with his fans that people give him Magic, the Gathering cards because...he's a junkie. He's a HUGE nerd, basically, which is the best thing ever, basically.

A slightly more accurate The Man. The Legend. The Sanderson

So I not only got him a couple booster backs, but I did some original artwork for him, which he seemed to appreciate.

Here's a crappy photo of it:

If you can't read that words, it says "The King of Magic Systems"...because that is exactly what he is!

So he signed my books, putting in a note in the Way of Kings that said "Thank you so much for the art!"

because he's amazing that way.

ANYWAYS - here are the books I picked up at Borderlands today:

1 Hardcover Way of Kings (signed)
1 Hardcover Mistborn (signed)
1 Hardcover Well of Ascension (signed)
1 Hardcover Hero of Ages (signed)
3 Paperback Mistborn
2 Paperback Warbreaker
1 Paperback Elantris

AND here's a picture of my Brandon Sanderson collection. Because...its awesome.



So I got to tell him the story of how I walked into a bookstore one day, looking to rekindle my love of fantasy, and picked up Mistborn. I got to tell him about how that changed everything for me, about how he inspired me to get into writing fantasy. He said that he loves hearing that and to keep at it.

And so keep at it I shall.

He said he'll post the picture later, so maybe I can get some notoriety and a quality photo up when that happens.

Tomorrow I aim to blast the big post about the Will of Prometheus, that I can direct people to when they ask what I'm working on these days. Its pretty exciting stuff for me, and I'm thinking I'll post some sample chapters as well.

If I remember something I forgot, I'll add it in to this post as an edit. :D

A Symbol of Tragedy

This blog post was originally written for the other blog I started for my AP Lit class, but its also very relevant here.

the assignment:

Bring in a symbol of tragedy. This can be anything but please take time to think about this assignment so our contributions are multidimensional and thought provoking.

I admit I am sorely tempted to make this my symbol of tragedy.

"This was once part of a tree."

in actuality though, I'll probably go with the jester hat. I mean hey, I wrote a musical which also happened to be a tragedy, and the hat is a symbol in it. so that works!

also, the whole thing was sort of a...failure in an already dark downward (thankfully self-contained) spiral in my life. and really, who doesn't love layering in their symbolism?


Ogres love layered symbolism, onions love layered symbolism - you get the point.

so the above statements may need some background. As I said, I wrote a musical, and for the better part of last year I tried to produce a low-key workshop production of it. However, this soon proved to be a more challenging than I thought it would be. but first some more background on the background (read: layers)

the musical was a sort of semi-autobiographical uber-cathartic piece that focused on an immature crown-prince who finds himself simultaneously struck by the enormity of the looming responsibility implied by his uncle (the king)'s severe illness and very strong feelings for a court jester. I'll give you a moment to navigate that sentence before I continue.

The jester, with a sort of (retrospectively) psychotic obsession with truth and perception and truth in action and society and things of that nature (sort of a medieval Diogenes of Sinope, but with singing and dancing and...bisexuality, but we'll get to that later) basically leads the prince on for a while before ultimately running off with his sister (who has issues of her own of course, being a lesbian and a princess in the 1600's...obviously my sense of anachronism wasn't fully developed)...

This man + singing + dancing + bisexuality = broken reality.

So that's why it was sort of a tragedy. The play ends with the prince set to become king (because his uncle died and that was sad) and the jester and his sister run away to leave him completely alone to the task.

but on the bright side the token villain (a nefarious taxman named Quinn) is ultimately thwarted and his henchman, the inventor of a beverage known as 'Orange Juice', takes his place in the new regime.

as I said, its an anachronistic, often silly piece. but its got nearly 30 pieces of original music in it.

30 pieces of music. along with many, many spoken scenes that often had the characters waxing painfully verbose on issues of philosophy (in the guise of trying to justify homosexuality to medieval sensibilities, usually...) it was a long play, and a hard one to produce. But another problem was that I was dealing with a small cast of students who weren't really able to commit themselves to the project as much as I (regrettably) expected of them. Even still, I (ironically) tried to take the brunt of the responsibility on myself in that I was directing as I was scoring music as I was putting together sets and light designs and costumes and props and all manner of THING while (parenthetically) forgetting to gauge how I was acting towards those involved.

What basically resulted was three actresses in lead roles (namely the jester, the princess and the other princess I forgot to mention) withdrew in quick succession. At first I was able to keep it up by bringing in a last minute replacement for the jester, but the scheduling of the single performance was in line with AP testing that year, and the show was shortly after killed off.

I tried to play off maturely (mostly to make up for my conduct as everything was in the process of falling apart) with a cast-wide email explaining that although we were done I had no regrets because we all learned a lot and a whole bunch of other hippie crap I was having trouble convincing myself I believed.

However, only a couple weeks later my irrational anger began surfacing through really immature, vicious pranks directed at those I managed to convince myself were at least partly to blame. the consequences were less than pleasant, and I spent my 18th birthday at home - on a fairly hilariously timed one-day suspension.

'The Jester' has since become a symbol in my mind for another kind of tragedy, in that it sort of exposed me in quick succession to a lot of my flaws and weaknesses, and then became the arena in which I failed to overcome them in addition to the more palpable failure of the canceled production.

So there's the verbose blog post on that. Catharsis through writing still appears to be my style...some things never change.

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the post ended there, but I suppose I'll add here that yes, I do hope to try again someday with this piece. I've certainly needed some time off from it though.

The project I'm currently working on is a fantasy novel titled (for now) the Will of Prometheus, and its an interesting mix of political intrigue, murder-mystery and magical war, with a good mix of psychological drama in there as well. There will definitely be blog posts about it coming up, because I could talk about it for a long time.

[EDIT: The piece is now titled 'The Will of Thedosis" - for obvious reasons.]

I will say though that it is heavily influenced by the work of Brandon Sanderson, who is a god among men and a true storyteller among writers.

so if you've read his 'Mistborn' trilogy, know its a little something like that. I'll be glad to talk about that soon, especially after that bitter pill you just scrolled past.

also! consistency in updates! obviously something I'm a total whiz at, right? Having a readership you have to actually hunt down at least means that you aren't beholden to anyone to generate content which is GREAT...

See y'all later.

Storytelling and the Nihilistic Voice of Reason

I came to a sort of interesting realization the other day - the only thing I want to do is be a storyteller.

That needs a bit of background...See, when I was really young, I told my parents I wanted to be an artist. They didn't like the idea, possibly because they thought their little bundle of raw potential would go on to change the world one heart operation or civil rights court case at a time. I bounced between the idea of being an artist, an actor, an author, never deciding but always choosing things that made my parents go "....Why waste your life when you could do something MEANINGFUL!?" , and of course I ignored them. Meaningful to me is meaningful enough, I reasoned. I was a selfish child. In many ways, I still am.

So when I was in 5th grade, I read a book (which I still have and refer to often) on making comics, and decided that was what I was gonna do. I was gonna make comic books! Awesome, right? Enter the voice of reason:

"But wait, there are many different occupations IN the comics industry! Young Sikander, which do you want to pursue? Do you want to be a pencil artist? The inker? The writer, editor, letterer?"

Young Sikander’s answer? "Yes."

This should have been my first clue that I am a very greedy soul when it comes to creativity. I don't want to share, I want to have a hand (if not ALL the hands) in anything creative I end up doing. That's cool because it gives me full control over all the different aspects of a piece, of the ways it comes together.....but it also means I'm liable to burn out. fast.

Later, in middle school, I got way into video games and wanted to have a hand in THAT medium. The return of a thoroughly anguished voice of reason:

"But wait, there are many different jobs IN the video game industry! Young Sikander, which do you want to pursue? Do you want to be the concept artist? The plot writer? Do you want to chase after years of education in all the things you aren't that good at to be the programmer? The 3-D figure renderer?"

Young Sikander's answer? "Yes. Also, I want to do comic books."

Somewhere in freshman year of high school, I come to another conclusion: I really like theater! more specifically, I really like musicals...And I want to create them! I also came to the conclusion that I come to a lot of conclusions, and should keep myself from labeling any of my conclusions as conclusive. Anyways -

"*sigh* but wait, Young Sikander" intoned the voice of reason, now past the point of uncontrollable weeping and reduced to nihilistic apathy; "There are many different jobs involved in the process of writing musicals...which do you want to pursue? Do you want to write the book? The score? The lyrics? Do you want to direct, act, design sets or costumes?"

In classic form, Young Sikander's answer: "Yes. Also, comic books and video games. Maybe movies, too. Books are cool, I'll probably do a couple of those eventually...I wonder if I should start a gallery for these neat paintings I've been doing?"

The voice of reason: "...Alright. If anyone needs me, I'll be clearing out my cubicle. Not that anyone cares."

So that's where I was up till a couple days ago, and all was well. I'd written one musical (book, score, lyrics, etc.) and had gotten OH SO CLOSE to producing a workshop production of it (an endeavor which unfortunately met its end at the hands of insufficient foresight,). I find myself now pulling together the strings of another one (thankfully in collaboration). I'm working on a novel that has been in its planning stage for a good semester, slowly but surely. I spent this year working on my webcomic, "Twistheology" and developed my comic style and voice. I just hit 20 videos on my youtube channel (admittedly most of which is garbage, but there's some funny stuff in there) and I've got folders and notebooks of ideas just waiting to be mined.

And I realized that the one thing that tied together my various passions was this idea of storytelling.

Its interesting if you look at how everything layers up - I was drawn to comics because it is a medium at the crossroads of various other mediums with incredible power, each a medium that I had (and have) personal reverence for. It combines the power of visual art, of the written story, of dialogue given to a remarkably theatrical sensibility - all in a medium generally written off as worse than pulp fiction, as sub-pedestrian.

I was in turn drawn to video games because it combined all the artistic style of various animated movies, allowing for the same level of creativity as folks like Tim Burton, etc...All in a medium that was interactive in its storytelling, immersive in cool new ways. If you doubt that, just ask anyone who plays World of Warcraft and (as one of my closest friends does) use it to inform and inspire their own writing and storytelling. Once again, I found these qualities in a medium written off as base, as mind-numbing, as degenerative to the mind.

I was drawn to musicals because they're layered in a similar manner: They combine straight acting, music, dance, but also the expressiveness of any visual media in set design and costumes. I'm gonna tackle a few of these, one at a time.

The emotional hold of the theater is something I find was described really well by Denis Diderot in his essay "On Theater" as the only form of entertainment that could, to paraphrase, pull on the heartstrings of its audience so profoundly as to make a hypocrite see a hypocritical character and condemn him with the utmost sincerity.

Now, to paraphrase another great (this time in the field of music and choreography), Bob Fosse once explained the structure of musical theater as such: When the emotion is too strong to just say what you're feeling, you sing. and when its too strong to just sing it, you dance. Layers upon layers! who'd have thunk?

For a while after I'd discovered my love for musicals, I'd decided I was going to major in music, become a composer and use that to write the music. Shame on my for restricting myself, giving the voice of reason all that false hope. She (for the more I disappoint her, the more I begin to envision her as female) has come to be none too pleased with me and my indecisiveness.

But we come back to this idea of layers. I continue to find myself drawn to mediums that combine forms of art, of that raw precept of storytelling, because I do believe that I want to be just that, a storyteller and nothing more. Now, my parents are graciously accepting of this, gently pushing to make sure I know what I'm talking about and occasionally seeking reassurance that whatever I end up doing will help the world in one way or another. And I myself have gained at least SOME reason (I gave up mostly on the video game thing...though I'd like to do concept art design and maybe some writing someday) but still have this resolve.

I want to be a storyteller. Hell, I hereby make it my goal in life to be one of the great storytellers of the world in my lifetime. Think - If Shakespeare had been a painter as well as the writer he was, what would our canon of classics look like today? If Leonardo Da Vinci had tried his hand at writing a novel or two, what would he have written?

I'm making no claims to genius, but I want to leave no passion unexplored, no iota of creative energy unchanneled. Its not that I presume to think I have anything to offer the world - I hope I do, I probably don't. But I refuse to compromise for myself. I am as selfish today as I was as a child, only slightly more articulate and able to reason that along the way, yes, the world might get something out of it. Throw in the delusion that I’ll be fully able to support myself on those wages and we’re in business.

And so I make my final answer to the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I want to be a storyteller. I want to be a storyteller because it is the great crossroads for the mediums I love, each in their own right a crossroads of mediums I love. It is the synthesis of my every past attempt at synthesizing my passions and obsessions. But I want to be a storyteller also because it allows me to discover new mediums, new forms of storytelling in my future and bring them into the fold of my life.

And the voice of reason, poor girl, glutton for punishment that she is, comes back to ask -

"But wait, Young Sikander (for I am thankfully still young), there are various different jobs within this job that you just made up, each of which consist THEMSELVES of many different jobs. Which of them will you pursue? Will you be a writer of novels? A maker of musicals? A creator of comics? What do you WANT?!"

And I look into the face of reason, poor girl, a glutton for punishment, and say,

"Yes. Also, I'm starting a blog...We'll see how that goes."

Welcome!

Welcome to "The Obsessiforge", a blog to host the various creative endeavors of Sikander Sohail. I'll be updating and expanding this site to make it easier to keep track of my various projects (and boy are there a lot of projects). Just to give you a preview, I'm hoping to have pages for my projects as a playwright, author, comic artist and musician in the coming weeks. A page for my online webcomic, "Twistheology" is already up. Be sure to take a look at that.

So until next time, be sure you let your passions and productivity be Forged of Obsession. Ciao!