Tuesdays with Media: One Dark Night

Head on over to my other blog to read my latest story.

Tuesdays with Media: Name and Address

Check out my latest short story on my other blog.

Tuesdays with Media: First Date

I just wrote a new story.  You should read it.

Tuesdays with Media: Step Right Up

New story.  See if you can guess the theme...

Tuesdays with Media: Ainsley

I wrote a new story that you can read here.  Other than "Davey and the Dragon," which is a children's story, "Ainsley" is the longest story that I've published on my blog.  I'm telling you about the story's length not to scare you off, but because I want you to know what's ahead.  I had a bit of help from one of my coworkers on this one (he reminded me of an important storytelling principal and offered some other good feedback).  I think the final outcome is really good and I hope that you'll take some time and see for yourself.

Tuesdays with Media: Pecking Order

I'm not sure why I haven't been keeping up with this feature.  While I try to figure out the reason, you should follow this link to read my latest work of fiction.

Tuesdays with Media: Pasta

My new story is made possible thanks to my big sister, Margot, who helped me brainstorm and work out some ideas.  Thanks, Sis!

Tuesdays with Media: Text

I wrote another short story, which I posted on my story blog.  Give it a read and let me know what you think.

Tuesdays with Media: Emotional Words

I wrote another short story.  You can read it here.

Tuesdays with Media: The First Day

I wrote an educational children's story.  You can read it here.  If you have access to children, I'd appreciate if you read my story to them and share their reaction with me.

Tuesdays with Media: Family Values

I wrote a new short story that you can read here.  It's a sequel to "Natural Living," a story I wrote a few years ago.

Tuesdays with Media: Humilia

I wrote a one-page script that can be found here.  You should read it.

Tuesdays with Media: Why are Comic Books Addictive?

For roughly six years, from 2000 to 2006, I collected comic books, which even included the two years I was serving my mission.  I enjoyed the characters, the settings, the interconnectivity between titles, all of it.  Even when I wasn't reading comic books, I was thinking about the stories and characters.  When I graduated from high school, my goal was to become a screenwriter as a way to break into writing comics, though the reverse is more common.

What I didn't know, however, was that I was addicted to comic books.  With the popularity of superhero films in the past few years, comic books are more prominent than ever before, which has led me to think back to the time that I spent as a collector.  I've decided to take some time to discuss why comics are addictive and why I had to drop them cold turkey.

Addictions can arise with any repetitive activity.  The brain registers a particular activity as pleasurable, so we seek to repeat the activity to receive the same reward.  As time goes on, the pleasure we experience with the activity diminishes, so we have to spend more time doing that activity to achieve the same high as before.  That's why compulsive gamblers can spend entire days in casinos: they've become so numb to the activity, but they still try to achieve the rush that came so easily early on.

Comic books are usually published monthly and are collectable.  That means that not only can I get a high from reading a comic book for that month, I can also go out and seek older comics to fill in the gaps in my collection.  Depending on what publisher you follow (the big ones are DC, Marvel, Image, and Dark Horse), there could be decades worth of comics to collect.  The first superhero comic (the most popular genre in comics, though there are others) was Action Comics #1, published in 1938.  That means that a hardcore collector of Superman comics has to go back more than 75 years to have a complete collection.  Even a relative newcomer like Wolverine first showed up 40 years ago in 1974.  And the hunt for missing comics is as much fun as collecting the new stories.

The stories themselves, at least when I was reading, pushed the reader to read multiple titles.  At one point, Superman had four monthly titles that you had to read if you wanted to know what was going on.  Then there were crossovers where, for example, the Flash might show up and help Superman with a mission in the pages of Superman, giving the reader incentive to also pick up The Flash.  On top of that, DC would put out a huge crossover mini-series once a quarter that involved multiple heroes' books.

All of that would be enough to make comic books addictive, but there is one other component also at play: self-insertion fantasy.  Comic books are heavily marketed to teenage boys, and generally had PG-13 level of violence and sex -- there was never any graphic nudity in the books I read, but there was plenty of implied nudity, which is when a character is naked, but the "naughty bits" are obscured.  And while the depiction of women in comics can definitely be classified as sexist, the real fantasy lies with the men.  Where women are depicted as "ideal" specimens for the opposite sex, the men too are depicted as "ideal" presumably so the male reader can insert himself into the story through that character.  Think about it: Superman's costume is so form-fitting that he resembles an ancient Greek sculpture.  He's perfect for a young boy to fantasize himself looking like.

Once I learned all of this, I gave up comics, though it was still hard.  During the first few months after I stopped collecting, I would go back through and reread a lot of old stories.  Allison's support really made a positive difference in my recovery.

Now, you may be wondering why I still watch superhero movies if comics are so addictive.  The reason is that most of the problems with comics are with the fact that they keep coming month after month.  The movies are a one-off experience.  You can by the DVD or Blu-ray, but that still only happens one time.  Even the fantastical nature of the heroes is toned down since actual human bodies and fabrics behave differently in the real world.

However, that doesn't mean that all comics are evil and have to be avoided, at least by other people.  There were some really good stories I read that were created by very talented writers and artists.  If you have a child that shows interest in comics, my warning is to be careful.  Check out what they're reading and don't let them read too many titles at a time.  Also, reprinted collections (called trade paperbacks or TPBs) can be a way to eliminate the collecting aspect of comics, which is the most addictive part.

While I still have a fondness for superheroes, especially Superman, I know better than to dabble in comic books again.

Tuesdays with Media: Not in My House

Another new story on my other blog.  I know that clicking a link sometimes is too much, so it can also be viewed below.

Not in My House

Scene 1

INT. Kitchen

A husband and wife are finishing up their dinner preparations. What they are making is unimportant. The wife (MOM) places something on the table (like a bowl of salad or a roast).

MOM: You should tell Michael that dinner’s ready.

The husband (DAD) nods and walks out of the kitchen.

INT. Hallway, viewed from inside a bedroom, the door not quite closed

DAD is about to knock on the door, but pauses and looks in. Without saying a word, DAD’s eyes go big and he backs away with a look of horror on his face, bumping softly into the bathroom door behind him, pushing it open. DAD walks back to the kitchen.

INT. Kitchen

MOM: What’s going on? Where’s Michael?

DAD: [to himself] I just can’t believe it. You try to raise your kids right, but it all just falls apart on you.

MOM: What are you talking about?

DAD: [to MOM] I caught Michael using Coke.

MOM: [loud, but not quite a shout] Are you serious?! [quickly looks back towards the bedroom and changes to speaking in a loud whisper] Did you take it away?!

DAD: Why bother? I’m sure he’ll just get more.

MOM: Do you know where he got it?

DAD: No, but I’d guess that friend of his, Johnny, is involved. I never liked that kid.

MOM: Is that what Michael said?

DAD: No, once I saw what he was doing, I left. [ashamed] I just can’t look at him right now.

MOM: Hang on. Let’s find out what’s going on. I just can’t believe he’s using coke! [walks out of kitchen]

INT. Hallway.

We see MOM walking down the hall. This time, MIKE’s bedroom door is completely open, but the bathroom door across the hall is closed. The sound of a toilet flushing is heard. The door opens and MIKE, a teenager, comes out, a strong look of worry and fear is on his face.

MOM: Michael! What is this I hear about you using coke!?

MIKE: I just wanted to try it, that’s all!

MOM: Just TRY it?! You don’t just try something like that.

MIKE: Mom, it’s really not that big a deal. Most of my friends have it all the time.

MOM: And that makes it okay? Your friends don’t know what’s best for you, your father and I do.

MIKE: Okay, I’m sorry.

MOM: Sorry doesn’t cut it. Where’s the rest of it.

MIKE: I got scared, so I flushed it down the toilet. It’s gone.

MOM: [sighs] Where did you even get it?

MIKE: On the way home from school, there’s a corner store.

MOM: And they sell drugs there?!

MIKE: What?! No, I bought a Coke!

MOM: You don’t think that counts as drugs?

[DAD walks into the hall.]

DAD: You should know better, son. In this house, we drink Pepsi! [very dramatically, he opens a can of Pepsi and takes a sip] Ahh!

MOM: [not believing the ridiculousness of the situation] You caught him with Coca-cola?

DAD: Yeah, I did. You know that ever since I took the Pepsi Challenge all those years ago that this has been a Pepsi house.

MOM: [rolls eyes] I can’t believe this [throws hands in the air and walks away].

MIKE: Dad, there are other colas out there.

DAD: Not as far as I’m concerned!

MIKE: Stop telling me how to live my life! [walks into bedroom and slams door behind him]

A black screen appears with white letters:

Everyone has the right to choose for themselves. Talk to your kids about which cola is right for them.

END

Tuesdays with Media: Neighbors

Is it cheating for me to just provide a link to a new story without providing an analysis?  Or would it be cheating in a different way if I analyze something that I also wrote?

While I figure this out, enjoy this (very) short story.

Metaphor

Another story that I wrote some time ago.  When I wrote it, I had just had my seizure and was still coming to terms with what had happened.  In an attempt to better see things from her perspective, I wrote this story from Allison's perspective.  Like with the other story, I changed the details, but the basic story is biographical.

Breaking the Fantasy

On a recent episode of Elementary, the case in the episode involved the stealing of a refrigerant that is being discontinued, known throughout the industry as R22.  (All refrigerants are assigned a code starting with "R" for "refrigerant" and a number that does mean something else beyond being random numbers, but I haven't picked up all the details yet.)  Anyway, in the episode in question, R22 was stolen because, according to the show, it's getting harder and harder to come by.

Except that it isn't.  While it's true that R22 is being phased out, it is still used in a lot of systems.  Also, the show said that eventually the fluid would be illegal to use, but that's not true either.  It will be illegal to manufacture, but if you have a system that uses it, you're fine to use what's available.

Why does this matter?  It doesn't really, but I thought it was pretty cool that I noticed some false information in a fictional program.  Often, as audience members, we just take what characters say as factual, especially if they're someone with authority, like Sherlock Holmes, who is authority an on practically everything.  But actually, the writers just googled some information on the matter and put in some details they thought would make the story more interesting.  I'm sure that the vast majority of viewers didn't catch the error, just like I don't catch other errors on other subjects; but I caught this one.

So, I've been at Danfoss for about three and a half months and I already know enough about refrigeration systems to ruin an episode of a crime drama.  Like I said, I think that's pretty cool.

The First Christmas

Read the new story here!

New Blog!

I've decided to launch a new blog dedicated to my fictional writings.  It is now easier than ever to read my short stories and other works of fiction by visiting thefictionalworksofjordanclarsen.blogspot.com, which is also a link on the right side of this blog.  It already has all of the stories previously posted on this blog and will be the new home of any new writing in the future.  In fact, there's a new story debuting there today, so follow the link and check it out!

As always, feedback is appreciated.

The Hunt

I wrote most of this story while working at the temp job a couple of weeks back. It has some VERY SUBTLE symbolism that seemed appropriate for today.

Argus sat on the tree branch, waiting. The waiting was the hardest part of the hunt. Sharpening your weapons, reinforcing your cords, that was one thing: at least you were doing something. With waiting, all you did was, well, wait.

This hunt had lasted a few weeks, with little sign that his prey was close. In his youth, he had stalked his prey, but he now realized that wasn’t terribly practical – with each prey that came near, he’d have to change so much about his behavior to get close, and that was exhausting. So instead, he now puts out bait and sits, waiting.

Very subtly, Argus felt the air shift. The other creatures of the forest became very still and the silence that stayed behind was palpable. Now, the true test began. Argus gripped his lariat in his right hand, using only his forefinger to keep the loop in place, the excess cord held loosely in his left hand. All of his attention was focused on watching the tree line for his prey and being ready to pounce.

With little warning, four creatures exploded into the sky from the forest canopy. They flew without wings, propelled by some unknown force. Argus had only the briefest of moments to decide which prey to pursue. He could have chosen the fastest or the biggest one, but Argus had studied these creatures and knew that the best one to go after was simply the closest one. He adjusted his stance to a crouch and watched the flying creatures’ flight pattern. As soon as a creature was in range, Argus let his lariat fly. The cord found a home around the end of the long, rat-like tail and Argus let the coiled excess spill out. He watched the cord fly out after the lead and jumped from the tree just as the cord pulled his chest harness it was attached to.

This is where the hunt really got exciting, Argus thought as he climbed the cord up towards the creature. This close to his prey, he could see the details up close. The scales that covered its body were large and shimmering in the early morning light. The two limbs it had in place of arms were short numbs with a long, single claw attached to the ends. From his current position below and behind, he couldn’t see the head, but they all look about the same with their rodent-like teeth obscured by large, full lips and their soulless, black eyes, staring into nothingness. Truly, they are fearsome creatures to behold and many hunters have been intimidated on their first encounter, but Argus had grown accustomed to the chase.

He quickly scaled the cord and was soon climbing on to the creature itself. He had to move carefully to not cut himself on the sides of the large, hand-sized scales. His heavy boots and gloves provided some protection, but even some hunters that wore full armor had lost a limb simply to the scales. Every preparation in the world would mean nothing if one was careless in the moment. To help lend some stability, Argus pulled his pickaxe from its holster at the back of his belt. It was made from a previous kill’s claw, which was incredibly strong. With each swing of the axe down into the side of his prey, slowly moving Argus forward, the creature cried out with high-pitched, whistle-like screams, steam pouring out of the single nostril on the top of its head.

Despite the danger of traversing the creature as it swung its body about violently, Argus was soon at the head. He quickly holstered his pickaxe and unsheathed the sword on his back. The sword was built out of a bone from a previously killed creature with the edge made up of razor-sharp scales. He positioned the point of the sword directly over the nostril on the creature’s head – the only vulnerable part on the whole of the creature – and thrust downward. Rather than the whistle-like scream from before, the creature let out a deep bellow. As Argus’ body vibrated with the sound emanating from his prey, he pressed the sword deep into the creature’s brain, dark green blood pouring out of its head. Now the creature’s path was curving downward, unable to stay aloft through its mysterious means. Argus held tight to his sword, as much for stability as to ensure the death of his prey. Trees crashed around them as they plowed a path through the forest. With a thunderous crash, the creature met the ground, though it continued sliding for nearly a half-mile.

When the creature finally came to a stop, Argus – who was quite exhausted at this point – pulled out the mouth pipe from its loop on the left side of his belt. He took a deep breath and let out four distinct calls, a pattern that was unique to successful hunters. Soon, the village would arrive and help him harvest everything useful from his kill. He slowly began his climb down from the top of the animal. On the ground again, he took inventory of his extremities. Everything was accounted for, though he did have a few minor cuts and scrapes. Argus had known hunters that had lost fingers without realizing it, the thrill of the hunt had been so strong. If he had any wounds that needed attention, now was the time for it. However, without the need for first-aid, Argus sat down and leaned back against a still upright tree as he waited for the others.

He did not have to wait long. Just as he was truly getting comfortable, he heard the village’s chief call to him.

“Argus!” the older man called. “Quite the impressive jaub you have here.”

“Aye,” Argus called back, turning in the direction of his elder tribesman. “It will sustain our people for some time, Orion.”

“I think a jaub like this will offer much in food and textiles.” Orion was now in front of Argus and he extended his hand to help the other man to his feet. “I hope that the benefits of this one will also be bounteous, but we will not know for certain until we have sliced it open.”

“Please let me know the quality of the jaub when the assessment has been completed. Now excuse me, I must go and look for Eos.” Orion nodded and went to observe the deconstruction and appraisal of the newly landed jaub while Argus wearily began looking for his wife amongst the crowd that had formed. While he was searching, a hand lightly touched his shoulder, causing him to turn and look for the hand’s owner. He was met by the face of his wife, Eos, with her violet-grey eyes and reddish-blonde hair (though a few streaks of white had started to come in). She was carrying their young child, a boy named Aether.

“Quite the jaub you have landed, Argus,” she said to him, proudly. She turned to face Aether, “Your father is the best at finding and landing jaubs, young one.”

Argus looked at his little family, happy that he could provide a good life for them through his efforts. After all, everything comes from the jaubs that he lands: food, clothing, tools, medicine, even materials for their houses. In the past, hunters would go after other animals as prey, but no other creature provided as much to men as jaubs did, so now that was the only prey worth going after. Once the jaub was landed, other men and women of the village would deconstruct it down to the various components to be used. The various insides, called benefits, were especially valuable since they were essential components in medicines. However, no part of the jaub could be utilized without the jaub itself first being landed. In many ways, Argus thought, the hunter was the most important role in the village.

With his wife and child beside him, Argus slowly walked back to the village for a well-deserved rest. The hunt would begin again soon, but for now, he would enjoy his time off.