Workshop – Page 2 – Seeds of Fear

Becoming: Sublime 10

Change is a part of life. While it is natural to resist change, one cannot do so without creating yet more change.

Perhaps the greatest pain is to be changed against one’s will. This is a concept I had been exploring at length when Sublime was my primary project. By now, many of the influences for it are likely obvious, and I cannot call it a perfectly original work. Indeed, when writing it, I had become entranced by a particular season of one of my other hobbies, a trading card game.

Having read Dante’s Divine Comedy, I was familiar with the concept of a layered Hell, in which each layer embodied the just punishment for a particular sin. In Magic the Gathering’s presentation of Phyrexia: All will be One, I found a new, hungry interpretation of inferno, populated with machines seeking to make more machines out of those who are not. It is a particular type of horror, centralized on the fear of forced change, and it appealed to me greatly, and inspired me to make my own.

In light of this revelation, I seek to highlight some key differences. In doing so, it is necessary that I reveal information about this world I have constructed, including spoilers for the story, and information that is not meant to be known during the initial reading. It particularly includes details about chapters not yet released. You have been warned.

Firstly, and most distinctly, the story does not take place in some other world. The world of Sublime is our own, though changed beyond recognition.

Secondly, the change inflicted by the world of Sublime is not so simple as becoming machine. Indeed, at key points, the ideal form is machine, but each layer of this hell has its own idea of purity. The surface seeks to create ideal scavengers, and to create such oppressive fear that it’s denizens are inevitably coerced down, deeper. The second layer worships hybridization as it’s pinnacle, seeking to apply the benefits of both flesh and metal. Below is a layer the story explores only briefly, but one that carries the greatest difference: a world that seeks the greatest experience possible, that pursues the purity of sensation itself. This layer was most inspired by the Hellraiser movies and book.

A final key difference I wish to convey is the true nature of the reality I created for Sublime. It is one of impossibility. The scale of the world is one that exceeds natural limits, and defies physical constraints. Each layer is separated by distances measured in lightyears, and yet can sometimes be traversed in seconds. Change is the very nature of reality, and what is does not stay that way for long. An unfathomable power rules this place, and governs it’s relentless reconfiguration. If I were to write a sequel, the world of Sublime would be nearly unrecognizable in it. Very little withstands the urge to change and become other.

In closing, I will speak on the future. Indeed, I have considered a sequel to Sublime, and have a few fragments of writing to that effect. Whether it finds place in public view remains to be seen, as I have not touched these fragments in nearly a year.

I worry over reception of my work. I worry that I may be designated too derivative, though the primary work I derived my ideas from- Dante’s Inferno– is old enough that it rather escapes copyright infringement. Indeed, I have peopled this world with my own creations, but one can never overestimate the designs of a corporate claim. Is it enough that my work draws on so many inspirations that no one can lay a full claim to being the origin?

In time, all things end. All things give way to others. Even the light put of by the sun will one day become a different color, and then fade out. Endings are a thing I do not love, but I have come to accept their necessity. Else I might be suggesting that a world like Sublime‘s should come to pass.

The future is the present changed. Perhaps this is why it is so frightening.

On Incarnate 4

The science of politics in a dystopian future has no real hard and fast rules. Modern experience tells us that personal motivations can sway nations, if they come from one with enough influence. It takes little to imagine despotic oligarchs making selfish and short-sighted choices that the less fortunate must suffer the consequences of.

I often worry that I cut corners too readily, that I overtrim the fat from the meat, and end up with something so lean it has no flavor. I am ever grateful, spitefully, shamefully, for the popularity of pulpy media. It encourages me to write more freely when I see a successful work I, being as indulgent in my pride as can be tolerated, deem to be shoddy for one reason or another.

Envy and Pride. In my frequent efforts to control my relationship with the world, comparing myself to others never fails to catch me. Good enough is a curse, a phrase uttered by those who do not possess it, and shunned by those who do. If you call something good enough, it surely falls short of what you desire. Likewise, one often chases perfection whilst claiming only to seek ‘good enough’.

In the end, I think I am best served by a mantra that never fails to bring a smile to me. “What’s good enough for me, is good enough for me.”

In the end, we are our own debtors. Only I can pardon myself the sentence I have delivered. I, as a Mad God, have one hand upon the gospel of my own making, and the other drenched in the blood of shortcomings known only to myself. The fat is trimmed by my say so, and the culling is concealed in the production.

It is by my hand too, that butter finds it’s way into the pan, that seasoning is applied. If I am overzealous in my pruning, it falls to me to correct my course.

Finally, the dish must be sent away with whatever garnish is just. And it is up to the customer to make of it what they will; beyond the doors of the kitchen, it is out of my hands.

Bereft: on Sublime 8

In comes the new year. Looking back always tells me that I’ve changed with time, though I did not feel it happening.

This chapter is the first to arrive truly adjacent to the one that precedes it. It also seems to hold much more in the way of comfort. In my pursuit of variety, I ended up seeking to recreate the sort of atmosphere that appears when the protagonist of a war movie awakes in a hospital behind enemy lines.

Again I make use of dreams, which will occur with some frequency in this story. In this case, the dream sheds some light on a earlier, omitted period of time.

I am a little under the weather currently, so I will make this short. A lot of my time these days goes towards the fervent consumption of media: largely to moderate my mood, but also for the cause of inspiration. I struggle to read tragedy as much as I struggle to write it. A relieving catharsis invariably feels better than a sorrowful one.

But, the real danger when writing is that, as long as the work is unfinished, tragedy can be unwrit. Characters can be ressurected. The sentiment “No one stays dead” in popular fiction applies here. But the world can only seem so dark when only nameless characters are allowed to rest in their graves.

To counter the previous sentiment, life tells us that everybody dies. One day I hope my work will mirror that clinical honesty. I want my work to have readers on edge, knowing the other shoe is always waiting to drop.

Anticipating the End

Incarnate’s overall first draft is approaching completion behind the scenes.

There are parts in the middle I intend to thoroughly edit and rewrite, but the overarching narrative is largely in the last lap. I do already have ideas for sequel material, but they are currently half baked at best. I also don’t think the story needs a sequel or prequel.

I hope to avoid premature celebration, so I’ll ignore the temptation to reflect in a profound way, and instead take a general view of this stage of the process.

There comes a point in every process where you realize the end is in sight. There are impulses at such a time, to either rush through what remains or draw it out. Part of the draw of a serial format is the opportunity to indefinitely extend the lifetime of a work, to repeatedly introduce conflicts to resolve.

However, at some point, the characters must either cease to resemble themselves via growth, or experience a frustrating regression, if the story is to be truly indefinite. Furthermore, one runs the risk of alienating even the most devoted followers by wasting time. A story must have an ending, even if that ending goes something like “And then something else went wrong, ad infinitum. ” The original The Princess Bride book has a pretty noteworthy ending in that regard.

I really could extend this series for a very long time, I have a talent for perpetually expanding the universes I imagine. But I think that despite myself, I’ve come to appreciate the power of an ending. Besides, once I close out the draft, I still have many weeks of editing and publishing to keep me busy while my next big idea develops. Not to mention, I may yet release some of the more lighthearted work I make in the shadow of projects like this.

Not every ending is a new beginning. But every beginning deserves a satisfying ending. And if one thing is certain, it’s that I love starting sh*t.

On being Wretched

I believe my favorite book is and always will be The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. In particular, I have a fondness for a character who did not make the cut in my favorite film adaptation: Caderousse. Spoilers for that novel follow, and I do recommend reading it. It’s a bit long though.

For context, Caderousse appears at intervals in the novel, always on the wrong side of things. First, he drunkenly overhears a plot to condemn his friend, and is blackmailed into staying quiet. When he next reappears, he is the owner of an inn, with a wife who can best be described as sick in several senses. Here, greed and his wife control him, spurring him into murder over a small fortune. He reappears later, now a conniving thief, who finally dies at the hands of a villain he enabled.

Caderousse’s story is one of a man too weak to do what he knows is right, becoming wicked as he submits to bad influences. Throughout his first two major roles, he displays a significant sense of morality and loyalty, which are opposed by the company he keeps. His life takes a twisted path, and ends in a slow, terrified death, sweetened only by the presence of the man he failed to save.

I really love his presence in the story. He adds a layer of depth that cannot be denied. He is not outright a villain, but continuously acts out evil because he cannot find the strength to resist.

He is wretched. He suffers and becomes warped by his suffering. I frequently consider his contribution, wondering at the way a person can act against their own will.

I do not have much commentary on today’s addition to Incarnate, except to remark on how short it is. I considered tacking it onto the previous chapter, but felt that it would’ve been worse for it.

Beguiling: Sublime 7

By now, some of the inspiration behind Sublime may be revealing itself. For instance, there’s a scene in Hellraiser: Hellbound that inspired the section with the things beneath the sheets early in this chapter.

On my mind right now, however, is the question of history. Specifically, omitted history. When performing the written equivalent of a jump cut, or intentionally creating a time skip, there’s a lot that the reader is left to interpret. And I am left to question if I should revisit later on.

Perhaps I decide that the scene in which a mentor and student cover a new subject adds nothing to the narrative that justifies the impact on pacing, and axe it. However, the student later uses something learned from this omitted lesson. How much do you clue in the audience to the source of this knowledge? If the effect is key to the narrative, then the scene likely would have been included, perhaps as a limited flashback. Is it enough to simply have the student proclaim their gratitude for having attended to their studies?

Consider the tragic backstory already contained in the term ‘orphan’. How much explanation is expected when they meet a parent, alive after all? Which are the questions better left unanswered?

Changing gears; the end of the holiday season is approaching. Having spent time with family and friends has been rejuvenating for my psyche, but potentially harmful to the mindset I cultivate for writing. I find that in some cases, I am suddenly being pulled to once again shy away from delivering the maximum impact.

I am a merchant of emotion, and therefore devote much time to controlling, or in some cases unshackling, my feelings. If I am to deliver catharsis of the highest quality, I must first lay the groundwork with great angst and want. If I become unbalanced and biased, I may become too cruel, or too lenient. It is for this reason that I space out the time between writing and editing, so that, in a sense, two of myself, in two different states of mind, must approve the work before it is published.

With any luck, I’ll be back to my typical level of self-inflicted distress. I may never be able to avoid seeming like a sadist/masochist, but my work will be the better for it, and that’s all that really matters. Satisfaction is worth all the struggle. I’m not really helping my case.

Revisiting: Reincarnation

Many times when I’m writing, I’m struck by the idea to see things another way.

I will be up to my neck in a story that practically writes itself with how natural and compelling I find it, when along comes a half-baked idea that really mixes things up. One of the first projects I completed started as two chapters of dreary sci-fi noir and mystery, followed by the sudden compulsion to take the same characters and drop them into a fantasy world with political drama and full scale battles. I was pretty proud of the piece, but these days I look back on it with a hearty helping of shame. The pacing was a mess, the characters were flat, the very plot was contrived.

But the duality was the real reason I felt so proud. I had the ambition to form such a harsh contrast between two settings, and I was astounded that I told a story that made sense in that mess. Someday I’d like to revisit the concept, even if only for myself. They say behind every successful book a writer puts out is a closet chock full of incomplete and failed ones. I wonder how many unpublished gems are out there in the sea of reasonably withheld floatsam.

Even now, embroiled in blood and gloom, I get the fancy to drop my traumatized creations off in worlds of whimsy and light, just to see what they do.

I am my own character, I suppose. My own cringing and manic passion is the primary cause of countless inclusions and omissions.

I read a lot when I write, call it research or inspiration-fishing. The fact is, a certain sub-culture of fantasy has its hooks in me even when I dream of epic starship battles and futuristic stealth devices. How am I to resist daydreaming when my art of choice is laying literal daydreams onto paper?

All this to say that my projects have projects of their own, and Incarnate is no exception.

Dreaming: reincarnation

correlated to incarnate 1.2

I like to schedule my posts in advance, but I only finished editing today’s post a few hours beforehand. There’s a lot on my mind with this one, but I’ll narrow it down a little.

Zen. Boy oh boy, Zen. Name derived from the model number ZN001, also refers to a peaceful, tranquil state of being. Very ironic. Zen is a character that started out as little more than an idea in my head, with a different name, of course. I had this concept, the AI that had more to offer than just cold, calculated violence and oppression. Skynet always struck me as the most unthinking intelligence in fiction. It’s inspired, of course, but it almost takes for granted that upon the very moment that machines gain sentience, they will turn on their creators. It’s a little absurd. Then you have things like ultron and hal-9000, with a bit more nuance, who follow their design faithfully, but become warped by the imperfections of their creators and so attend their mission with warped perception. The idea of Zen started with the horrific power of an ideal strategist, and a mind with desires beyond mere subjugation.

Let’s talk about dreams. A lot of my ideas originate from dreams I’ve had. Early in my teenage years I had a number of dreams that centered on violence and psychologically disturbing thoughts. These, I believe, set me on the path to developing some of my darkest characters, ones I needed to explore the places those dreams had brought to the forefront of my mind.

Dreams rarely make sense after we wake up. Their plots are messy, their characters are caricatures, and their purpose frequently seems obfuscated if it isn’t waking up to go empty your bladder. With the unknown necessarily comes unease. Even when the dream is not a nightmare, it’s strangeness compels us to become mortician, to dissect and autopsy it. We look for ourselves in the entrails of the fleeting images. Sometimes we get lucky, and our subconscious has left a message for us. Sometimes it all turns to ash before we can perform augury.

Writing up fake dreams is rather new for me. I have to act the subconscious, and create an abstract world that conveys my meaning, while also matching that level of incoherence that renders dreams so mysterious. And then I have to work backwards, and have the characters interpret the work, derive meaning without stealing it from my omniscience. Seeing everything and saying little is rather painful. Once in a while, you have to lie.

Beneath: Sublime 3

There’s a lot to talk about with this one. First of all, no, I did not accidentally skip a chapter. Sublime is a story about confusion and disorientation, finding yourself somewhere that does not necessarily fit with what came before.

Secondly; it’s been less than a week since the last chapter. In light of how short the previous section was, and because Incarnate will be uploaded on Mondays, I elected to have Sublime moved to Thursdays.

Now that the immediate house keeping is out of the way, details. The surgeon! This scene is part of the very heart of Sublime. It’s painful, it’s visceral, it’s violent, and it forces the reader to think and imagine explanations. It’s also one of the most savage scenes in the story. Perhaps my exposure to Greek theater has tainted the way I deal with things, but I have a love of offscreen violence as a device to invoke the reader’s imagination. I’m not against making a visual massacre, of course, but subtlety abhors a battlefield.

Next, if you’ve been keeping up with these workshop posts, you’ll know I tend to agonize over names, and you’ll have thoughts as to the ones that appear towards the end of the chapter. All I can really say, is that I have my reasons for not changing these.

First Incarnation

This is it. The story I made this site to publish. I have more reasons than that, of course, but while working on this story, I arrived at the realization that the way I wrote could function as a serial. The seed was planted here.

Speaking of incarnations and iteration, this story originally had a very different name. I was coming off working on Sublime, and the prefix was still rattling in my head. Subjugation was the original name, for reasons that may already be apparent. Survival, resistance, and control are important themes in the story, and it seemed fitting to have the title reflect that. But then, I decided to serialize, and decided I wanted a title with a little more je ne sais quoi.

I actually worked on another project after Sublime, a piece meant to follow a cast of characters in the same setting as the aforementioned story. I wanted to create something poignant and compelling, and perhaps tragic. I found, however, that I had pushed a little too hard. The setting had become too familiar, and therefore unfulfilling to dwell in.

Incarnate has roots in my desire to create characters who change. It also has roots in my desire to reexamine an archetype I had only explored briefly.

I once read a lecture on the subject of what constitutes a mind: “Minds, Brains, and Science” by John Searle. In it, he made a pretty convincing argument about the misconception of what a computer can do. The central concept is that a computer cannot think in the same way as a person, because it cannot understand what it does. It knows how to do the things it is programmed to do, and it can be taught to do them more effectively, but it does not grasp the importance of the concepts it manipulates.

This argument had a profound effect on me. I began to view the discussion around the dangers of AI as a bit of a farce, because a program gaining sentience seemed like a joke. But that lecture also pointed out that the human brain is still pretty mysterious, so who’s to say we won’t accidentally create a circuit that thinks for itself due to a factory defect?

This story is about artificial intelligence, but not the kind that writes your homework for you, or the kind that turns homicidal because of a paradox. It’s about an intelligence created artificially, dealing with the kinds of things any intelligence would if placed in its circumstances. I wanted to create a character with a little more nuance than the Hollywood star who only knew how to be evil because of some faulty logic. I have to admit, I was heavily inspired by AM.