Behind the Pallid Mask

Meditative Vision

2010-02-22T09:35:00.002-06:00

Over the weekend I attended a Yoga & Guided Meditation class. It was very nice and relaxing. During the meditation section, I really let my mind wander, blank and empty. It was like being in a light, dream-filled, sleep. And in that sleep I had a "vision" - nothing Earth-shaking. It was just a nice little image that felt relaxing and well-suited to the kind of meditation we were doing.

Against the backdrop of a dark bamboo forest at night, a low stone wall rested against a hill. Leaning against the cool stone was a small black and white panda, gazing longingly at the bright grey-white moon in the black starlit sky.

Like I said, it was a short, brief, image, but very relaxing.

Dread Zombie follow-up

2009-09-18T10:21:00.003-05:00

After talking with my players and getting feedback, I realized the truth in the statement "you are your own harshest critic."

I thought I didn't do a great job giving everyone spotlight time. They seemed to disagree. Most felt like they got enough time to shine and have their character do stuff.

I thought I "shot down" player ideas. They disagreed. Example: a player attempted to leave by the back door. I said that "They" parked a truck in front of it so you can't get out. I wanted to give her something, though, for her effort, rather than just "No you can't go that way" so I threw a clue in the form of overhearing some plans. Afterwards I felt like the clue was too small/lame. She disagreed. "As a player, I didn't expect to get out." And she felt the clue wasn't lame.

I thought the plot seemed slapdash and incoherent. They liked it and were able to follow it. Though they agreed that at times it felt like they were going in circles.

So... overall I'm not going to improve my game's grade (which I gave a B+), but I am going to feel happier about it. It was fun. And that, after all, is the most important part.

That was ... interesting

2009-09-16T20:54:00.003-05:00

Just got home from the Zombie game of Dread I mentioned in the previous post. Now I'm trying to figure out if it was a wreck or a success.

First, the most important question: Did I have fun? Yes. I did. Most of the time.
Second, did the players have fun? Yes. I think so.

Cons:
- Half-n-half doesn't work.
I wanted to run an improvised game, but was too nervous to fully commit to said improv game, so I prepared notes and clues and scenes and stuff. But since I didn't want to prepare too much, I only half-prepared. Important lesson: half way between improvised and prepared is a dangerously non-committal game which confuses both players and GMs.

- Silliness.
I wanted to run a more serious game with players more invested in their characters' fates and personal stories. I would say this only succeed at about 33%. Only about a third of the time did I feel like I go to make good use of interesting character quirks, draw out intercharacter relationships, or create clues or scenes based on the characters. I will in no way place blame for this on my players.

I gave each player a few scraps of paper and they occasionally passed me notes, and I passed them notes. In a couple of instances players passed me "hey this would be cool for my character" notes or took me aside to tell me them secretly. Actually, these worked out pretty well. The problem was that I didn't feel like I, as GM, did enough to encourage this and to make sure every player got an opportunity. At least one player got left out of the spotlight the whole game. Sorry, Allie. That was my bad.

- Ran out of ideas
Towards the end I really started to run out of ideas and felt like I was making the players pull for things that were silly. I also felt like my default "I can't think of anything" solution was "hey look, a zombie!" It felt too cheezy after a while.

Pros:
- The players (thankfully) acquiesced to my story premise: you are locked in the building with the zombies and a "clean up crew" is on the way.

- We all seemed to enjoy stealing classic zombie tropes
Someone was already bitten. Someone had been part of top-secret experiments before. There was the classic stereotypical lab. We had some great ripped-from-the-slasher-flicks characters. It was lots of fun.

- The End!
Even though a split party proved a challenge for me, it ended well. One group escaped by helicopter (first character death of the game was a Heroic Sacrifice to take a bullet for the chopper pilot). The other group descended into the secret basement labs, then the sewers.

In the sewers the climactic moment was a series of inter-player conflicts (bid a number of pulls, highest bidder wins, but has to make those pulls) in which one character shot at another (missed), then was attacked by a third character (and died), while the fourth character tried to steal the stolen data and escape (and got shot by the dying first player)!

Overall:
I think I'm going to chalk this one in the "Win" column. I had fun. I'm pretty sure my players had fun. There were some rough spots, but we pulled through. It was silly, but in a campy zombie-flick sort of way. And the mistrust between characters, the paranoia, was palpable and resulted in great end-story conflicts.

If I had to give it a letter grade? B+. Solid effort, clearly there's something there. With a little refinement, a better hold on the reigns, and a clear decision between full improv or full preprepared, this could easily be a solid A game.

Tower Corp: a game of Dread

2009-09-16T16:24:00.004-05:00

Dread has to be one of my favorite RPGs. Ever. It does survival horror PERFECTLY. But that's for another post.

Right now I have about 30 minutes until I'm going to run a game of Dread and I am nervous as hell! I'm not normally a nervous GM for RPGs. But this time I am trying two very dangerous things:

1. I'm trying to keep the game largely improvised. That means planning less. That means a scary feeling of no control.
2. I'm running a Zombie plot. Zombie plots tend to be fairly open-ended. And the last time I ran a zombie plot the game felt like a failure (I didn't have fun and from my point of view the players looked bored).

I am terrified and excited and eager for and dreading this game.

Here's hoping it works.

The basic premise:
The players are all employees of Tower Corp. After working late one night they are about to leave when suddenly a strange man (zombie) attacks one of them. The well-meaning security guard insists that everyone stay put until an ambulance and the police arrive. But instead of the police/ambulance, a team of pseudo-CDC types arrives and locks down the building.

They say that a CDC Incident Evaluation Team is on the way, but that's a lie: it's really a "clean up" team who are there to eliminate any witnesses or traces of infection.... with extreme prejudice.

Meanwhile, the players will have to deal with zombies and each other. Hopefully they'll want to investigate the cause/source of the zombies and find it in their workplace.

Dear lord I hope my players are willing to take as many chances as I feel like I'm taking with this.

Vacation Photo

2009-08-28T15:33:00.001-05:00

Here's a stereogram photo I took while in Glacier National Park. I sometimes stare at it when I need a brief moment of relaxation. That was, I think, one of the most beautiful scenes I saw in the park.

Happy Birthday HPL

2009-08-20T09:01:00.003-05:00

It's been a while since I posted, and the 109th celebration of the birth of my favorite author, HP Lovecraft, is as good a reason to write as any I can think of.

Rather than expound on how Lovecraft has introduced me to many other authors (some because he influenced them, others because they influenced him), I thought I would post two (semi-self-promoting) links.

The first is a link to a radio drama version of "The Statement of Randolph Carter" in which I played the title character. I highly recommend listening to the other episodes of The Cthulhu podcast, since they are all excellent, and provide great historical insight as well as good stories.

The Statement of Randolph Carter
the Cthulhu podcast

The second link is to a "choose your own adventure" style story I wrote for Pelgrane Press. My main inspiration for the format comes from the solo adventure books from Chaosium like "Alone against the Wendigo." Please please please tell the folks at Pelgrane Press if you like the story. And if you think the story could use work: please tell me! I would love to get feedback on my writing.

The Invitation, a pick a path adventure for Trail of Cthulhu

Looking forward to hearing what you thought of my contributions to the mass of Lovecraftian content out there.

Dream, night of July 5

2009-07-06T08:18:00.002-05:00

I worked at a very high class business and lived in the same skyscraper. One night when I returned to my loft, there were people waiting for me that I did not recognize. They had a strange aura about them, but it wasn't until they showed me something that I realized they were not of our world.

The next scene that I remember is standing on a beach just outside of the city, looking back at the skyline. There, floating above the city, were the aliens' spaceships: titanic hovering boxes of varying sizes. Some were long and narrow, others wide and tall. In all they gave the impression of a surreal cloudscape.

When I turned back to the beach, I saw one of the alien craft had landed in the sand. Rather than the smooth sides that I expected, the surface was covered by numerous small doors. Overcome by curiosity I began to open the doors and saw that each door opened on a deep, narrow compartment set into the cube. The depth of each chamber should have caused them to overlap and intersect, but the alien physics were such that they seemed to ignore this rule of physical space.

A crowd gathered and some began to explore the cube as well. No one could understand the purpose of the cube or the chambers built into it. The mystery grew as reports came in from around the world that other, similar, cubes had appeared.

Near me a man exclaimed excitedly that he had determined the purpose of the chambers and the cube. Each chamber was meant as a storage locker. The bottom of the locker was a sliding platform. I was struck by the similarity to the body lockers found in morgues.

The world descended into tumultuous debate. Many people wanted to cooperate with the unspoken alien demands: to volunteer themselves for storage in these cubes. Others wanted to carefully select the sample of humanity that would enter the cube. Still others weren't convinced that the lockers were meant for living inhabitants, that instead inanimate artifacts of humanity should be included or substituted.

In the end I remember either volunteering or being selected. But I don't remember if I went into one of the chambers or what happened thereafter.

Behind? I don't mind

2009-04-06T20:53:00.003-05:00

I'm definitely feeling some pressure to keep pace to succeed at Script Frenzy. I'm at 16 pages as I sit down to write tonight. If I'm to stay on my self-appointed pace of 4 pages/day, I need to cram four in tonight. Doable.

I'm a little anxious, but really enjoying this challenge. Much more than NaNoWriMo. In fact, after this, I may try to adapt another story into an audio drama... and then try to record it!

Spreading the Love(craft)

2009-04-03T11:39:00.003-05:00

A coworker who I thought was pretty "normal" (ie. not interested in nerdy things like discussions of how to survive the zombie apocalypse) recently revealed that she is, indeed, a bit nerdy. In fact, she did this by commenting on my copy of the Zombie Survival Guide that waits on my desk in case of emergency, and starting up a conversation about how to survive the zombie apocalypse.

A couple days ago she asked if I knew the name of that one author... she'd heard him recommended as a good horror writer, but couldn't remember the name. He wrote like weird stories or something. Like Cthulhu or something like that?

LOVECRAFT!

So, I just finished typing up an email and sending it off to her so she can dabble in HPL. Hopefully I suggested some good ones to cut her teeth on and not get turned off by Howie's occasionally archaic writing.

Here's the list I sent:

My Favorites (in no particular order)
Pickman's Model - nice quick short story, super creepy, and the ending is great
The Rats in the Walls - man moves into his family's ancestral estate, discovers rats in the walls and ...
The Statement of Randolph Carter - This is a good one, too. I also did an audio drama version of it with some internet friends, but you have to find that on your own if you want to embarrass me by listening to it ;-)
The Cats of Ulthar - be nice to cats ... or else!
Herbert West: Reanimator - HPL's spoof of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (which he did not think very highly of). There's also a super super cheesy 1980's movie adaptation of this story, but it's not that great.

Canonical works - these are ones true devotees and Lovecraft scholars insist are the best examples of his work.
The Call of Cthulhu - considered by many to be the epitomy of Lovecraft's work. It's a good story, but not my absolute favorite
Dagon - quick story, has a great ending that always gives me chills
Nyarlathotep - very bizarre. Like many stories, based off of Lovecraft's dreams
The Shadow Over Innsmouth - Longer story, but pretty good
The Dunwich Horror - don't tell the Lovecraft people I haven't read this one yet!
At the Mountains of Madness - a novella and kind of a long read. It's a great antarctic horror story full of mystery, exploration, and bizarre horror. I'd only recommend this one if you read

It's exciting to be able to share my favorite author with someone.

Session 2

2009-03-16T21:09:00.004-05:00

Mostly thoughts about GMing an improv game and the nature of The Armitage Files as such.

To summarize Kyle's input, I'm running the game both too "sandboxy" and at the same time not "sandboxy" enough. Basically, I need to either give the players a lot more leeway, and run with what they do, or I need to more clearly define the boundaries of the plotline.

How to do that?

Bold and __Underline__ and Highlight the major clues and important scenes.

Examples:
Jamie talking to Dr. Clever at the circus - Dr. Clever didn't have information about the topic Jamie was asking about, but he does have other sinister secrets. But I was too wishy-washy through the interaction.

Interrogation of Olaf Olson - there had been fairly strong build-up to this encounter, but the information offered didn't satisfy. Not in a "oh I guess he's not the guy" sort of lack of satisfaction, but more like "The information we did and didn't get, didn't live up to the build." Olaf was supposed to point to the Circus, but I dropped that clue in small type amidst a long list of non-information, dead ends, and little clues. Without the bold highlight, the Circus didn't seem that important.

Something the Armitage Files is missing: Advice on running an improvised campaign or scenario.

Armitage Files does offer a scenario spine worksheet, but doesn't develop that thoroughly enough for Keepers not experienced with running improv or freestyle-like games. I think The Armitage Files would do well to include an article along the lines of The Three Clue Rule.

I really think that I'm starting to learn that I need to have a solid story idea in mind in order to feel satisfied when running a game. Perhaps that's just my inexperience with improvised gaming. Although...

I think what I did after Session 1, I should have done before Session 1. I think, instead of making cards for every entry, I should have made cards for the entries that I wanted to be important, with notes about the important clue elements. That way, if something wasn't important to the story, I could just gloss over it, and in the meantime, the important stuff would be well prepared, and that would serve to boldify, underline, and highlight the relevant clues.

It would seem that it takes MORE work to prepare an improvised game than a pre-written one. I'd have to try running another improv game or two in order to find out for sure. We'll see...

The lesson from this session:

Identify the Major Clues ahead of time, and when they are encountered, put them in BOLD BRASH TEXT. Minor clues, red herrings, and dead ends, should be in regular text or at least clearly defined as alternative plot-lines not necessarily leading to the Grand Conclusion.

But the most important question...Did I have fun?

Yes. Lots.

Armitage Files - Playtesting Session 1

2009-03-09T22:11:00.004-05:00

I think this session went very well. I had a lot of fun, and my players did too. We went in and out of humor, but when the in-game goings-on got intense or suspenseful, the mood was appropriate.

Generalities out of the way, here's some details on how I felt about things:
1. I felt less prepared than I would have liked. This is partly due to the nature of how I am going to run the campaign: improvised. I have not run a lot of fully improvised games before (one - as a play-by-post). I was not sure how to prepare, and so I decided on reading and rereading the MANY entries for people, places, and things in the campaign material.
1.a. I made awesome notecards (see below) by typing up very short notes about some of the entries (the ones most likely to be encountered in the first session) and attaching them to old Call of Cthulhu:CCG cards.

1.b. I think those worked out really well, but for the rest of the cards I may try to add more info and leave room for adding notes during play.

2. The material. I feel like there is a lot going on in the first two documents. There are some leads mentioned in passing in the documents that my players picked up on that are not covered in the corresponding document keys (Document 1 examples: the Hornets, the Red Box). This contributed to my sense of under preparation, since I hadn't readied that material.
2.a. I used Olaf Olson's sinister mode. Wasn't sure how to deal with him at the military base. I think I may have mishandled that. Redo? I would have said the military had no record of him, since it hadn't happened yet, and tried to hint later that he wanted to join the military to better/redeem himself?

3. Future plotting. I'm a little nervous about keeping all the details and plot-lines straight. I have audio from the game to review, so that will help. Though I'm a little nervous about maintaining a clear progression.

4. This should have been #1. LISTEN TO WHAT THEY SAY WHEN THEY TELL YOU TO HAND OUT THE DOCUMENTS AHEAD OF TIME!!! This ate up a TON of time and dragged everything down in terms of pacing. Either send it ahead of time (Note to Simon: include with purchase of game .pdf handouts for the documents) or bring multiple copies to the game (Note to Simon: layout the documents so there are not two documents on the same page. ie. use page breaks).

5. The material is excellent, and I can definitely see myself running the same material through a completely different lens and getting another wonderful story. I hope I get the opportunity to!!

-----
Notes added during/after listening to game audio.

Document 1 - The players all felt that the document was very rambling and incoherent (it is! it's supposed to be). But they felt that it was very difficult to weed out the useful/relevant information. I suspect that this problem would be alleviated or minimized by giving the players the documents ahead of time, thus giving them more time to absorb and filter.

Procrastinating

2008-11-01T10:15:00.004-05:00

It's Nov 1. Time to start on NaNoWriMo. Which, of course, means, it's time to procrastinate. Why? Because starting on a project like this is scary. Not scary like monsters and tests you didn't study for. But scary because I have to pick ONE projects and carry it through for a whole month!

My situation right now is: I can either choose a project that I've been thinking about for a while, or start a whole new project that I know nothing about.

Advantages of project 1: The Known World.
1. I already have ideas. So in theory it should be easy to develop those into 50k words.
2. It's something I've told someone else about already, and they said "cool." So that provides some additional motivation.

Disadvantages of project 1:
1. I've had long enough to think about it for it to turn into one of those "pet projects" that has to turn out just so or I won't be happy.
2. It's a "collection" idea. A collection of short stories. So in theory it's a bunch of ideas that I would have to work on instead of just one.

Advantages of project 2:
1. Clean slate, with plenty of opportunity for inspiration.
2. No connections to other projects. No pre-set expectation levels.

Disadvantages of project 2:
1. I just did a couple of 30-minute test-writes that yielded some great material. But they were all done before Nov 1, so I can't use those words.* I feel like I used up my good ideas.
2. I feel an attachment to project 1, and want it to happen.

So here's what I'm thinking:
Project 1 has too much emotional attachment. Even though Project 2 has the scariness of a new project, I think Project 1 has too much risk. So I'll try project 2.

Now I just need an idea.

30 minutes, unedited

2008-10-29T14:24:00.003-05:00

I'm going to write for 30 minutes and see what comes out. I had an idea on the way over to the coffee shop, and we'll see what I can make of it.

"Hello Margaret."

"It's Maggie. I've told you that a hundred times. Honestly, professor, I think you do it just to piss me off."

"Margaret, I would never do anything to anger you!" He replied with a rye smile.

"The usual?" She asked. I guess I should have said a dry smile. He'll have a rye smile after that shot. And the next. Honestly, I don't know why he buys the cheap stuff. It's not like money's an issue.

I've seen this guy in here every Friday night for the past year. Well, almost a year. I only moved here ten months ago. Whatever. I got nothing against regulars. If I did, I'd be a hypocrite, wouldn't I? Now, I don't fault the guy for ordering the same thing every time, either. I just don't see why a guy who comes in wearing a brand new several-hundred-dollar suit orders the cheap stuff.

"So, how's things, professor?" She leans over the bar, her ample frame causing the old wood to sag imperceptibly.

"Well damn it Margaret, I need a good librarian and I can't find one anywhere!"

My ears perk up as if someone lit a Q-tip on fire. Maggie knows I'm studying to become a librarian. She also knows I'm out of a job. She's got to point him my way, but I don't know if I want her to. I mean, I'm only half a pint away from being soused. Shit. I try to straighten my collar, but he's already headed over to my lonely corner table.

"Excuse me, sir, but are you Aaron?" The 'professor's' breath reeks of cheap rye whiskey. He's got a low-ball glass of the stuff filled to the brim with one thin token ice chip in it so he can call it "on the rocks."

"Yes. I am." I respond, trying not to look like I've been slouching over beer after beer for the past three hours.

"I uh... Well... Let me introduce myself. My name is Professor Charles Wade." I lift my hand to shake his extended wrinkled hand. I feel like there's a lead weight on the end of my wrist and his grip is like the blacksmith's forge. I pull back sharply, then force a chuckle, hoping I didn't offend him.

"Well, in any case, it's a pleasure to meet you." He continued. "Margaret kindly directed me to you in response to an inquiry I have. You see..."

He's still talking, but I can barely hear him. The beer is roaring between my ears, and the juke box just kicked in, blaring god knows what over the speakers. The background din slowly fades as the professor leans in and talks at me, inches from my face.

"...for a book that no other librarian seems to recognize. But Margaret said you are a little more familiar with things that others are not. That is, your expertise lies in areas not usually pursued by those in the library profession."

Oh geez. What did Maggie tell this weirdo? I pulled over a chair from the next table and offered the professor a seat.

"Look, uh..."

"You can call me Charles."

"Look, Charles, I don't know what Maggie told you, but I'm not a librarian. I'm still in school studying librarianship. I've got two years left of school before I can get a job just putting books back on the shelf. If you're looking for a lib--"

When he pulled out that drawing it was like he sucker-punched me in the gut. All my breath left me. My vision narrowed. All I could see was his crumpled napkin stained with spilled whiskey and feathering, bleeding, black ink. He read my reaction like a book.

"You understand now why I need you and not any other librarian."

"No. No I don't understand. You don't need me. You need someone who specializes in tracking down rare and out of print books. Have you tried the web? No wait. You don't need that. What you need is someone who can find books that don't exist. That and a good shrink."

I slammed the rest of my beer and instantly regretted it. The bolus, too large for my throat, made me ache for minutes afterward.

"No. Wait." I lurched forward, snatching the napkin from him. "I'll... I'll see what I can do."

He smiled. Yellow. That was his smile. All yellow. Gums: yellow. Teeth: yellow. Dear god even his tongue looked yellow. Maybe it was the light. Maybe it was the booze. Maybe I should've called it quits an hour ago. Gone home before this guy ever walked in.

He handed me a small card. Printed in embossed black ink on an ivory stock was written "Professor Charles Wade, esoteric philosophy, antiquarian. 10 West Road."

Shit. I looked up from his card as I fumbled it into my pocket. Shit. Why was I letting this deranged old man fill my head with wacky ideas. He didn't know me. I didn't know him. Why should I listen to anything he had to say? He reached for the napkin on the table again.

"Wait. Ok. So you want me to look for some weird book. What am I supposed to be looking for?"

"It's a journal. A diary. You are familiar with Honoré Fragonard?"

I nodded. "The erotic painter or his... "artistic" cousin, the anatomist?"

"The latter. You see, no one has ever been able to exactly duplicate his methods. Certainly we have more efficient and easier ways of preserving specimens now. But there is a certain... how shall I put this? There is a certain charm to his methods that is lost in the cold science of today."

"So you want me to dig up this guy's scientific journals so you can recreate what he did?"

"Exactly!" He took a victorious swig of whiskey as if I had just handed him the diaries he wanted.

"Well, it's not that easy, friend. First off, this guy lived in, what, the 18th century? Next, there are historians, scientists, biographers, and god knows who else, with access to inexhaustible resources, who haven't found these papers yet. What makes you think I stand a chance at finding what hundreds of other people, better trained people, haven't been able to find in over 200 years?"

"This." He slipped a well-worn manilla envelope across the table.

I eyed him suspiciously. He clearly didn't think this was any sort of clandestine operation. I mean, he just handed me his trump card in the middle of a crowded, if poorly-lit, bar in Uptown. I lifted the flap, watching him for a reaction. I didn't get one.

"Look. At least buy me a beer, man."

He stood up and walked off to the bar. No doubt to buy me the cheapest swill on tap. I quickly snatched the napkin and jammed it into my pocket. No way I was letting that out of my sight.

Bastard probably had another one or the original copy. He was probably stupid enough to have it with him. Probably in one of the pockets of that tweed jacket. I could get friendly, offer to walk him out of the bar, lead him quietly to the back alley and jump him. Take whatever he had with him. Drawings, sketches, money. I needed money, but not that bad. And whatever this guy had on him wasn't going to be anything I could sell. Even if there were a buyer, I'd never trust anyone who'd want to buy... this.

Prep for NaNoWriMo

2008-09-25T14:42:00.002-05:00

In preparation for National Novel Writing Month, I thought I'd see how many words I could write in a half hour, without really having an idea of what I was going to write until I started writing.

The answer? 923 words written in a half hour of my lunch break. "Exuberant Imperfection" was the goal. Write quick, dirty, and without self-editing or censoring. Simply write. For quantity, not quality. I think I hit the backspace button only a few times, moved one set of words a half-sentence forward to make more sense. But other than that, this is the final, raw product. Enjoy.

------
“This is a test. This is only a test. If this had been an actual emergency . . .”

“We’d all be dead already,” Jeff grumbled. His chair groaned as he leaned back and thudded his feet on top of his desk. The blinking red light just above the monitor reminded him to flick off the security switch and deactivate the alarm test.

Meanwhile images of people trudging back into the building danced across dozens of television screens. The closed circuit surveillance system was supposedly state of the art. When it was built. In 1976. But now there were more than a dozen “blind” sectors where the cameras existed only as obsolete wall-hangings.

It’s not like a building like this actually needed all that security. Only twenty stories tall, and dwarfed by the neighboring skyscrapers, Maditech Inc. scarcely merited a security department as big as it had. Two dozen employees wore the navy blue and green uniform of a Maditech Security Specialist.

“Bullshit.” Jeff spat as he punched a few keys and brought the image from monitor A1-G onto the big screen. There he could see in all their grainy, blurry, depravity, Lorna and Michael fucking in the bottom of stairwell A1. The maintenance storage closet.

Michael was not an attractive man. Neither was Jeff, but at least Jeff was somewhat in shape. He wasn’t “ripped” but you could tell from looking at him that there was muscle under his bulk. Mike, on the other hand, looked like there was more bulk under his bulk.

“Like a fucking soap opera.” Jeff laughed and reached for his walkie-talkie – another relic from 1976. “Steve, you wanna handle the lovebirds this time?”

“Copy that. One cold shower coming up.” Buzzed back the voice on the radio.

Seconds later, Jeff nearly fell out of his chair laughing, when the silver fire sprinklers drenched the illicit rendez-vous in a frigid downpour. He knew he’d probably have to file an incident report, and somehow gum up the sprinkler system in that section to make it look like an accident. But hell, a little monkey-work to pay for hilarity like this? “So worth it.” Jeff mouthed to himself.

Maditech Inc. was founded in 1974 by John Thames. It quickly grew through the 1980’s manufacturing computer parts. In late 1990 it was bought out by a much larger company in California, and all production moved West. But the company headquarters remained in Minneapolis.

Back in 1985, Maditech bought the building in which it currently houses it’s main operations. The higher-ups declined to do any sort of renovations on the building. Instead they renovated the company to fit the building.

New departments were created. Old departments were gutted or split. Employees were promoted or demoted for no reason other than Maditech needed someone in the corner office on floor 15 and that department didn’t have anybody qualified for that kind of office.

Michael Turning, wet and cold, was one of those promotions. He had worked in accounts receivable for only two months before the move. And when he got to the new office, he was surprised to see his name engraved on a brass plate on the plywood door to the large office on the 14th floor.

Jeff, on the other hand, was one of the unexpected demotions. He had formerly been Head of Security for Maditech in their warehouse-like offices on the other side of town. When the company moved and Jeff got to the new building, he found a slew of new hires in his department. And not one veteran security specialist at Maditech outranked the new kids. That’s just what they were. The oldest among them was 25. And the seven new hires had a combined total experience in security of less than seven years.

Jeff Storch was 38 when the company moved. He was pushing 60 now. These days he didn’t mind being a Security Specialist II. The pay was good. He had seniority, so he got to work the day shift. And the benefits package was staggering.

He’d done the math. If he were injured on the job – nothing life-threatening even, just a broken arm – and couldn’t work for six weeks, he’d get the equivalent of three months’ pay. He’d only collected on that once, and he hadn’t even been injured.

In early May, 1998, when he was still working night shifts, Jeff had been making a sweep of the 16th floor before heading home for the night. He saw a light on in an office that should have been empty. He radioed for backup, not because he needed the help, but because he knew the other guys were probably so bored they’d appreciate the excitement. When Jeff threw open the door, Tommy and Greg rushed in.

There, sitting behind Mrs. Swok’s desk, was a strange man dressed in a dull gray suit, smoking a cigarette and letting the ash fall all over the desk. The three guards approached the man and gently led him out the front door onto the street. For his part, the stranger was polite and friendly. He even offered the guys a cigarette.

The next day, Jeff received a note in his mailbox. “Meet me in my office. – Dave Lorach”

The meeting was brief. Jeff was told he’d been working exceptionally hard, and his commitment was appreciated. “We just want to make sure that you stay healthy, Jeff. We need you well-rested. You are officially on vacation for the week. When you return, your post will be waiting. With a pay raise.”

Honoré Fragonard

2008-08-11T19:11:00.003-05:00

Inspired by the question "Where would your investigator look for information about ghouls?" thread over at Yog-Sothoth.com, I was inspired to look up Honoré Fragonard again. I find the man fascinating and would love to get my hands on any sort of biographical information I can find. Unfortunately it seems there is very little. I think I may have to visit a medical library or similarly specialized library to find much.

In the meantime, I have this biography from the Honoré Fragonard Museum. And there is the French Wikipedia article as well, which I have translated (roughly) for the aforementioned YSDC thread.

What I find most fascinating is that he made his Écorchés not only for scientific purposes, but for artistic and entertainment and money! He sold many to aristocrats to help furnish their Curiosities Cabinets.

And then when he tried to collect all of his works in one place he was foiled! People, both of science and the aristocracy, wanted them too much to see them displayed in a museum. So there are only 21 specimens that have survived at École National Vétérinaire d'Alfort, and one or two other at other museums and universities. But he made around 50 or more! Where are those other 30?

Storytelling Assignment: Your Own Story

2008-07-14T18:21:00.003-05:00

For next session we are to write and prepare to tell a story of our own. It is supposed to be a story about us, featuring us, or a friend, a relative, a family story. I wonder if I could use one or some of my dad's stories about George the Squirrel. Probably not, since I'm supposed to write the story myself. But maybe I could do a story in the style of George? That's just one idea.

Our professor gave us several prompts. Many of them sparked memories that would make for great stories, I think.

I'll have to give this assignment some thought. There are so many possible stories about myself and others that I could tell, and I want to pick the best one.

Creative Writing Prompt #46

2008-07-10T17:35:00.004-05:00

Writing prompt #46: In 200 words, describe a hot day
(From http://creativewritingprompts.com/)

Attempt #1: fiction. 212 words.
It’s the kind of heat that sticks to you like the tar softening in the streets. The humid, damp, soaking grip of Minnesota summer. Sure, it’s not as hot as summers further south, but like we say, “it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.”

But what I’m really thinking right now is who the hell gets married outside in this kind of weather? What bride says “I want to wilt in the sun front of my friends and family”? At least she gets to wear white – she doesn’t care if they talk – the groom is wearing a black wool suit. I don’t know if I pity him more for having to suffer through the heat or the years to come.

Dark, solid, heavy rainclouds taunt us from the edge of the horizon. The relief that rain would bring is far away, and “just skirting around the metro area.” I hate weathermen. I swear if you just put them outside to do the forecast on days like this their pretty little plastic smiles would melt and drip down their face.

It’s too hot to be this angry. I fan myself with the wedding program, dreaming of the indoor, open-bar, reception. “Two gin and tonics, please.” I can already tasty the icy pine tree.

Attempt #2: embellished non-fiction. 203 words.
We were gathered around the great bonfire in our full uniforms. Each Boy Scout adorned with his merit badge sash, proudly displaying his accomplishes. The ripples of the lake lapping at the shore just beyond the clearing were the only sounds. We, the newest initiates into the Order of the Arrow, had sworn ourselves to silence for the duration of our induction weekend. Now that weekend was coming to a close.

Our fellow scouts, senior members of the Order, had taken on the traditional garb of American Indian tribes from our region and marched slowly past the many concentric rings of initiates towards the raging flames.

My uniform clung to me tightly, stuck in place by the glue that was the sheets of sweat pouring out of my body after digging post holes and building fences in the blazing sun. As I stared into the fire I couldn’t help wondering what it felt like to pass out from heat stroke. What it would look like to others as I dropped to my knees. What it might feel like when my head started to spin and I barely managed to get my arms in front of my face before it collided with the ground.

Storytelling Essay

2008-07-09T12:25:00.005-05:00

I'm taking a storytelling course. For one of the assignments I need to write an essay. I need to brainstorm a bit, so I'll do it here.

The topic of the essay is "storytelling" in the broadest sense. We can write on anything related to storytelling. I think I want to write about storytelling as it appears in my life.

What does that mean? Well, storytelling mostly shows up in my life in two forms: jokes and RPGs. How do I turn that into an essay?

I suppose I could compare telling stories to telling jokes. The selection, learning, and telling processes are pretty much identical. Jokes are (usually) just short stories with (hopefully) humorous punch lines as the endings. Each joke can be changed and retold in the teller's own way. There are good joke tellers and bad ones.

RPGs are where it gets a little tougher for me. To me an RPG is a collaborative, participatory, storytelling or story performance event. The Game Master (GM) selects a story and learns it, then begins telling the story to the players. But as the game progresses control of the story and the role of storyteller passes to different people at different times.

In some ways it is similar to when a Storyteller has audience members participate in the telling of a story. For example, in "Who's in Rabbit's House?" the storyteller can have several audience members take on the roles of the animals who come along to help Rabbit. In an RPG, the players are invited to take on the roles of characters in the story. However, there is a major difference. In "Who's in Rabbit's House" the participating audience members do not get to choose how their animals help, or decide that they don't want to help. In an RPG, the players and their characters have a much stronger and more direct impact on how the story develops and changes.

Looking back two paragraphs I see a great essay thesis: “an RPG is a collaborative, participatory, storytelling or story performance event.” To make it a complete essay I should probably touch on topics like: how is it similar to and different than a “traditional” storytelling event? How can RPGs be used in story hours? What purpose can they serve?

Hmm… do I really want to discuss the purpose of RPGs outside of entertainment?

Where was I? Right… RPGs as collaborative storytelling.

Storytelling in my life = Jokes & Collaborative

Jokes since a young age

Family - witty, one-liners, groaners

Earl - the story joke

Collaborative Stories

"Choose Your Own Adventure" with Dad

Play/imagination

RPGs

Jokes as short tales

Selection is the same: audience, language, content

Learning is the same: learn episodes, memorize only important phrases

Telling is the same: can be good/bad, make it your own

RPGs as collaborative telling

Selection is the same

Learning is the same

Learn episodes, don't memorize - things will change

Telling is similar with variations

Similarities

Set the mood, keep players interested

Can be formal, informal, telling, or performance

Need to plan for "event": ups, downs, tension and release, etc.

Differences

Level of participation is greater in RPG

RPG. Game. The purpose is mostly entertainment, escape.

How to use participatory collaborative stories?

[[refer to textbook]]

Prize Pictures

2008-07-08T21:35:00.002-05:00

See previous post for explanation.

I win!

2008-07-08T18:16:00.003-05:00

I got my prize on Monday! The leatherbound copy of Trail of Cthulhu.

"You are the first, and hence have boasting rights.
-Simon Rogers"

Yeah! The first!

He!

2008-07-01T15:28:00.002-05:00

The other night I had a very powerful, enjoyable, and distinctly Lovecraftian dream.

I was driving with my girlfriend, brother, and cousin, around an underground parking ramp looking for a spot. Up ahead I saw a sign which simply read "He!" with an arrow pointing into a dark alcove.

I knew exactly what "He!" meant. It was for Hastur. He who shall not be named. I knew it was an art show featured works by artists influenced, inspired, and affected by The King in Yellow.

I turned and parked and led our group into that dimly lit alcove to a glass door beyond which the gallery stood waiting. Inside it was simply a long hallway that bent at right angles, winding around like a maze. Every inch of every wall was covered with fancifully framed fantastic paintings with images of the Tattered King, the city of Carcossa, the Lake of Hali, Aldebarran, Taurus, the Hyades.

It was thrilling, exciting, amazing. I was ecstatic. My companions were less that pleased. My girlfriend seemed impatient, my brother was bored, and my cousin gibbered madly in a corner.

That was about when I woke up.

Keeper's Cupboard 4 - FINISHED!

2008-06-24T12:08:00.006-05:00

I just finished doing the layout and converting to a .pdf file! Woohoo! I'm just waiting on PoC regarding permission for some art, and then I'll send it off to Ye Olde Yoggie.

I think this scenario is almost good enough to be published. The audience is a little too specific to have universal appeal, so I think I'll pass on trying to submit it to any RPG companies (let them come to me!). So it should be available soon on www.Yog-Sothoth.com. We shall see!

Great Morning

2008-06-17T09:32:00.004-05:00

First: Last night's dream

I don't remember much, except that I was on an archaeological expedition in Egypt when I suddenly found myself hiding in a very narrow cave. It was quite wide, but so short that I had to lay flat on my stomach. Hiding in the cave with me was an older man and his daughter who was blind. I started talking to the girl in French, Hebrew, Arabic, Spanish, and German. In real life I'd only be able to hold a decent conversation in French, use minimal halting Hebrew, and say "hello" in any of the other languages. Somehow in this dream I was fluent in all of them.

The next scene I can remember was the girl leading me into an underground complex as we fled from the Black Wind avatar of Nyarlathotep. We were fleeing underground in search of the Dark Mother (Shub Niggurath) to seek her aid in defeating Nyarlathotep and prevent the end of the world. The only other inhabitants of the cave were strange hulking monstrosities with huge mining drills as arms.

We found Shub Niggurath on a metal catwalk spanning a deep lava-filled chasm. She was an old wizened woman, stooped over, and looking very feeble. Yet when we intoned the proper prayer (I wish I could remember the words!) she grew to an immense height, filling the cavern with her presence. We felt, rather than saw, Nyarlathotep's avatar fleeing from the power of Shub Niggurath, racing for the exit of the cave. As the girl and I also fled, fearing a collapse of the cave, we sealed Nyarlathotep inside. The last image before I woke up was one of an invisible fist desperately clawing at the cave walls, only managing to strike twice before Shub Niggurath dispelled the evil.

Where did this dream come from? Most likely a combination of things. Nyarlathotep likely appeared because I've been listening to the Yog Radio podcast audio game of "Masks of Nyarlathotep." Shub Niggurath was probably conjured from my reading HPL's "The Whisperer in Darkness." The drill-bit monsters seemed remarkably similar to the "Big Daddys" in BioShock on the Xbox 360. But where did the girl come from? And my polyglot abilities? And the thematic good v. evil elements of the dream?

It was truly a great adventure of a dream, very exciting and enjoyable and it left me in a good mood when I awoke.

Then, this morning I found out that one of the captions I had submitted in the Pelgrane Press Caption Competition made it to the final four! So vote for #3 Here.

Keeper's Cupboard 4

2008-05-27T13:04:00.003-05:00

I'm very excited about how this episode of The Keeper's Cupboard (KC) is coming along. I gave myself a great prompt, based on the theme of Yog-Radio 30: A 10th Anniversary tribute scenario for Yog-Sothoth.com. From that prompt I've got a fun scenario concept. Now I just have to get down to the nitty-gritty "work" part of writing.

I've laid out the clues, the "what's going on," and general motivations for NPC's. What I need to do now is arrange/place the clues and create a well-defined storyline that will be clear enough for other Keepers to follow, and with enough clues and mystery to be fun and intriguing for players.

Once I've got that, I'll send a copy off to a few people for proof-reading and playtesting. I want this to be ready to release by June 15th (YR 30 is tentatively slated for mid-late June) so that I will have enough time to record the audio for KC #4 and get it to PoC with enough time for him to get it into YR 30.

Any RPG writers out there with tips, tricks, suggestions, feel free to contact me. I could use the help ;-)

Terrible dreams, night of 5/19/2008

2008-05-20T08:31:00.002-05:00

Maybe it was too much rootbeer at our tasting. Maybe it was a half-empty bed. Maybe I was nervous and excited for Kelcie's interview, too. Maybe there was a thunderstorm. In any case, last night's dreams made it nearly impossible to get any rest.

The first dream I remember began with me working at the University Book Store. I was watching myself from a third-person perspective as I went about my normal tasks. The scene faded out and was replaced with a view of the sky as thick black ominous clouds roiled and rolled over each other, plowing across the entire skyline. In that way that dreams have of offering more information than the senses can perceive, I knew that this was the end.

The skies roared and unleashed their fury on the land. Back inside the bookstore people were running around frantically as the water level began to rise. I remember seeing a basement store room afloat with boxes and debris, and seeing someone floating face down, unmoving.

When the storm finally passed, we began to gauge the damage. Everything was destroyed. To call it "devestation" would be putting it lightly. Then, as if watching from the lens of a television news camera, I saw myself talking to Duane. Instead of being the manager of the bookstore, he was my supervisor at some sort of mechanical shop. He kept smiling, but his eyes were full of tears. He said that instead of trying to rebuild this business, he would give it up for lost and start a new business in a new trade in a new town. I don't know why, but there was something in that scene that suggested everyone was adopting this policy. And it made me feel incredibly sad and indefinably disappointed; everyone was giving up, discarding their old life in the meek hope that there would be something better. Or something at all.

I spent an hour awake after that dream confused, upset, and oddly terrified.

The second disturbing dream of the night is now almost humorous to me. I don't remember the entire dream, only one scene. In it my vision was filled with an impenetrable blackness and the face of Adele [one of our good friends]. But this image was twisted and distorted, shrouded in red, consumed with evil. Were there horns on her head or am I "remembering" that into the dream? One thing I am sure of was the overwhelming sense of menace and terror in that scene. But now that I think back on it, I almost laugh. After all, Adele as the face of evil? That's ridiculous.

Have You Seen Me?

2008-05-13T20:43:00.002-05:00

I found this way back when and now I can't find the digital original. All I have is this bookmark I made of it, and it's fading fast. So here's hoping someone out there in the aether can help me find the original!

Wedding Reception Menu

2008-05-01T11:08:00.005-05:00

We rent out the reading room of the library for weddings, receptions, events, etc. I found this intriguing and hilarious menu from a wedding reception held last weekend.

I wonder how one serves "child." I would think rare, or perhaps served like veal.

Ageing my book

2008-04-30T13:42:00.003-05:00

Thanks to Altricaj over on YSDC for the link to a website that turns new photos into old-timey wonders. My book of the Yellow Sign looks much more impressive 80 years ago, don't you think?

Dream, night of 3/31/2008

2008-04-01T09:22:00.004-05:00

The Dream:
I don't remember a lot about this dream except that it was of the extra-confusing sort. The kind in which I went through a number of levels of sleep, dreaming, and wakefulness all while still physically asleep. I shall try to give some of the flashes that I remember.

At some point in my dream I was surrounded by strange faces speaking a language I could not understand. Later I was standing with several other children - we were all teens - talking about something frightful in hushed voices. It seems that all of us were cursed with nocturnal unconscious teleportation. I wish I could remember the term they used, for it conveyed a mystical and saintly ability. It was then that the faces and odd languages made sense. In my sleep I had teleported to somewhere in Russia and was greeted and believed to be a saint.

When I looked around next, the children were all gone, and I was standing in the entryway of a great cyclopean building of stone construction. I got the distinct impression that it was a sort of temple long since passed into disuse. Around me were my family, my paternal grandparents, and my girlfriend. We all boarded a large pontoon boat and sailed out onto a vast black lake.

Reflections:
I don't know what could have triggered this dream or where these images came from. Looking back at dreams for meaning is rather chancy, since there is a tendency to reverse impose images, thoughts, and concepts that weren't there initially.

For example: when I think back on the temple now, I think of an image in the Trail of Cthulhu RPG. However, I know that's not what the temple in my dream really looked like. I know that something happened on the pontoon boat that involved my grandfather, but I don't remember it, and when I try to recall it I get the distinct impression I'm imagining something that wasn't there to begin with.

D&D in honor of E. Gary Gygax

2008-03-16T00:24:00.004-05:00

I just learned his first name was Ernest. He seemed like a friendly guy and it's a shame he's gone. Yes yes, I know it's late to talk about this as it happened over a week ago, but tomorrow I'll be running a session of Basic DnD, first ed. both to honor Mr. Gygax, and to try to recapture the fun I had playing AD&D 2nd ed. as a kid.

I will be running Palace of the Silver Princess (B3), which I downloaded from the Wizards of the Coast website. It seems like a pretty basic dungeon crawl with some good tricks. We'll have a small group tomorrow (DM + 2 players) because two players had a schedule conflict. That's ok, we'll play next time (I'm excited to get started on Harris' Unknown Armies campaign).

Scary Dream, Night of 3/13/08

2008-03-14T06:34:00.003-05:00

I don't remember the details, just the overall feeling.

I know it began with Kelcie and I walking down a forest road. As we came to an intersection I was almost knocked over by a passing biker. Enraged, I yelled after him, shaking my fist. Kelcie looked at me, worry written on her face.

"What?"

"Who are you yelling at?"

"That biker. He almost knocked me over!"

"Sam, there's no one there."

Of course when I looked, she was right. There hadn't been any biker.

This theme repeated itself again and again. I would get almost violently angry with someone, almost coming to blows, and Kelcie, increasingly disturbed by my actions, would show me that there was no one there.

I remember at one point trying to convince her, or perhaps it was some sort of official (a policeman perhaps?) that I wasn't just seeing things, that these people were there. I remember arguing with them, desperately trying to show them I was right, I was sane. Of course, that's when I realized the official wasn't really there. Neither was Kelcie. I was all alone. With hundreds of people around me who weren't really there either.

Snow

2007-12-14T07:58:00.001-06:00

Rather than try to post something about all the stuff that's gone on between now and the last post, I thought I'd post a thought I had this morning while waiting for the bus.

It was snowing. Not the light powdery snow that comes early on to signal the start of winter. Not the thick heavy clumpy snow of a blizzard that thwarts the best efforts of vehicular traffic, sunk in the mire for hours. No. This was chunky compressed snow. The kind that you scrape off your sidewalk a week after the blizzard because you didn't shovel and a thousand feet have trampled it into compressed bricks of frozen water, dirt, and filth.

Concrete slabs of grey-white snow were plummeting down to Earth from god-only-knows where, crashing into and through the windows of cars, houses, and businesses, tearing limbs from even the sturdiest trees, and embedding themselves in lawns everywhere. Somewhere a terrified scream of "it's the end of the world!" was interrupted by an sudden impact. I was suddenly very glad I didn't live on the top floor.

"Show Me the Story"

2007-11-12T13:27:00.001-06:00

Yesterday I attended my first creative writing class: a workshop titled "Show Me the Story." I want to tell you all about it, but there's this nagging voice in the back of my head saying "show them." Well, too bad for that voice: I'm telling.

The workshop was at The Loft literary center in Open Book (which also houses the Minnesota Center for Book Arts (MCBA), more on that later). There was a church service going on in the room above us, so the first hour was very distracted by songs, music, and the creaking of the floor as people danced and swayed.

I feel like I learned a lot about how what I already do is "right." I don't mean that there is only one way to write, but rather, that I already use a lot of the techniques we discussed. We talked about four techniques that can be used to "show" a story: Sensory detail, action, thought, and dialogue.

Sensory detail is the five senses. I'd already heard a lot about this, so I was glad we didn't spend too much time on it. In all honesty, I was worried that this would be the sum of the whole class.

Action, in short, meant verb choice. Use strong verbs that have the specific meaning you want for your sentence, paragraph, story. But watch out for too many verbs in a section that needs to be shorter.

Thought is thought: describing emotions, thoughts, imaginings. It can be used to show what is going on outside of a character through that character's own interpretations. I felt like this was one of the harder techniques for me to work with. So it will be one that I try to practice more.

Dialogue: people talking. It was really interesting to discuss how conflict can be expressed through dialogue. One way to show tension through dialogue that our teacher mentioned a few times was to "have the characters on two scripts." Example: Howard and Phillip are at a bar, Howard is trying to get Phillip to help him go through his late great uncle's things. To show that Phillip doesn't want to, without saying "no," you could have Phillip talk about all the different girls in the bar. I'm still a little weak when it comes to writing dialogue, but it was a fun challenge, so it's something I will enjoy practicing.

It was a great class and a big ego boost to discover that I've been doing some of these things already. I would definitely take another class there.

As for the MCBA... on Sunday during my class they were having a Book Arts Fair. It was great to stroll around the several tables, admiring all the hand bound books, hand made papers, prints, calligraphy, poetry, and other crafts that were on display. Oh and their store! It had all sorts of great papers, books, bookbinding tools, and other curiosities. I can't believe it took me 2 years to get there!

Excited for Sunday

2007-11-08T14:51:00.001-06:00

I'm amazed at how quickly the week went by. Standing in front of three never-ending piles of paper, collating them, folding them, stuffing them into envelopes, over and over and over and over...

I thought this week would never end, and here it is: Thursday. Today is an easy day. It's almost Friday, and then it'll be the weekend. And that means

Creative Writing Course!

But I was thinking. I shouldn't expect this one class to be the magic cure-all for my writing woes. I need to have realistic expectations and goals. So what should they be? The class is titled "Show Me the Story," and purports to offer help for writers who which to apply the old adage "show don't tell" to their writing. But what do I want to take away from the class?

1. A general improvement and increase in my writing styles.
I want to be have a greater range of style in my writing. Even though this doesn't seem to be the topic of the course, I think that coming at my writing from a new direction will result in changes to how I approach writing. Did I just say "approach writing" in three different ways without clearly defining what I meant to say? No. It was twice.

2. A greater ability to describe people.
Right now I feel like I can describe places fairly well. I would really love to be able to better describe people. I wonder, though, if that is something that needs to come from being a better observer of people. It's true that I have a hard time placing names to faces. Maybe if I work on that it will also improve my ability to describe people.

3. More clearly defined emotions.
In a previous post I tried to explain how I have difficulty translating into words how certain places create certain emotions. I would love to develop my ability to show those emotions and make others feel them, or at least understand how I came to feel them.

Do those seem realistic and achievable? I think they do.

Dark Days 2: The Evening

2007-11-07T12:24:00.000-06:00

Thanks to DST ending, my morning walks to the bus are now well lit! It's great. I love it.

But now my evening walk home is very dark. Darker than the mornings were.

I kinda like it.

Unlike the morning, when I'm still sleepy and my mind has only mostly pulled itself out of the dream realm of slumber, I have energy and am excited about getting home. There are also more people out and about in the evening, which makes the walk less lonely. It's the lonely walk in the dark that made the mornings scary.

So... in conclusion: I like DST right now.

Algernon Blackwood

2007-11-07T12:15:00.000-06:00

I really liked this opening line from Algernon Blackwood's The Insanity of Jones.

Adventures come to the adventurous, and mysterious things fall in the way of those who, with wonder and imagination, are on the watch for them; but the majority of people go past the doors that are half ajar, thinking them closed, and fail to notice the faint stirrings of the great curtain that hangs ever in the form of appearances between them and the world of causes behind.

I think I'm one of "those who, with wonder and imagination, are on the watch." I walk past a house in the dark of the evening see a window, high up in a lonely house, whose soft orange glow is suddenly extinguished when the curtains are drawn and I try to imagine what is going on behind the shades.

Even simple things like doors marked "Authorized Personnel" spark my curiosity and sense of adventure. As if by opening that door I'd stumble across some sort of mystery begging for me to solve it!

More Randolph Carter Follow Up

2007-10-31T08:51:00.000-05:00

I got a Private Message from FNH over at the YSDC forums. He wrote to say:

"I just thought I'd let you know that I just received my 5th email that specifically stated your voice acting was outstanding!"

He forwarded me one of the emails at my request. It is a really great feeling knowing that others have enjoyed my acting, especially since at the time I thought I did a mediocre job at best. It's encouraging, to say the least.

I think I'll have to assemble my Cats of Ulthar reading now! And maybe record some Algernon Blackwood!

[edit: added another bit of praise I received]

Over at www.Yog-Sothoth.com there was a thread about someone who wanted to do radio drama versions of HPL stories out in California. I jokingly suggested he should invite me out to California to work with him. Another member posted the following:

" Seriously... do invite Jabonko out to California! Just listen to his terrific performance on FNH's production of the Statement of Randolph Carter. Great stuff!"

This is so awesome. Kelcie was right, I just wasn't listening to all the things people were saying, but they were saying 'em the whole time!

Need Decent Quality Portable Digital Audio Recorder

2007-10-31T08:49:00.000-05:00

This morning was a particularly dark walk to the bus. Very creepy and unsettling. So to ease my mind, I started narrating my walk to myself as though telling a scary story. I had a lot of fun and I think I even had some pretty good descriptions of some of the places I walk past regularly. I know I had a great ending line as I approached the bus stop, but I can't remember what it was. In fact, I can't remember any of the story except that I told it and enjoyed it.

I really wish I had a portable recording device so I could have recorded it and maybe transcribed it. Oh well.

Last Night in Carcosa: Wrap-up/Review

2007-10-29T14:30:00.000-05:00

Friday night was the #th annual Halloween LARP. This year it was "Last Night in Carcosa."

At the Masquerade there were several cult factions, each trying to bring about the end of the world by summoning their own deity. I was a cultist of Yog-Sothoth. Others were worshippers of Azathoth, slaves of Shub-Niggurath, acolytes of the King in Yellow.

I was a very popular character. Each faction required a human sacrifice to accomplish their ritual and as executioner my skills were in high demand. Thinking back on it I would have done things a little differently. I think I would have been more willing to kill people, provided that the faction employing me helped defray the cost of subduing and executing the victim and also pay me a tribute. (To accomplish things that others don't want, one must give up 'Karma' points). I know that in most cases it wouldn't have worked, because people wouldn't shell out the points, but I think it could have made things more interesting.

I think I did a pretty good job with my accent. I was consistent throughout the night (usually a challenge for me when I do accents - they tend to shift and change). It may not have been a 100%-accurate Italian accent, but it was fun and both I and the other players enjoyed it. For me it provided me a very simple way to clearly differentiate between in and out of character conversations (something I struggled with last year). For others it made me stand out more as a character. Many people complimented me on the accent and my ability to stick with it through the entire night.

In the end the results were very close:
Azathoth: 7
Yog-Sothoth: 8 (should have been 9, but one of our cultists refused to pay in his last karma point to have his character's wife executed... which makes sense for the character, but dammit I wanted her to die! lol)
Shub-Niggurath: 9
King in Yellow: 10

Even though we didn't impart the Ultimate Truth to the kingdom of Carcosa, I had a lot of fun. We were all impressed by each other's ability to role-play and create a fantastic story.

Once again, I missed a line in my character sheet. This year I missed a line stating:
Pollox is a wise scribe and the daughter of Castor and Aldones.

I only saw the line, "Castor: Blacksmith, husband of Aldones, father of Pollox."

So when I asked Castor where his son was (not knowing the truth)... well, naturally he took offense. It was pretty funny.

Dark Days

2007-10-24T13:59:00.001-05:00

Well, not really. But dark mornings for sure. My walk to the bus this morning was particularly eerie.

The darkness and shadows of early morning played tricks on me. I kept thinking I saw people that weren't really there crossing streets. If I had been listening to music, my hearing would not have been able to dispel the illusions, and I would have been constantly looking over my shoulder for a shadowy menace.

The newspaper man - the one who fills the newsstand - arrived at his corner just as a large woman was. In the quiet yellow light of the street lamp it looked more like the two were making a clandestine cloak-and-dagger drop-off.

Houses with less-than-well-kept yards seemed to retreat into the darkness of the overhanging trees. Their yards became barren dark patches of dead leaves. Fences turned into the last line of defense between me - the hapless pedestrian - and the evil, lurking, horrors that were once hospitable domiciles.

And it's only October. The sun will rise later and later, making my morning walks darker and darker.

If only I had a portable audio recorder. With that, headphone playing scary music, and a semi-conscious state of mind, I could scare myself incredibly and get it all on tape.

Saturday Night's Alright for Frightening

2007-10-22T13:29:00.001-05:00

This past Saturday I had the opportunity to play in a one-off RPG hosted by Dan Bayn. The scenario was titled "Project Blackwood" and was introduced as "Four college students go into the Virginia woods to shoot a movie. A year later, their footage was found. (Maybe also their mangled corpses. We'll see how it goes.)" Sound familiar?

Yes. The premise was quite similar to that of The Blair Witch Project, but with a significant twist. Instead of a ghostly-horror witch thing, the scares came from a couple different directions.

The first element of horror came from, as Dan put it, the "multiple layers of reality." Our characters were college students producing a fake documentary, but each character had a role to play in said film. For example: my 'mormon boyscout with wilderness survival skills' played the role of 'the arrogant frat boy who gets himself killed' in the film. Already there is a difference between who I am, who my character is, and who his role is. It offered some excellent role playing opportunities.

The horror in those layers came from trying to distinguish the scares created by the director of the film (i.e. "fake" scares), and threats from outside forces ("real" scares). Early in the game we attributed most of the surprises to the director, even though in a few cases we were wrong. Later in the game, everything was real whether the director had anything to do with it or not.

For example: on the first night, when my character saw the words "go away" burning brightly on the side of a hill he assumed it was the director (wrong). The next day when the characters entered the cave and saw that the walls were red and wet, Becky tasted some of the wet liquid on the floor and discovered it was blood. The characters assumed the blood on the walls was not the director's doing (wrong, it was). Later it turned out that the blood on the floor that Becky had tasted was really the Director's blood, that he had been murdered.

So the layers added to the horror at the end, when we were able to see them all at once.

The other source of excellent terror was the monster of the night: the Mi-Go! It's too bad it's a few months late for the HPLHS competition which asked the question "What are the Mi-Go up to in the hills of West Virginia?"

In any case, it was a lot of fun to see how the final scene played out. My character, having gone from pretending to be the leader to the now survival-driven boyscout, saw the Brain Case as the only hope of escape - especially after both of his arms were clipped off at the elbow by the Mi-Go. Becky fought to the end, getting scissored in half by the giant claws. Zack similarly fought to the death.

The ending scene was great. Fade out on the cave of carnage and fade in an off-colour, grainy image of the Mi-Go adjusting something like it's leaning over you. Then the Mi-Go turns and walks away, while my character's voice screams "no! Wait! Come back!" The camera pulls back, revealing a brain cylinder, newly plugged-in, and the monster walking away down a corridor lined with similar objects.

Notes for Halloween LARP

2007-10-19T14:33:00.000-05:00

I know. The term LARP scares a lot of people. But in this case it's really more of a murder-mystery party with a group of people a little more excited about getting into character.

The theme is Hasturian (my favorite!) and the title is "Last Night in Carcosa." Which I assume means the last night in Carcosa, not what happened last night.

So far, this is what I know about my character:
Name: Vega
Occupation: Executioner
From Dan, the Host:

"You've got a lot of wiggle room when it comes to characterization. His thing is that he's fed up with being a tool of oppression and he's turned to the occult in his quest to restore some sanity to the throne. His schedule for the evening includes a human sacrifice; he's just trying to decide who it's gonna be.

There are a lot of directions you could take Vega. At Gen Con, I gave him to a guy with a big, Erron Flynn style, feathered cap and he was the most effeminate executioner ever... but it made him really, really creepy :)"

I didn't want to play Vega as the stereotypical isolated executioner in a black hood, so I did some research. On wikipedia I found the perfect character: Giovanni Battista Bugatti. "When not carrying out his official duties, Bugatti and his wife sold painted umbrellas and other souvenirs to tourists."

So I'll take that and add in an element of sadism and depravity. A source of inspiration came from wikipedia's list of methods of execution. Although, this did lead to the discovery of a very disturbing bit of writing. Using my initial impression of Vega as a socio- or psycho-path, mixed with Bugatti, I think I will end up with an excellent character.

Borrowing a bit from last year's LARP in which a Blue Sun engineer handed out mysterious mints throughout the evening, I might bring a bag of black rocks as my "business card." Then let everyone know that my favorite method of execution is stoning or crushing by stones. (Although for sickness sake, I think sawing would make the character a bit more frightening).

Since there is the bit about Vega trying to figure out who his human sacrifice will be, perhaps I will use the stones to decide who will be my victim. If I give a stone to everyone, then the victim will be the person who does not get a stone or the person from whom I reclaim the stone I gave them. Or perhaps I will simply give stones only to those people I am considering for the sacrifice.

In the past few days I have been listening to Acting with an Accent to develop an Italian accent. So far it has been a lot of fun. However, if I don't feel that I have a good enough accent by the time of the game, I won't use it. Better to have no accent than to have a bad one that detracts from the character. I think a good Italian accent would make the character seem intriguing and friendly up front, which would allow the appetite for torture to stand out in stark contrast and have a greater impact.

As for costume:
I still need to get a mask. Any suggestions for style or specific masks?
I would like to get a couple umbrellas that I could bring with me to sell or use as props.
I need to find a pouch and rocks.
Since the wikipedia article describes Bugatti as well-dressed, I am considering wearing my suit. Although finding some fancy robes or something similar might be fun too.

In case you couldn't tell from the long post, I'm very excited about this upcoming party/game. I'll post a game recap/review after all is said and done.

Dream, evening of 10/16/2007

2007-10-17T08:35:00.001-05:00

I was riding the bus home from work. I only fell asleep for a few minutes at most, but I had a very vivid and intense dream.

I dreamt that I was standing in a hallway eating a small circular graham cracker with some sort of mallow-like fluff on top of it. Three people approached me from the opposite end of the hall. Something in the way they were dressed and carried themselves made me know them as angels. As they drew nearer, I remember one of them standing only a few feet in front of me and smiling gently.

It was then that I noticed I was standing on a circular wooden platform. I clearly recall thinking that it was very similar in color and shape to the crackers I had just been eating. Slowly the platform lifted into the air, and I knew it was by the angels' doing. They were lifting me to heaven! I was filled with an ecstatic panicking terror so intense that it woke me from the dream with a start.

I often wonder if the other passengers on the bus notice when, after briefly nodding off, my body convulses in a quick spasm as I wake up. The sudden jerk feels so violent and intense to me, and yet I have had people say they did not see it, even when I feel as if I've leapt up out of my seat.

Wanna read something creepy?

2007-10-17T08:31:00.000-05:00

You can't come up with this kind of disturbing text. Fiction doesn't even come close.

"I waited for several seconds. The spasmodic movements ceased. [...] It was then that I called in a strong, sharp voice: 'Languille!' I saw the eyelids slowly lift up, without any spasmodic contractions – I insist advisedly on this peculiarity – but with an even movement, quite distinct and normal, such as happens in everyday life, with people awakened or torn from their thoughts.

Next Languille's eyes very definitely fixed themselves on mine and the pupils focused themselves. I was not, then, dealing with the sort of vague dull look without any expression, that can be observed any day in dying people to whom one speaks: I was dealing with undeniably living eyes which were looking at me. After several seconds, the eyelids closed again[...].

It was at that point that I called out again and, once more, without any spasm, slowly, the eyelids lifted and undeniably living eyes fixed themselves on mine with perhaps even more penetration than the first time. Then there was a further closing of the eyelids, but now less complete. I attempted the effect of a third call; there was no further movement – and the eyes took on the glazed look which they have in the dead."

Is it Lovecraftian horror at its finest? No. It's a scientific documentation of observations of a decapitated head after execution by guillotine. It's simply terrible. Awful. It makes me think maybe we should get rid of capital punishment. I feel like there is really only a very slight difference between the cool-headed scientist exploring quick and "painless" deaths, and the sick machinations of a murderous psycho- or socio-path.

Morning Encounter on 10/12/2007

2007-10-12T14:22:00.000-05:00

It's not the type of weather where I'd stop walking until I reached my destination.
But a car approaches with a lady out the window. Does she want directions?
Her Southern accented voice is high-pitched for a woman her size.
"You look like you're on your way to work. Would like something to read?"
She leans further out the window, offering me a pamphlet.
"No thanks."
"Well that's O.K.," she says, emphasizing each syllable. "You have yourself a good day, then."
"You too."
Then they drive away with their pamphlet,
And I wonder what it was.

Creative Writing Prompt 10/11/07

2007-10-11T15:38:00.000-05:00

"How did you get up there? Write about something that happened on the roof." From www.writingfix.com

Before I tell you why I'm up here... on the roof... in the cold with the wind trying angrily to push me off the edge, let me tell you how I ended up with such a silly prompt. In an effort to write more regularly, I've taken to ingesting large quantities of fiber to help me get the literary shit out. That's right, that's what I think of my writing. Well, the only way to get better is to shit more. So I figured the roof is a great place to start a little pile.

That's why. Here's how, tThough I hesitate to tell you the truth.

I have a well-practiced and much-rehearsed answer that I tell to everyone else, even my closest friends and relatives: the stairs at the back of the building, then the ladder in the alcove up through the dark tunnel to the horizontal door.

The truth?

This morning was rough. The alarm, despite its best efforts, failed in its assigned task. Even its shrillest cries could not pierce my sonorous slumber. Something in a disturbing dream I can not recall woke me and I am thankful for that blessed curse, for had my sleep been more restful I would not have left the bed until the sunlight burnt holes in my eyelids.

In a dreamstate, only fractionally awake and scarcely aware of my surroundings I stumbled to the shower. The warm, soothing, mist did nothing to clear the clouds from my mind. With my thoughts still wrapped warmly in the thick blankets of my bed, my eyes struggling to lift the infinitely heavy veil of my eyelids, I found my clothes, keys, briefcase, and the bus stop.

Silent, empty, and still, the cavernous reading room yawned its welcome. The library would not open to patrons for another hour, and with many of the librarians away at a conference, she seemed isolated and cold. It did not help that the marble floor, pillars, walls, ceiling, were of a shade of gray perfectly matched to the icy sky outside her windows and that the sound of the wind howled balefully from the ventilation system. A chill breeze brushed away callously my comfortable jacket of body heat it had taken so long to achieve. Confused, I looked for an open window and found none.

But there, six stories overhead, amidst the shadows and darkness in the recesses of the vaulted ceiling, I saw what I can now only describe vaguely as a portal. A black, sinister, opening that appeared, at such a distance, to be little larger than a sheet of paper. With no morning tasks yet to occupy me, I climbed the narrow spiral staircase to the serials collection filled with a growing curiosity.

The sixth floor lines the walls of the library, opening in the middle to gaze down dizzily at the floor of the reading room and the intervening mezzanine levels filled with books and journals aged from new-born publications to withered and wizened elder monographs. The perspective never suited me, throwing distance and depth into chaotic disarray. I have never done well with heights, it is no secret.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light that seemed to reach up meekly from the lamps on the floor so far below, I noticed that same shadow among shadows. The darker rectangle now appearing distinct and unique and separate from the other amorphous shapes in the artificial twilight, now disappearing into the depths of the inky blackness with its brethren shades, caught and held my attention. I know not what thoughts passed through my mind, but soon found myself shambling, one foot then the other, toward that mysterious aperture.

I remember climbing on the marble ledge, ornate and sculpted, so that I could stand beneath that odd unnatural window. This memory sticks with me because in my dazed climb, my shoe slipped off my foot and silently fell to the stone so many feet below me. My mind fell with my shoe, tumbling end over end, watching the tomes and volumes fly upwards past me until with a sudden, sharp, impact, my functions returned to me.

And that is when I found myself on the roof of the library, watching the cars and pedestrians pass by briskly in the cold Autumn air. No horizontal door. No dark ladder in a recessed alcove at the top of poorly lit stairs. No believable adventure did I have, but rather the illusions of the mad, the insane... the sleeping.

2007-08-18T21:35:00.000-05:00

Haven't posted in a while... at least nothing of substance.

But I was thinking: how do they do it? The "good" writers. Even the unpublished and those writing just as a hobby. What I want to know is how they take a feeling and translate it onto the page.

When I come in from taking out the trash and shut the back door of our fourplex, there is an inexplicable wave of fear that rushes over me. I want to put down in words on a page the way the fear builds as I step inside, grows as I lean against the door to shut it, and piques as I turn away from the door and take the few panicked paces back to our apartment.

I just don't think I could do it justice. Or that someone reading it would think "...and he's scared, why?" That the feelings just wouldn't translate, or that I'd use the wrong words.

Or is it confidence that I lack? Hm...

PBwiki

2007-04-19T21:45:00.000-05:00

A while back I got an email from pbwiki.com saying that if I offered a seminar I could get a bunch of free goodies. That was pretty sweet! I immediately passed on the information to the Technology teacher at the elementary school where I work. I'm hoping to run a seminar sometime this summer to encourage the teachers to use wikis in their education. I really think it's a great way to help kids learn about technology and the things it can do.

But then about a month later, the folks at PBwiki notified me that all ads were removed from educational wikis. I didn't mind the ads so much before, but now that they're gone that's even better!

I got started using wikis in my Reference and Online Information class. My professor used it to help organize assignments and lesson plans. She told me how she also used it to organize papers and projects she was working on. I thought that was such a neat idea, I used it on my next paper! Needless to say, I got an "A"!

So, thanks for the free goodies, pbwiki

Leaving Las Vegas

2006-12-19T12:59:00.000-06:00

Being my memories of the airport boarding gate as we waited for our return flight home from Las Vegas.

Our flight was supposed to leave at 8.30p. We got to the gate around 7.45. And we waited while all the horrid cacophony of slot machine noises blared around us. Our plane was delayed. At 9 we asked what was going on. Mechanical trouble, another plane en route. More and more the bing ching ring tingle clack roar of flashing lights and mind-numbing hums and electronicly produced tunes tore at my ear drums.

10.30, still no plane. The one that was supposed to be the replacement couldn't leave its airport because of a bomb threat. I'll bomb threat you god damn purveyors of slot machine hells!! but that won't stop the bells and whistles, whirs and chirps, clacks and ratchet clicks as one-armed-bandits rob me of my sanity. Red eyed tired and boiling with rage I stare down the clock, daring it to strike Midnight.

Unfeeling, uncaring, the giant garish digital clock reads 12.30a. We are finally boarding. The laser light show provided by the horrid machinery is not celebratory. It is mocking. Taunting. Laughing at me with all of its many grating metallic voices.

Dread

2006-12-05T08:42:00.000-06:00

I played my first game of Dread last night. I was host and ran the plot "Beneath a Metal Sky" found in the back of the book. The first surprise came when I found out that not everyone in my gaming group had seen the movie Alien. But the biggest surprise was how much fun it was.

I never had any doubts that I would enjoy the game. I was, however, concerned that others might find the game mechanic (Jenga tower) too gimicky. On the contrary, at the end of the game one player remarked cleverly "The game mechanic is such that the terror actually builds." As host I tried to narrate what challenges the character was trying to overcome while the player was pulling a block. I did this primarily for two reasons. It filled the time and provided a link between the time it took to pull a block and the time it would take to accomplish the task. For the few pulls where I didn't narrate, other players interrupted with humor. I didn't bother to try to stop them, because I wanted a fun game. If that meant the game wasn't as 'scary' I was ok with that.

One thing that definitely did not surprise me was how much the plot changed from what was written. I want to let my players do what they want as long as it makes sense. It made sense for them to shoot the one man who could operate the escape pods on the Auerbach. After all, he had just shot and killed a member of their crew. They didn't really uncover the whole truth, but that was partly my fault. I wasn't very clear on how much information I should give them and where.

There were a few good answers on the questionnaires. The first one made me go "oh cool" right off the bat when I read it. One player decided that the thing his character feared most was "hallucinations" or a general loss of the ability to believe his senses. This was perfect, as the radiation levels on the Auerbach would tend to cause that to happen if the group were exposed to the elements. Unfortunately, the crew came well-equipped with exploratory suits. Another memorable answer did not become apparent until late in the game. On the captain's questionnaire it asks "what food that most people like can't you stand?" The player intimated that the captain had survived a ship-wreck that left most people turning to cannibalism to survive. So the food he couldn't tolerate was ribs. At first I thought it was mere silliness and almost made him change his answers. But I wanted to let my players do what they want as long as it made sense. He explained it. It made sense. Then later when the crew encountered one of the strange zombie-like monsters, the fear of cannibalism and disgust with ribs came into play. The tower almost fell as the captain tried to maintain his composure.

I hope that the players would be willing to play another session of Dread, this time with a home-brewed plot line. I know that I'm hooked. The only trouble I foresee is the lack of continuing characters from session to session. Perhaps if I were to adopt a more consistent time-line or plan a more longterm storyline. Depending on how characters exited the game, they could be brought back in another session. Hmm....

Getting Nerdlier

2006-11-08T22:15:00.000-06:00

Lately I've been getting even more nerdly. If that is possible. Perhaps it is my nigh-constant self-exposure to YSDC. I keep listening to their podcasts and wanting to make something like it. I think my nerdly heart knows no satiety. I am always longing for ten more minutes of nerditude. One more post on the forums. One more session of gaming. One more chance to write a great story.

Perhaps I will someday... soooooon!

The King in Yellow

2006-05-17T20:57:00.000-05:00

The French authorities are clamoring for the destruction of and suppression of a newly written play titled "The King in Yellow." This critic received an advanced copy of the 'heretical' play and scarcely felt the need to finish the bloody thing. It is pure banality! The piece reads like dictations from parliamentary sessions.
The author, one Monsieur Castaigne, dares call himself a playwright. In fact his is more akin to the profession of a parliamentary page. His play drags along at such a tedious pace I could not even force myself to finish reading the damn thing. In the openning scene we are introduced to the characters in such a contrived fashion that they hardly seem believable. Give me the misfortunate characters of Dickens any day! These poorly developed personnages fail to show even a modicum of emotion, whining on and on about how the queen must choose an heir.
Perhaps the French tastes have sunk since their days of glory. These days, it seems, we see more and more plays which merely repeat the gruff dialogue of the streets, telling stories so old and worn they seem laughable.
If the French wish to burn this play, so be it. I see no need to keep such literary rubbish around.

Backstory for Dr. Phillip Gabroman

2006-04-11T17:30:00.000-05:00

The Symposium on Unknown History is a world-renowned event held once every four years. This year The Symposium is being hosted by the Erwight Raleigh Museum of Natural History and features an expert on the subjects of sunken continents and ancient lore: Dr. Phillip Gabroman (b. 1943).

Dr. Gabroman earned all of his three PhD’s from Miskatonic University in 1962 at the age of 19: making him the youngest graduate to earn three PhD’s at once. The more illustrious universities – Yale, Harvard, Dartmouth – only recognize one of his degrees: Ancient Mythology. He has been on many expeditions to exotic locations, including a National Geographic documentary in search of the lost continent of Mu at the age of 23.

The documentary was a complete failure and Dr. Gabroman became the laughing stock of academic society and was left bankrupt. He disappeared in early 1967 and resurfaced in 1988: in Peru. A missionary group was decommissioning a corrupted and neglected Spanish colonial-age sanatorium and bringing the patients to America for study and treatment. He was found, delirious, in the depths of a basement yammering and gibbering.

For six years he had been kept locked in the darkest most isolated cell while his mind purged itself through hell-fire. The pale, emaciated, scholar’s broken mind conjured up terrifying images and summoned the most inhuman screams from his tortured soul until his voice gave out. The staff completely ignored him, except for the rare feeding. He was alone with his terrible thoughts and his mind slowly cleansed itself while his body was ravaged by the effort.

After spending an additional two years institutionalized in America, Dr. Gabroman was deemed mentally fit to reenter society. He maintained a fairly low profile, scratching at the poverty line by writing hokey “non-fiction” about lost lands – like Mu – featuring bland cliché plots stolen from the pulp magazine “Weird Tales.”

In 1988, the aging Doctor was invited to speak at a science-fiction convention in Boston. His lecture on the lost continent of R’lyeh shattered even the strongest theories. Dr. Gabroman provided undeniable proof that over the millennia, the lost continent had shifted and was located somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico.

The Doctor was granted an Associate Professorship at Miskatonic University and spent the next 17 years utilizing the university’s vast library and resources to continue his research.

Eye of the Storm

2006-04-04T20:17:00.000-05:00

I have survived to see the eye of the storm. The fearful thoughts from which this journal sprang have dissipated in the faint rays of the sun. I didn't sleep last night. But I did dream.
It is that horrible dream which I have tried to record here, only to find the harder I fight to remember, the farther it flees from my mind. And thankfully so. I do not want to recall that terror, that unbearable hopelessness. Yet, I continue to transcribe the things I saw.
The visions were not the cause of the fear I felt in that fitful slumber. There was something else. Something that even now as I write will not return to me. Something that horrid man in the mask said. Some strange truth he spoke. My mind will not let me hear the words.
The hurricane whirls and spins with me at the center. Calm winds soon become strong gales and rip the pages from my hands. I overturn my table as I start upright. There in the shadowy corner where the clouds gather and the fog swirls. He appears. He is speaking but I will not let myself hear. My knees lose feeling and I fall to the ground. Am I screaming? What is he telling me? Why can't I move?
The howl of the winds dies down and I lift my head from my desk. The faint rays of the sun fall on my shoulder, but I feel little warmth. As the clouds clear from the sky I shudder, knowing it is merely the eye of the storm.

Cold Like Glass

2005-11-30T21:27:00.000-06:00

I dug up this poem recently. It's one I wrote a while ago: my first attempt at Lovecraftian poetry.

The last words I heard were
"Oh god! What have I done!"
And the phone went dead.
I thought the operator could help me.
Find the number and address of the call.
In the cold darkened room,
I found a man.
Completely featureless,
Blank.
A yellow mask obscured his face.
Even his eyes were hidden
by deformed grooves,
carved in a bastardized style of eyes
not known to this earth.
Reaching to remove the mask
I saw there were no seams but
could not reach his face.
My fingers were pried open,
open as though pressed flat against a wall.
Yet the contour war far too smooth.
And cold
like glass.

Remembering...

2005-11-16T21:27:00.000-06:00

As I walked briskly towards the warmth of my girlfriend's house, a soft haunting melody wafted through the cold. Though I knew it was simply a neighbor practicing the violin, the music chilled me to the soul. The weather left me cold outside, but these eerie sounds gave new life to old and dark memories and left me frozen deep inside.

A shriek of agony and the music stopped

footprints

2005-02-25T21:31:00.000-06:00

Tracks in the soft moss
treads to be exact
the soles of shoes.
Darkened corridor
a cave sloping down
misty with the breath of the earth.
the constant dripping of water
carving away
keeping time.
deeper still.
deeper still.

New tracks in the moss
footprints to be exact
i fear the thing that made them.
Shadowed horror,
dweller of the cave,
choking black breath not of this earth.
the constant dripping of water
carries me away
across time.
deeper still.
deeper still.

pause button

2005-02-24T01:06:00.000-06:00

The night air was painfully cold, the two figures walked briskly. No clouds in the sky meant a full moon could shine brightly, and also that there was more cold ahead than warmth.
"You know what would be great, Robert? A 'pause' button. You'd press the button and time would stop. Not for you, though. You could go aroud, do your things, and then resume time when you were done. For example. If you have to wake up at 9, you could set your alarm apropriately, and then when the buzzer goes off, you press the Pause button instead of the snooze button. Now time is stopped and you can sleep as long as you want. When you wake naturally you would resume time and be ready to greet the day as if you had woken up with your alarm."
"That's all well and good, Stephen, but someone is bound to notice."
"Who could notice? And if they did, you could just pause and walk away and they'd never catch you."
"I'm not talking about people. There are things that dwell beyond the threshold of human comprehension and thank god for that distance. Were the human mind capable of seeing the forces---
A black shadow passed over the moon. Only Robert seemed to notice. Stephen just looked at him curiously.
"Look, Stephen, you believe in extra-terrestrial life? In aliens and the like?"
"Sure."
"Well, think about it. The human system of physics is cumbersome and arbitrary at times. It is a complicated means of explaining a simple unnameable rule. There are others who understand that simplicity. Dwellers beyond time. Beyond our feeble minds' reach. Do you think contact with one of these would be a matter of a hand-shake and a hello? Preposterous! The mere sight of such an anomolous creature would shock the human mind into a stupor. Those with a strong enough will might retain the mental faculties of a three year old when they discover that communication with the creature is conducted on a level so high that the avenues of knowledge it opens in the humand's pahtetic grey matter simply tear it asunder!"
Stephen stepped back. Robert was trembling, his voice elevated and excited, tears streaming from his eyes and the hairs on his neck standing on end. It was as if he were talking about events and places that were sitting right before his eyes. Stephen saw him slide a hand into a pocket on his jacket and produce a small grey box with a red circluar... a button! by god it was a button! ... and faster than this thought crossed Stephen's mind, his friend was gone.