500 Words on 2016

500 Words on 2016 — Blue Ink Alchemy

Let me say this first: the marking of days, months, and years is no more or less arbitrary than marking distance. The road is the road, and the milestones along it do not change it; it is how we measure the distance we've covered in our journey, and what lays ahead for us. How we mark time is very similar, save for the fact that we mere mortals have no clue as to how far we have to go. But in terms of where we've been, it helps to have a scale along which we can track our changes, our low points, and our triumphs. So it is with the year a good number of us call "2016". During this time we've marked, there's been so much loss, so much hardship, so much disappointment. I've dealt with this on a deeply personal level, as well as the general one. It takes time to process grief, and to transition from reflection to actualization, especially in a society that is focused more on monetary profit and material gain than personal growth or societal advancement. The expectation is that we will live to work, rather than working to live, and that we will kowtow to the whims of others, instead of taking care of our Selves. The importance of owning our mistakes & drawbacks, and using negative events & energy as fuel for moving forward, has been brought home to me in a very real, visceral way in the past year. I've heard years like this one past referred to as 'burning years'. As a Fire sign and a person feeling a draw towards the transformative potential of matter as well as energy, I've taken this interpretation to heart. When a final metaphorical nail was driven into a past to which I was clinging, I made the conscious decision that this time, this time, I would not succumb to my head weasels and become drawn into a miasma of despair from which I might not be able to save myself. I did not lay in my coffin to decompose. I set that motherfucker on fire. The inferno of the past is lighting the way to the future. It's a path I'm walking as confidently and consciously as I can. I'm so much more aware of my surroundings, those around me, the impact I have on people. I'm regaining things I've lost and sowing seeds for success in soil I'd let gone to seed. And I wouldn't be capable if I hadn't had so much twisted and broken that I had to burn away. Between that, and the character of those around me being truly revealed, in a way, I'm grateful for all that happened. I look to the luminary examples of the musicians, actors, and thinkers we lost. I admonish myself to be and do as well as they would expect, to live up to their example, and perhaps, to exceed them. I'm curious to see what I will do, and what fruit will bear, in 2017. On Fridays I write 500 words.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

A World Without Leia

A World Without Leia — Blue Ink Alchemy

So much loss has happened since the last time we celebrated a new year. So many luminaries have left us behind. But if we're personifying the year of 2016, we can envision it holding back at least one more devastating punch to the emotional gut. And this one... this one hurts. It hurts a lot. Carrie Fisher has died. Putting my thoughts on this tragedy together is proving difficult. Star Wars has had a profound impact on my life. It is one of the first science fiction universes to which I was introduced, and many of its elements did and do resonate with me on a fundamental level. Princess Leia was a huge part of that from the very start. Back when the episode subtitled "A New Hope" was merely called "Star Wars," the tall, white-robed, cinnabun-haired diplomat was a strong, defiant, patient, and even deadly character. She was, in a word, iconic. Time did not dilute this image. While many may point to her character being forced into a position that could potentially be disempowering and humiliating, Leia rose up against her would-be master, and (bolding for emphasis here) strangled the lecherous slug to death with the very chain he was using to keep her prisoner. I cheered, as a child, when I saw this. And while, yes, as I grew there was physical appeal in the salacious nature of the outfit, I still felt more engaged and delighted by what she did while wearing it than simply seeing it on her. Leia was never an object. She was a person. And she remains so today. Carrie Fisher managed to finish filming Leia's scenes for Episode VIII before she left us, so we'll be seeing her again later next year. But I am not going to let people forget that Leia is not her only legacy. Princess Leia fought Imperial forces bent on subjugating the galaxy. Carrie Fisher fought forces within her own mind bent on controlling who she was and who she could be. Bipolar disorder is an absolutely insidious and terrifying disease. The emotional swings and disruption to life that go along with them are devastating. It can lead to incongruous behavior. Outside observers can even attribute other disorders and explanations to what they witness during serious manic or hypomanic episodes, or disregard major depressive episodes as a form of manipulative overacting. And, in general, a huge stigma exists regarding even discussing a condition like bipolar disorder, and securing effective and proven treatment is incredibly difficult. When she wasn't struggling against her inner conflict, she was offering help and hope to those fighting their own. Many people see what occurs during mixed states, rapid cycles, and the extremes of the moods involved as a battleground. And navigating the trenches of said battleground is something that many people find intimidating, if not impossible. But someone who has been in those trenches, trying to navigate a minefield of awful moments and terrible choices and digging foxholes to try and escape the horrors of it all, can relate to the struggle. And Carrie Fisher did her best to do what she could for others. Just before she died, she wrote this letter to a fellow victim of the disorder.

"We have been given a challenging illness, and there is no other option than to meet those challenges," she wrote. "Think of it as an opportunity to be heroic – not "I survived living in Mosul during an attack" heroic, but an emotional survival. An opportunity to be a good example to others who might share our disorder. That's why it's important to find a community — however small — of other bipolar people to share experiences and find comfort in the similarities." In light of her death, the way she closes the letter will give you chills: "Move through those feelings and meet me on the other side. As your bipolar sister, I'll be watching."

I feel that, for those of us left and still dealing with these challenges, our duty is to take up that vigil. And, for my part, we may not always be on the stable side of things. But we can always make it back there. It's a hard road. A long one. And it's often fraught with obstacles that we inadvertently placed in our own way. Human beings are very good at creating problems for themselves to overcome. We generate conflict on flimsy pretenses to justify our own agendas. We demonize those we see as 'other' in order to lionize ourselves and make ourselves the heroes in some sort of dichotomous, simplistic narrative. We've all done it. Some of us might even do it again. We owe Carrie Fisher better than that. I for one choose to keep talking about what happens in my head and my heart. I for one choose to keep telling my story, even the parts that people don't want to hear. I for one will stand up for those too weak or scared or confused to stand on their own, and tell them — and you — that we are not alone. I for one choose to believe that light can prevail over darkness, and that whatever it is, the Force is strong with us. We'll miss you, Carrie. Your fight is over. We'll take it from here. As Princess Leia put it, "somebody has to save our skins!" Wednesdays are for discussing the whys and wherefores of our world.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

500 Words on Family

500 Words on Family — Blue Ink Alchemy

I'm with my family for the holidays. It's been a refreshing and recharging trip so far, mostly just me and my partner in my childhood home with my parents occasionally checking in with us at they go about their daily lives, preparing for the big events of Christmas. My sister and her family descend upon the house this afternoon, bringing a whirlwind of excited activity, barely retrained delight, exuberant emotion, and probably a tantrum or two. That's life. That's my family. I know not everybody has a family like mine. I know the experience of gathering around the tree on Christmas morning in matching pajamas and watching children tear away bright paper from new toys isn't something everyone gets. A lot of people have families who aren't this in touch, who don't have this connection. Some people barely talk to their families at all. Others wish they didn't have parents. Still others wish their parents were still with us. For me, I wish this house was big enough for me to invite everyone who may be alone or who might feel isolated this year, and have them join in this atmosphere, if they'd feel comfortable doing so. I long ago swore that I would do two things when it comes to my family: I would not take their love, generosity, or honesty for granted, and I would do my utmost to share the gifts they continue to give me with those around me. Considering how my family continues to support me, I think I've got that first part pretty much nailed. As for the other... let's just say there are times in my past when I wish I'd been better at listening, being receptive, and taking a moment to pause and reflect before choosing my response, rather than simply reacting. At my last family reunion, I saw a lot of small humans reacting rather than responding. Upon reflection, it seems that there are some folks who never really grew out of that impulse. It took me quite a while to get to a point where I can do that semi-regularly, and I still have my share of mistakes and knee-jerk reactions. Hell, at times I wonder if a tweet I send out or a blog entry I post is too much, or goes too far, or needed to be worded better, if sent at all. Family, at least my family, understands that. They're good at holding space for me. They see me and all I could be, rather than what I've failed to be. They're patient with me, as the parents in my family I've seen are patient with their children. I've been forced to grow up a lot in the past year. When the people I'd chose to be part of my family turned on me, I had to grow up even more. And my blood family was there for me, behind me and loving me, every step of the way. Everybody deserves this kind of family and love. On Fridays I write 500 words.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

The Internet's Not Just For Porn

The Internet's Not Just For Porn — Blue Ink Alchemy

I've spun up a new project, since I'm still stymied in my attempt to write a YA fantasy novel with a female protagonist that doesn't entirely suck. I'm something of a perfectionist, to the point that I am extremely hard on myself when I do not live up to my own standards. I need more test readers but am hesitant to have my worst fears confirmed: that I am too male and out-of-touch to get this important job done. So I'm keeping that on the shelf while I try my hand at something new, different, and downright scary, but in a different way. To do the research I need to complete this new work, I turn to the Internet. And getting lost down rabbit holes of character analyses and Star Trek essays, I was struck with a realization. Considering what it is and can become, it's easy to forget what the Internet was intended to be in the first place, and still is if you use it a certain way. From it's inception, the Internet's purpose is a repository of data and knowledge. Try as you might, you can't burn down the Internet. At this point, the data is so wide-spread, so diverse, and so cataloged that to destroy it and the knowledge it contains is a fool's errand. You can't accidentally touch of a conflagration in the Rare Webpages Section; there will be no Library of Alexandria repeat here. And thank the stars for that — so much knowledge was lost in that time, and in some circles, we're still reeling from the losses. (Personal aside: so much of the Work I am doing away from screens and data streams may remain unfinished because there is simply a lack of resources upon which I can rely.) Moreso than it was when I first encountered it, the Internet is extensively cataloged and searchable. There are multiple engines to do so — perhaps foolishly, I still rely upon Google to do my fetching, among other things. A few cursory searches brought me a plethora of resources for my projects, old and new, and also linked me to undiscovered essays, new treatises, and authors whose voices resonate with my own, individuals with whom I'd love to sit down, away from the constant barrage of distractions, and just have an eye-to-eye chat about our art, the world, and what's to come. In the meantime, I follow them on social media, and hope they'll follow me back. This turns my thoughts to social media, and how the Internet becomes sorely abused. Instead of using it for data and enlightenment, so many individuals choose to use the Internet as sounding boards, echo chambers, and podiums to espouse their personal points of view as if they're gospel. I've been guilty of this, myself — on more than one occasion, I've pontificated on our political climate from my perspective and bemoaned the nature of my illness. I've shown how hard I am on myself, and how I've abused myself; this in turn has given others implicit permission to use and abuse me. Beyond my personal traumatic experiences, so many people use the Internet as forums to spew bile and hatred upon those just struggling to survive. They twist and mold the world as they see it to shove their supposed superiority and righteous indignation into the faces of the populace, like thunderbolts raining down from Olympus. It sickens me to see so much arrogant presumption, so much faux righteousness, so many smug miscarriages of justice. I just want to grab people by their collective collars, shake them until their eyes wobble (not to be violent but to get their damn attention), and say "NO, YOU ARE BEING MYOPIC, YOU DO NOT GET TO PICK AND CHOOSE WHAT THE FACTS ARE." It's people who shit on fundamentalists who pick and choose parts of holy writ that support their viewpoints, then turn around and pick and choose the narratives that support their viewpoints, that truly piss me off. The truth is a complex, multi-faceted thing. Like perfection, it is something deeply desired, but we can only chase after the truth; catching it is a monumental task. We have to be honest with ourselves and the role we play in constructing our narratives, and imagine the other perspectives that confirm that narrative, or run counter to it. Sticking to the facts is difficult when the facts may reveal parts of ourselves that we don't like — our human frailties, our capacity for making bad decisions, our actions that hurt one another. When we see one another as people with hearts and minds, rather than things made of straw and bad wiring, it becomes much harder to push one another out of the light and into the shadows, to shove those who deserve love, support, and trust into an oubliette to the cheers of enablers and potential lovers. The Internet can be the biggest enabler of all. For months I stayed away from the Internet, both loathing what people used it to do to me and fearing what I might say or do in response. But allowing fear and self-loathing to keep me in the dark was not only unhealthy for my own sake but succumbing to the will of the zeitgeist, kowtowing to people who pretend to be rebels but represent a new establishment. We only tolerate what we feel we deserve; we serve as screens for others to project upon us only as long as we allow it. And I finally got to a place where I dropped the curtain on the screen I was (and perhaps still am) and decided it was past time to re-define my Persona and unearth my true Self. And the Internet helped me do that. The Internet is, at once, a potent tool and a potentially deadly weapon. It's all in how one chooses to use it. How will you use the Internet today? How will you leverage its articles, the discussions that take place, your presence and impact in social media? Will you build one another up, to stand against those who refuse to do the same? Or will you tear one another down so you can push your Persona to new heights? The power to both help and harm is at your very fingertips. I hope you choose wisely. Thursdays are for talking tech. (N.B. I was in flight on Tuesday so I'm telling a bit of my story, here, in case you couldn't tell.)

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Blue Ink Alchemy

The Kerrigan Question

The Kerrigan Question — Blue Ink Alchemy

"Girls don't belong in games/movies!" This is the cry of "men's rights activists" who point to things like Rogue One and female gamers & game journalists (Susan Arendt, IRL Jasmine, etc). "What about Sarah Kerrigan?" I suspect I'd mostly get blank stares. Maybe a bit of drool. Here's the background: Sarah Kerrigan is a major character in StarCraft and its sequel. StarCraft is a massively popular real-time strategy game that is played professionally as a multi-player contest & sport. Its single-player campaigns, while maybe not having the best writing, is still full of affecting moments — the rise of Arcturus Mengsk, the sacrifice of Tassadar, etc — but I would argue that the growth and arc of Kerrigan's story is the beating heart of the narrative, though I admittedly haven't played the last chapter, Legacy of the Void, yet. It's a bit beyond my means at present. I'm going to run down Kerrigan's story for those of you who don't know, and proceed to my point after. [spoiler] StarCraft depicts a large-scale conflict between three races: the Terrans (that's us), the psionic and aloof Protoss, and the swarming, ever-evolving Zerg. Sarah Kerrigan is a Terran operative, a "Ghost" (read: psychic sniper assassin) who joins you early in the Terran campaign alongside rough'n'tumble backwater space cowboy Jim Raynor. They don't get along at first — Jimmy's initial thoughts are about how hot Kerrigan is, and she immediately reacts with revulsion and rightly scolds Raynor for a lack of professionalism. But, through the course of fighting for survival as the Protoss and Zerg clash with the Terrans in the middle, they grow to admire, respect, and appreciate one another. Their partnership, both professional and romantic, was short-lived. In a callous act of sacrificing his resources for convenience and advancement, master manipulator and all-around bastard Arcturus Mengsk left Kerrigan to die as her position was overrun by the Zerg forces Mengsk himself had attracted to a Terran world to better secure his political position. Disgusted, Raynor left Mengsk's service, and looked for Kerrigan, only for her to emerge some time later as a new weapon in the Zerg's arsenal, the fearsome and deadly 'Queen of Blades'. Empowered by Zerg evolutionary strains and determined to unlock her own full potential, Kerrigan proceeded to align both her former Terran comrades and several Protoss factions against the Zerg Overmind who'd had a hand (or, rather, tentacle) in creating her. Her plan succeeded, and she thanked her erstwhile allies by betraying them. Some of these allies were Protoss warriors Jim had come to trust as friends; when they were killed, he swore he'd avenge their deaths, and be the one to kill Sarah. Laughing off the threat, Kerrigan wiped the floor with what was left of the Terran forces and retreated to her own corner of the sector. After the so-called Brood War that'd seen Kerrigan triumphant, she began to hear whispers of impending doom. To arm herself and her Swarm to face it, she invaded Terran space to find more powerful weapons. Raynor set off to oppose the Zerg invasion, seemingly still driven by his vendetta and supported by an old friend from his previous life. Things got complicated when a Protoss warrior, one of the few Raynor knew from the Brood War who hadn't been killed, told him that Kerrigan needed to live to fight what was coming. The Terrans used the very weapon Kerrigan had sought to claim to rob her of her Zerg enhancements and leave her vulnerable. Conflicted, Raynor decided to save Kerrigan's life at this moment, choosing to give her a chance for redemption rather than letting his friend shoot her. Kerrigan was held for experimentation, with Raynor keeping an eye on her, and her memories as both Mengsk's assassin and the Queen of Blades haunted her and made her question her morals and sanity. While previously Kerrigan's ambitions had been aimed towards conquest and victory for her Swarm, her restored humanity narrowed her focus to revenge on Mengsk. The facility were she was being held was attacked by Mengsk's forces, and in their escape, Kerrigan and Raynor were separated. While Kerrigan was able to escape, Raynor was reported to be killed, much to Mengsk's delight. Consumed by her need for revenge, Kerrigan turns to the Zerg, returning to the Swarm to regain her former power. Kerrigan returns to the homeworld of the Zerg and seeks her own path to evolve along instead of having it imposed upon her. In doing so, she comes to understand the Zerg on a far more fundamental level, and in doing so, not only guides it to great success, but forges it into a far more powerful force than it was before. With a renewed Swarm and her powers and memory finally under her control, Kerrigan tears across the sector towards Mengsk. Along the way, she finds Raynor alive, but her rebirth as the new Queen of Blades puts an incredible chasm between them; Jim can't let go of everything she did as the Queen of Blades, and as much as she wants to repair that breach, since she was not the creature she was before, Jim can't bring himself to meet her halfway. He can't kill her, either, but joins her to kill Mengsk. Having joined forces, Mengsk's defenses folded under the assault of Raynor and Kerrigan. They work together to bring down the tyrant, Kerrigan saying Mengsk had "made [them] all into monsters" before blowing him up Scanners-style. With their nemesis dead, Kerrigan leaves to turn her attention back to the doom that had brought her back in the first place, leaving a conflicted and emotional Raynor in her wake, looking up at where the woman he loved (and perhaps still does) disappears. This isn't the end of the story, but it's all I know, since I'm avoiding spoilers for Legacy of the Void. [/spoiler] The essence of Kerrigan's story, to me, is that after getting betrayed and turned into something awful, she took control of her own destiny. She seized control of a massive, powerful alien force, just because she could. When she caught wind of something bigger coming to destroy everything, she set out to stand up to it, no matter what it cost. And after everything that happened to her, she decided to recreate her power on her own terms in order to either rescue a dude important to her or avenge herself on the bastard who'd betrayed her in the first place. To me, that speaks of self-actualization, independence, and empowerment. I can see some counterpoints to this perspective, but the fact remains that she is a major character who becomes a protagonist in a major sci-fi gaming franchise, and yet, insecure man-kids haven't brought her up as an example of something that doesn't belong in their games. So is it because she's not as prominent as the leads in Rogue One or The Force Awakens, or is it because they felt some sort of satisfaction in what happened to her when she was disempowered? I'm not sure; it's a headspace I have a lot of trouble getting into. I'm just going to toss this out for potential discussion. What do you think of Sarah Kerrigan, the Queen of Blades, as a character? Is she a positive or negative influence on female empowerment in science fiction? And does Legacy of the Void go on sale regularly, so I can finish the story and also get some awesome, shiny Protoss action? Let me know! Mondays are for making & talking about art.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

The Kerrigan Question

The Kerrigan Question — Blue Ink Alchemy

"Girls don't belong in games/movies!" This is the cry of "men's rights activists" who point to things like Rogue One and female gamers & game journalists (Susan Arendt, IRL Jasmine, etc). "What about Sarah Kerrigan?" I suspect I'd mostly get blank stares. Maybe a bit of drool. Here's the background: Sarah Kerrigan is a major character in StarCraft and its sequel. StarCraft is a massively popular real-time strategy game that is played professionally as a multi-player contest & sport. Its single-player campaigns, while maybe not having the best writing, is still full of affecting moments — the rise of Arcturus Mengsk, the sacrifice of Tassadar, etc — but I would argue that the growth and arc of Kerrigan's story is the beating heart of the narrative, though I admittedly haven't played the last chapter, Legacy of the Void, yet. It's a bit beyond my means at present. I'm going to run down Kerrigan's story for those of you who don't know, and proceed to my point after. [spoiler] StarCraft depicts a large-scale conflict between three races: the Terrans (that's us), the psionic and aloof Protoss, and the swarming, ever-evolving Zerg. Sarah Kerrigan is a Terran operative, a "Ghost" (read: psychic sniper assassin) who joins you early in the Terran campaign alongside rough'n'tumble backwater space cowboy Jim Raynor. They don't get along at first — Jimmy's initial thoughts are about how hot Kerrigan is, and she immediately reacts with revulsion and rightly scolds Raynor for a lack of professionalism. But, through the course of fighting for survival as the Protoss and Zerg clash with the Terrans in the middle, they grow to admire, respect, and appreciate one another. Their partnership, both professional and romantic, was short-lived. In a callous act of sacrificing his resources for convenience and advancement, master manipulator and all-around bastard Arcturus Mengsk left Kerrigan to die as her position was overrun by the Zerg forces Mengsk himself had attracted to a Terran world to better secure his political position. Disgusted, Raynor left Mengsk's service, and looked for Kerrigan, only for her to emerge some time later as a new weapon in the Zerg's arsenal, the fearsome and deadly 'Queen of Blades'. Empowered by Zerg evolutionary strains and determined to unlock her own full potential, Kerrigan proceeded to align both her former Terran comrades and several Protoss factions against the Zerg Overmind who'd had a hand (or, rather, tentacle) in creating her. Her plan succeeded, and she thanked her erstwhile allies by betraying them. Some of these allies were Protoss warriors Jim had come to trust as friends; when they were killed, he swore he'd avenge their deaths, and be the one to kill Sarah. Laughing off the threat, Kerrigan wiped the floor with what was left of the Terran forces and retreated to her own corner of the sector. After the so-called Brood War that'd seen Kerrigan triumphant, she began to hear whispers of impending doom. To arm herself and her Swarm to face it, she invaded Terran space to find more powerful weapons. Raynor set off to oppose the Zerg invasion, seemingly still driven by his vendetta and supported by an old friend from his previous life. Things got complicated when a Protoss warrior, one of the few Raynor knew from the Brood War who hadn't been killed, told him that Kerrigan needed to live to fight what was coming. The Terrans used the very weapon Kerrigan had sought to claim to rob her of her Zerg enhancements and leave her vulnerable. Conflicted, Raynor decided to save Kerrigan's life at this moment, choosing to give her a chance for redemption rather than letting his friend shoot her. Kerrigan was held for experimentation, with Raynor keeping an eye on her, and her memories as both Mengsk's assassin and the Queen of Blades haunted her and made her question her morals and sanity. While previously Kerrigan's ambitions had been aimed towards conquest and victory for her Swarm, her restored humanity narrowed her focus to revenge on Mengsk. The facility were she was being held was attacked by Mengsk's forces, and in their escape, Kerrigan and Raynor were separated. While Kerrigan was able to escape, Raynor was reported to be killed, much to Mengsk's delight. Consumed by her need for revenge, Kerrigan turns to the Zerg, returning to the Swarm to regain her former power. Kerrigan returns to the homeworld of the Zerg and seeks her own path to evolve along instead of having it imposed upon her. In doing so, she comes to understand the Zerg on a far more fundamental level, and in doing so, not only guides it to great success, but forges it into a far more powerful force than it was before. With a renewed Swarm and her powers and memory finally under her control, Kerrigan tears across the sector towards Mengsk. Along the way, she finds Raynor alive, but her rebirth as the new Queen of Blades puts an incredible chasm between them; Jim can't let go of everything she did as the Queen of Blades, and as much as she wants to repair that breach, since she was not the creature she was before, Jim can't bring himself to meet her halfway. He can't kill her, either, but joins her to kill Mengsk. Having joined forces, Mengsk's defenses folded under the assault of Raynor and Kerrigan. They work together to bring down the tyrant, Kerrigan saying Mengsk had "made [them] all into monsters" before blowing him up Scanners-style. With their nemesis dead, Kerrigan leaves to turn her attention back to the doom that had brought her back in the first place, leaving a conflicted and emotional Raynor in her wake, looking up at where the woman he loved (and perhaps still does) disappears. This isn't the end of the story, but it's all I know, since I'm avoiding spoilers for Legacy of the Void. [/spoiler] The essence of Kerrigan's story, to me, is that after getting betrayed and turned into something awful, she took control of her own destiny. She seized control of a massive, powerful alien force, just because she could. When she caught wind of something bigger coming to destroy everything, she set out to stand up to it, no matter what it cost. And after everything that happened to her, she decided to recreate her power on her own terms in order to either rescue a dude important to her or avenge herself on the bastard who'd betrayed her in the first place. To me, that speaks of self-actualization, independence, and empowerment. I can see some counterpoints to this perspective, but the fact remains that she is a major character who becomes a protagonist in a major sci-fi gaming franchise, and yet, insecure man-kids haven't brought her up as an example of something that doesn't belong in their games. So is it because she's not as prominent as the leads in Rogue One or The Force Awakens, or is it because they felt some sort of satisfaction in what happened to her when she was disempowered? I'm not sure; it's a headspace I have a lot of trouble getting into. I'm just going to toss this out for potential discussion. What do you think of Sarah Kerrigan, the Queen of Blades, as a character? Is she a positive or negative influence on female empowerment in science fiction? And does Legacy of the Void go on sale regularly, so I can finish the story and also get some awesome, shiny Protoss action? Let me know! Mondays are for making & talking about art.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

The Kerrigan Question

The Kerrigan Question — Blue Ink Alchemy

"Girls don't belong in games/movies!" This is the cry of "men's rights activists" who point to things like Rogue One and female gamers & game journalists (Susan Arendt, IRL Jasmine, etc). "What about Sarah Kerrigan?" I suspect I'd mostly get blank stares. Maybe a bit of drool. Here's the background: Sarah Kerrigan is a major character in StarCraft and its sequel. StarCraft is a massively popular real-time strategy game that is played professionally as a multi-player contest & sport. Its single-player campaigns, while maybe not having the best writing, is still full of affecting moments — the rise of Arcturus Mengsk, the sacrifice of Tassadar, etc — but I would argue that the growth and arc of Kerrigan's story is the beating heart of the narrative, though I admittedly haven't played the last chapter, Legacy of the Void, yet. It's a bit beyond my means at present. I'm going to run down Kerrigan's story for those of you who don't know, and proceed to my point after. [spoiler] StarCraft depicts a large-scale conflict between three races: the Terrans (that's us), the psionic and aloof Protoss, and the swarming, ever-evolving Zerg. Sarah Kerrigan is a Terran operative, a "Ghost" (read: psychic sniper assassin) who joins you early in the Terran campaign alongside rough'n'tumble backwater space cowboy Jim Raynor. They don't get along at first — Jimmy's initial thoughts are about how hot Kerrigan is, and she immediately reacts with revulsion and rightly scolds Raynor for a lack of professionalism. But, through the course of fighting for survival as the Protoss and Zerg clash with the Terrans in the middle, they grow to admire, respect, and appreciate one another. Their partnership, both professional and romantic, was short-lived. In a callous act of sacrificing his resources for convenience and advancement, master manipulator and all-around bastard Arcturus Mengsk left Kerrigan to die as her position was overrun by the Zerg forces Mengsk himself had attracted to a Terran world to better secure his political position. Disgusted, Raynor left Mengsk's service, and looked for Kerrigan, only for her to emerge some time later as a new weapon in the Zerg's arsenal, the fearsome and deadly 'Queen of Blades'. Empowered by Zerg evolutionary strains and determined to unlock her own full potential, Kerrigan proceeded to align both her former Terran comrades and several Protoss factions against the Zerg Overmind who'd had a hand (or, rather, tentacle) in creating her. Her plan succeeded, and she thanked her erstwhile allies by betraying them. Some of these allies were Protoss warriors Jim had come to trust as friends; when they were killed, he swore he'd avenge their deaths, and be the one to kill Sarah. Laughing off the threat, Kerrigan wiped the floor with what was left of the Terran forces and retreated to her own corner of the sector. After the so-called Brood War that'd seen Kerrigan triumphant, she began to hear whispers of impending doom. To arm herself and her Swarm to face it, she invaded Terran space to find more powerful weapons. Raynor set off to oppose the Zerg invasion, seemingly still driven by his vendetta and supported by an old friend from his previous life. Things got complicated when a Protoss warrior, one of the few Raynor knew from the Brood War who hadn't been killed, told him that Kerrigan needed to live to fight what was coming. The Terrans used the very weapon Kerrigan had sought to claim to rob her of her Zerg enhancements and leave her vulnerable. Conflicted, Raynor decided to save Kerrigan's life at this moment, choosing to give her a chance for redemption rather than letting his friend shoot her. Kerrigan was held for experimentation, with Raynor keeping an eye on her, and her memories as both Mengsk's assassin and the Queen of Blades haunted her and made her question her morals and sanity. While previously Kerrigan's ambitions had been aimed towards conquest and victory for her Swarm, her restored humanity narrowed her focus to revenge on Mengsk. The facility were she was being held was attacked by Mengsk's forces, and in their escape, Kerrigan and Raynor were separated. While Kerrigan was able to escape, Raynor was reported to be killed, much to Mengsk's delight. Consumed by her need for revenge, Kerrigan turns to the Zerg, returning to the Swarm to regain her former power. Kerrigan returns to the homeworld of the Zerg and seeks her own path to evolve along instead of having it imposed upon her. In doing so, she comes to understand the Zerg on a far more fundamental level, and in doing so, not only guides it to great success, but forges it into a far more powerful force than it was before. With a renewed Swarm and her powers and memory finally under her control, Kerrigan tears across the sector towards Mengsk. Along the way, she finds Raynor alive, but her rebirth as the new Queen of Blades puts an incredible chasm between them; Jim can't let go of everything she did as the Queen of Blades, and as much as she wants to repair that breach, since she was not the creature she was before, Jim can't bring himself to meet her halfway. He can't kill her, either, but joins her to kill Mengsk. Having joined forces, Mengsk's defenses folded under the assault of Raynor and Kerrigan. They work together to bring down the tyrant, Kerrigan saying Mengsk had "made [them] all into monsters" before blowing him up Scanners-style. With their nemesis dead, Kerrigan leaves to turn her attention back to the doom that had brought her back in the first place, leaving a conflicted and emotional Raynor in her wake, looking up at where the woman he loved (and perhaps still does) disappears. This isn't the end of the story, but it's all I know, since I'm avoiding spoilers for Legacy of the Void. [/spoiler] The essence of Kerrigan's story, to me, is that after getting betrayed and turned into something awful, she took control of her own destiny. She seized control of a massive, powerful alien force, just because she could. When she caught wind of something bigger coming to destroy everything, she set out to stand up to it, no matter what it cost. And after everything that happened to her, she decided to recreate her power on her own terms in order to either rescue a dude important to her or avenge herself on the bastard who'd betrayed her in the first place. To me, that speaks of self-actualization, independence, and empowerment. I can see some counterpoints to this perspective, but the fact remains that she is a major character who becomes a protagonist in a major sci-fi gaming franchise, and yet, insecure man-kids haven't brought her up as an example of something that doesn't belong in their games. So is it because she's not as prominent as the leads in Rogue One or The Force Awakens, or is it because they felt some sort of satisfaction in what happened to her when she was disempowered? I'm not sure; it's a headspace I have a lot of trouble getting into. I'm just going to toss this out for potential discussion. What do you think of Sarah Kerrigan, the Queen of Blades, as a character? Is she a positive or negative influence on female empowerment in science fiction? And does Legacy of the Void go on sale regularly, so I can finish the story and also get some awesome, shiny Protoss action? Let me know! Mondays are for making & talking about art.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

500 Words on Getting Better

500 Words on Getting Better — Blue Ink Alchemy

Getting to a point where I can post here on even a semi-regular basis has been a very long road. Even before my most recent traumas, just a few months ago, I was climbing my way back to a place of relative stability from the rock bottom I'd hit last year. My focus has been sporadic, my productivity inconsistent, my motivation coming and going along with the swings of my mood. I've questioned my actions, doubted my sanity, and struggled to hold onto things like joy and hope. But I'm getting better. "That's all everyone wants for you," someone told me a few months ago. "We want you to get better." I feel that they're one of the few people who meant it. A bunch of folks paid lip service to the idea of Josh getting better; in retrospect, more than a few of them saying "We want you to get better" really meant "we want you to get lost." Especially if the anonymous, threatening messages I got were any indication. For a while, I was incredibly concerned about how I was being perceived and, moreover, why individuals I continued to try and imagine complexly refused to extend me the same courtesy. Instead of holding space for me and trying to understand me, I was demonized and made out to be, if not as bad as, worse than Donald Trump. "A broken stair," said one individual. "A monster," said an anonymous message. These aren't people who want me to get better. These aren't people who care about me. This was a feeding frenzy of drama. This was a mob of perverts for failure. This was gaslighting, plain and simple. So I'm getting better. While it was unnecessary for me to get raked over the coals in this abusive manner, the aftermath of this brutal annihilation of my Persona, as well as my social life, meant I had all the more bandwidth and capacity to step up my game in what I have come to embrace as "the Work." Like all of us, I am a work in progress. In retrospect, a good portion of that work leading up to the gaslighting was half-done or, like the accusations of the mob, built on sand. So, I scrapped it. I started over, diving into new areas of research and growth, to get better. In doing so, I've realized three things. 1. The perception of others is secondary to my perception of my Self. 2. Representing my Self as authentically as possible is the best foundation for my Persona. 3. The more I try to unearth my honest Self, the more the insecure and false will rail against me. Even now, writing this out, part of me worries that it comes across as pretentious; you, reading this, may think I have my head up my ass. But I have worked very hard to be introspective without putting my head up my ass to look within. And I won't stop now. Because I am getting fucking better. On Fridays I write 500 words.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Return Of The Code

Return Of The Code — Blue Ink Alchemy

For years, I made a decent living in a dayjob writing code for an ad agency back east. Well, I say "writing code", but that was only part of my job. I also had to do some fine-tuning of visual design elements and animations, which unfortunately is not one of my strengths. It's a skill I'm interested in developing, to be sure, but at the moment, my focus is swatting up on programming skills. Between practicing meditation and mindfulness to combat bipolar symptoms, and investigating the neuroscience of plasticity to increase focus on and pleasure in writing, I'm teaching myself new languages and getting familiar with IDEs. It's been a busy time, despite any evidence to the contrary. The thing is, many of the fundamentals of programming extend beyond the constraints of a single language. This is especially evident when it comes to object-oriented languages. My work experience back east was dominated by my skills in ActionScript, a "kissing cousin" of JavaScript. In working on an example of use and understanding of such a language (based on this book), it's becoming more and more apparent that a good portion of my strengths in this area of productivity is in the fundamentals of good programming, with specifics able to be ironed out with practice and research. It can be easy to focus on getting a job done as quickly as possible, as completely as possible, and move quickly onto the next assignment, project, or client. That, however, is not long-term thinking. One of the strengths of object-oriented programming is the ability to build your code in such a way that it is easy to maintain, extend, and revise the resulting functionality. It's caused me no small amount of consternation to open a project and find a tangle of old code, clearly written in haste or before a new version of the language was available, and take precious time to sift through the lines to find where maintenance needs to take place. Often when bringing up these problems, the response has been "just fix it", instead of giving the code an overhaul to make future revisions and maintenance easier and faster, and thus more profitable. I still believe that it's possible to get a positive, long-term return on investment from taking time to make and keep code structures current, rather than ignoring obsolete and inefficient programming in the name of short-term expediency. I'm talking mostly about higher-level stuff, rather than the nitty-gritty of the languages I'm studying. I'm working on taking more time to learn the Unity IDE and the inherent C# language within, as well as preparing to teach myself Python. It's a lot to take in, but if I am to be an asset to a future employer, I want to ensure I have a good arsenal of tools to bring to the table. It's one of the many ways I'm rebuilding myself from the ground up. More on this as it develops, and as I develop. It works on multiple levels. Thursdays are for talking tech.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Bullied for Burying My Beak in a Book

Bullied for Burying My Beak in a Book — Blue Ink Alchemy

I grew up in the days before Harry Potter, but in retrospect, I've been a Ravenclaw pretty much from the get-go. I learned to read at a very young age, by all accounts, and was deep into the likes of Tom Swift and Choose Your Own Adventure by the time elementary school rolled around. I was also in a home where I was fortunate enough to get in early on the video game trend. We had an Atari 2600, followed closely by an NES, and even a Sega Genesis a couple of years later. Our house was a neutral territory in the console wars. Anyway, I was a pretty massive nerd. I attended an elementary school in an area and a district that was both fairly affluent and focused on the development and achievements of scholastic athletics — especially football. It didn't become apparent that this was the underlying motivation of most parenting until junior high, but the groundwork for the stratification of athletic kids above non-athletic kids was laid in elementary school. I had my beak in a book pretty often, I asked questions during class, and I got along with my teachers even when I wasn't getting straight-A grades (which I did more often than note in those early years). For this, I was bullied. I found it very difficult to stand up for myself. I didn't want to engage with my bullies; I just wanted to be left alone with my fantasy realms and my family. My sisters, more than once, had to intervene on my behalf. My little sister, on one occasion, ran off bullies pursuing me as I got off the bus. I was raised in a house with my mother, two sisters, and my grandmother. Incidents like that one taught me not only to respect women (as some would say now, 'those who identify as female'), but that I could turn to them for strength and safety. In particular, with my sisters at my back, I feel like I could handle just about anything. Which is why what happened next was so completely devastating. I don't feel I need to dwell on this particular subject — being bullied as a child — for very long, as it was so minor in the grand scheme of things. But it's entirely possible that these experiences echoed into my modern Personas. It could be that, when faced with peer pressure or a group of people putting me in an antagonistic light, I would disconnect and retreat rather than engage or insist upon my own point of view being considered, my experiences and feelings seen as valid. I don't want to be bullied again; when things approach the level of being bullied, I distance myself from the experience, from those people doing the bullying, or what I see as bullying. That, at least, is my perspective and experience. Take it for what you will.

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This is a series I'm doing on my upbringing, experiences, and how they might have influenced the person I am today. None of this is intended as making excuses for decisions I've made; I am trying to delve into my past to better define my future, and make better choices that do not lead to the disasters I've faced in recent years. Thanks for reading. Tuesdays are for telling my story.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Journalist of the Gods

Journalist of the Gods — Blue Ink Alchemy

They never bothered to name the city. They couldn't settle on one. If that wasn't a metaphor for the deity denizens, Thoth couldn't think of one. He stepped into the diner in the center of town, an eatery and tavern formed out of the hull of an overturned longship. Shields bearing sigils and depicting animal aspects of the gods decorated the capsized hull, but not one bore the True Name of any of them. Thoth had made sure of that when the city was built. True Names had power. Only Thoth knew them all. He never spoke them aloud. Someday, he'd take more action to make sure the power of the gods could never be abused. But right now, he just needed some fucking coffee. Hestia walked over to the booth where Thoth had sat, smiling her warm, welcoming smile. "It's good to see you again, hun," she said. "Your usual?" "Nah. Let's start with a black coffee and go from there." Hestia nodded. She returned almost immediately with the drink. Thoth sipped the hot, blessed liquid. "Which one of you suggested nectar instead of coffee? I forget." Hestia rolled her eyes. "Hera. She wouldn't hear otherwise, no matter how much I told her." "Figures." Thoth fished out his notebook. Hestia looked on. "The election?" "The election." Hestia nodded, and left Thoth to his jotting. Just notes; not writing anything into existence. That wasn't his role. He'd given it up. The last thing he wanted was taking blame him for the way the world had turned out. He certainly hadn't intended for everything to evolve the way it did, but that was the nature of the best stories, the truest stories. They took on lives of their own. They transcended their established narrative. Life, free will, decisions for good or ill — that was what defined mortal existence. Thoth hadn't written people to be how they were just to meddle with them. Leave that to the Sky-fathers. "Thoth! Good to see you, my boy." Looking up, Thoth saw the diner's owner, Njor. Despite the fact he was in fact Vanir, who tended to be less belligerent than their Aesir kin, he wanted the diner to be a neutral, warm place for all. Thoth respected that and, by extension, Njor. "Barkeep. Good to see you, too." "Are ye having the usual this morning?" "I think I'll skip the heavy stuff. Just some pancakes and syrup." The Vanir blinked. "Are ye on a diet?" "No, it's just hard to keep things down with everything going on." Another figure entered the diner. Both Thoth and Njor looked towards the door. For a moment, nobody moved. Then, the newcomer walked over to the table, all but ignoring Njor. "So." Her voice was quiet, not confrontational. "So," was Thoth's response. "Here we are." Another silent moment passed. Njor took a step back before returning silently to the bar. "I'd like to invite you to sit. Would that be okay?" She regarded him coolly, but her eyes were windows to a soul in torment and indecision. Finally, she nodded. He slid over; she sat next to him. A familiar tension settled like a blanket between them. "Where have you been?" Her question, again, wasn't accusatory or even all that emotional. She wanted information. Thoth resisted the urge to say something snarky about a goddess of the hunt being unable to find him. "Were you looking for me?" "Not all of the time. Just..." She looked down. Hestia arrived with a second black coffee, placing it in the younger goddess' eyeline and patting her on the shoulder. "How's Ma'at?" Another diplomatic question. Thoth finally looked at her; really looked at her. She was scared. As frightened as the deer she'd hunt in the days of old. "She's fine." He didn't match her relationship question with one of his own. "Have you been well?" She shrugged. "If things would just settle down around here, I'd be better." He nodded. "Same here. I've come out to try and make sense of everything." "Playing messenger again, Hermes?" "Okay, first of all, I'm done being an errand boy. Second, you know I'm not a fan of that name. Thirdly —" He stopped, taking a deep breath. "Sorry. I'm not used to being out here again." "I know. And I've never been good at this sort of thing." "Yeah." He paused. "I can talk a good game - because of course I can - but deep down..." "You don't owe me an explanation," she said. "Nobody here is mad at you." "Tell that to the sky-fathers." "Oh, fuck those old windbags," she snapped, bitterness finally unsheathing in her voice. "They think they are so entitled to run all of this, corral us like their pet project herd of little -" Thoth held up his hands. "Artemis, please. I didn't come out here for a fight." "I don't want to fight you," Artemis responded, still agitated but not completely losing her cool, at least not yet. "For fuck's sake, Thoth, did it ever occur to you that as bad as things got, some of us still gave a damn about you? That some of us still do?" "We're getting off-topic." Thoth bit his lip. Sometimes he wished he still had the ibis-head so his expressions were harder to read. "But... I appreciate it. I appreciate you. Always have. I just didn't know what to say. Still don't." He looked down at his mug. "Ironic, isn't it? Here I am, heavenly scribe, father of magic, the schmuck who wrote this entire mess into existence, and I had neither the words nor the spine to say anything when everything went to shit." Artemis said nothing. Very loudly. She stared at Thoth. Then, slowly, she turned back to her coffee, lifted it, took a drink, set it back down. "Yeah. We're off-topic." "Right." Thoth took a deep breath. They could hash out their personal shit later. "I'm not playing messenger. I'm playing journalist." Artemis' mouth twitched upward at the corner. Just a bit. It was so fast most would have missed it. But Thoth knew that face, and the person behind it, way too well to ignore that there was truth in what she said. She still cared. And she still found him interesting and great for a chat or a laugh. Right back at you, he thought. Even if neither of us is in a laughing mood. Artemis and Thoth drank their coffee in silence for a moment. "So where are you starting?" "Zeus," he replied. "Hmm. I thought you might go the other way." "Nah. It's time I faced some of this bullshit before it festers any longer." "Think he might go off-topic as well?" "Oh, he can bluster and blow about rumors and unsubstantiated accusations as much as he wants." It was Thoth's turn to get agitated. "I want facts. Facts are all that have really mattered. And he can't hide the facts behind what sounds good and fits his narrative and makes him look more bangable." Thoth scowled and turned away. He was aware of how closely Artemis was watching him. Hestia appeared, a fresh pot of coffee in her hand, pouring for the pair, smiling at them both before retreating again. Thoth took a deep breath. "Anyway. His latest hobby seems to be talking a lot of shit about Isis." "Oh, yeah." Artemis became a bit more animated, getting on to a safer subject. "He says that the older gods have always been the weaker gods, and that Sky-fathers should be in charge of a city in the sky. He also says he can do something about the climate change on Earth." Thoth shook his head. "We gave the world to mortalkind, it's up to them to fix it." "That's Isis' stance. But there's a lot of dirty laundry on that side. Marrying her brother. The whole thing with Set. Zeus has gone so far to say that these days, Isis and Set are in collusion to let the souls of more mortal prophets into the city the way they did —" Thoth held up his hand. "Yeah, yeah, that's something I need to talk to Isis about myself, especially if we're going to nail down proper names for those two. And you know how I feel about True Names getting uttered." Artemis stared, then slowly nodded. "Sorry. Forgot that was a sore spot." "No worries. It's been a long time." Thoth looked up as the pancakes arrived. He looked down at them, wondering if he had the appetite for them after all. "Anyway. I should talk to Odin, too. I can't believe he's stepping down." "He's had a great run. And he might be back after this next Odinsleep. It's been long enough since his last one, though, that it could put him out for several mortal decades, if not longer." "And then we'll have another election." Thoth shook his head. "Beats another war." "At least in a war, you know who's got your back." "Provided nobody shoves a dagger into it." Artemis blinked. "Oh. Oh, you don't —" "Not you. I don't mean you. You didn't... you never..." He looked down at his pancakes. "I'm sorry." There was a pause. Then, Artemis picked up the syrup and poured a bit on Thoth's stack. "It's okay. This is going to take some time." Thoth managed a smile. "With all of this renewed bickering over who should run things, I guess we can't afford to dwell overmuch on the mistakes of the past, or who did what to whom before." He watched as Artemis syruped her own pancakes. "I'm glad you came here today." "I'm glad I found you here." She picked up her fork. "Now, let's eat these pancakes." They did, in relative silence. Hestia came by one more time with coffee. After they ate, Artemis reached into a pocket. "Don't," Thoth said. "This one's on me." Artemis paused. "How...?" "I make his micro-brews. In exchange, I eat for free." "Damn. I'll have to try one." "Let me know what you think after?" "Sure." She stood, allowing Thoth to slide out. They headed for the door. Artemis kept pace. Thoth blinked. "I'm coming along," she said. Thoth said nothing, very loudly. She looked at him, smirking as they walked. "You're hunting. I'm joining you." The smirk blossomed. "After all, what prey is more elusive than the truth?" Thoth smiled back. "It's so good to see you again." "Likewise. Now, let's go question a sky-father."

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Written in response to the following prompt: "Every god ever worshiped by humanity exists. All of them live in a city in the sky and run everything that happens. However, many arguments arise over who gets to do what." I hope you enjoyed the story! Mondays are for making art.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Quick Update for Year Thirty-Eight

Quick Update for Year Thirty-Eight — Blue Ink Alchemy

Yesterday I began my thirty-eighth trip around this planet. I want to get it started right with some changes. I mean, a lot of changes have been happening in my life, and I could go into detail about them, but for various reasons, I'm keeping those details personal. Hell's bells, even writing that feels like some kind of ersatz sales pitch: "Explore the deepest recesses of guilt complexes and emotional disorders, Ask Me How!" Kind of like the prompts seen during Verhoeven's brilliant take on Starship Troopers: "Would you like to know more?" Anyway, one of the things I'm aiming to do is get this blog back on a regular weekday posting schedule. Writing is slowly getting easier, much like healing a broken limb or recovering from a nervous breakdown. As my future-facing ambition and search for a truly personally-fulfilling career slowly bear more fruit, I want to make sure I don't lose focus as I have in the past. Blogging is a part of that, believe it or don't. As long as I stay genuine, show up as the best Self I can muster, and make myself spend time away from screens to study and exercise neuroplasticity or mindfulness, or journal, or meditate, or just jog up and down some stairs, there's nothing frivolous or time-wasting about maintaining this blog. Or getting better at competitive video games. Or building a personal fantasy narrative in Skyrim. Or enjoying esoteric and/or engaging exercises in storytelling like Undertale or The Crown or The Magician's Land. Or watching Doctor Strange again. My thirty-eighth year's primary goal is to embrace and celebrate my ability to be a true polymath, an actual bard, an honest-to-goodness jack-of-quite-a-few-trades. I hope you'll come along. I, for one, can't wait to see who'll show up as this particular part of my story unfolds.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Doctor Strange Is My Hero

Doctor Strange Is My Hero — Blue Ink Alchemy

I'm going to take a break from pontificating on our current crisis and the implications of the resurrection of ultra-nationalism to talk about a comic book wizard. Because it's a form of self-care and it's something that tickles the cockles of my imagination. I used to do reviews on a fairly regular basis, and while there's definitely enough going on in Doctor Strange to warrant several paragraphs, I'd like to dwell more on why I feel like the character is one of the best transitions from page to screen Marvel has done yet. Let's keep it simple: Doctor Strange is the best Marvel origin movie to date. It has compelling and complex characters, downplays the humorous elements to rely more on well-woven world building and truly stunning visuals, and even gives us a villain with more depth than a soup spoon. Not lots of depth, but its there. It's well-cast, well-written, and Jack Kirby is smiling from the Great Beyond at the capture of his visions of the realms beyond our reality. The true strength of the piece, however, is Stephen Strange himself. Way back in 2010 I pontificated on Strange in the comics, given the decision to have him lose the title of Sorcerer Supreme due to an act of hubris that, while motivated by the best of intentions, cost him dearly. In the film, we can see both that hubris and that humility and self-sacrifice, which I'll get to. But what makes Strange stand out from the start is his baseline level of self-awareness. He knows how great he is, but he tempers that with taking opportunities to save lives as well as proving it. The opening scene's bullet extraction is a fantastic, pitch-perfect moment of character-building without too much exposition or too many bells and whistles. Okay, from here on, it's spoiler territory. Fairly be ye warned. When he loses the fine dexterity of his hands, Strange pushes himself to find a way to fix himself, improve himself. He isn't motivated by an outside force, nor is he willing to settle for a more mundane profession, like teaching or dictating his theories to another person. While he is ambitious, arrogant, and even antagonistic at times, to the degree he alienates friends & colleagues and burns up his life savings, he is still seeking a return to his former glory, a position where he can regain his cushy lifestyle and keep saving lives. That, by itself, makes for a good story. Then, when he arrives at Kamar-Taj, a very interesting thing happens. Once the Ancient One actually allows him to study, he throws himself into those studies. The haunted and hurt surgeon gives way to the astounding and curious student. A legitimate bookworm and very quick study, Stephen Strange gains a fundamental grasp on the essence of the Mystic Arts even as he struggles with the hand gestures that manifest even the most basic of spells. His focus on and struggles with his mangled hands do get in his way, but when he is studying, he gets out of his own way to a degree that is even more inspiring than his redemptive struggle itself. Then, after the obligatory Marvel cinematic fight and chase scenes (which are still Inception-levels of creative and compelling, no seriously, they are that good), we come to his confrontation with Dormammu, ruler of the timeless Dark Dimension and overall sadistic bastard. What does Doctor Strange do? He doesn't unleash any offensive spells, never throws a single punch. Instead, he uses his mind. Knowing that time is foreign to Dormammu, he locks himself and the godlike creature in a time loop, bewildering and frustrating his opponent rather than seeking to destroy or even cripple it. Haunted by the one murder he did commit (even if it was in self-defense), Strange pushes himself to redeem the act, refusing to do actual battle with Dormammu. He dies, over and over and over again, to fill Dormammu with such impotent rage that the entity has no recourse but to bargain with the sorcerer. His calm and somewhat whimsical admission that "pain is an old friend" perfectly encapsulates this strategy. And it works. At last, we have a Marvel movie that reaches its climax in a way that, while gruesome, ultimately resolves in a non-violent fashion. And after all of that, Strange is not Sorcerer Supreme. He has no predefined destiny, no obligatory position as an exemplar or pinnacle-occupying hero. Instead of promoting his own genius or prowess, he humbly becomes the mere guardian of one of the Sanctum Sanctorum locations that protect our world, and offers his assistance to those who share his goals, even if they present a possible threat. He shows intelligence, discretion, charisma, and an ongoing desire to continue improving, continue changing, continue to do and get and be better than the man he was at the start of his journey. This is why I hold him in higher regard than Captain America. I may get some backlash for this. But while Captain America basically was born as a paragon of the virtues United States citizens aspire to exemplify and wish their country would represent, Stephen Strange is truly a self-made and ever-improving vanguard of actions matching intention and morals defining actions. Relying on his wits and intellect rather than physical violence or even his powers, he shows us that what it takes to be a hero isn't what you are, but the choices you make, especially if you've made bad ones in the past. Steve Rogers has made mistakes, but not to the degree of Stephen Strange. Tony Stark has improved himself, but not to the degree of Stephen Strange. He is simply, in my opinion, head and shoulders above the rest. And not just because of the Cloak of Levitation. I'll be watching Doctor Strange quite a few more times. I suspect it will join other works in my yearly practice of revisiting narrative moments that inspire me on a foundational level. There are echoes of who I was, and goals for who I want to be, in the cinematic portrayal of Stephen Strange. This deeply personal connection, along with its production values, memorable portrayals, and mind-bending effects, is why Doctor Strange is, if not the best, one of the finest Marvel movies they have or will produced.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Doctor Strange Is My Hero

Doctor Strange Is My Hero — Blue Ink Alchemy

I'm going to take a break from pontificating on our current crisis and the implications of the resurrection of ultra-nationalism to talk about a comic book wizard. Because it's a form of self-care and it's something that tickles the cockles of my imagination. I used to do reviews on a fairly regular basis, and while there's definitely enough going on in Doctor Strange to warrant several paragraphs, I'd like to dwell more on why I feel like the character is one of the best transitions from page to screen Marvel has done yet. Let's keep it simple: Doctor Strange is the best Marvel origin movie to date. It has compelling and complex characters, downplays the humorous elements to rely more on well-woven world building and truly stunning visuals, and even gives us a villain with more depth than a soup spoon. Not lots of depth, but its there. It's well-cast, well-written, and Jack Kirby is smiling from the Great Beyond at the capture of his visions of the realms beyond our reality. The true strength of the piece, however, is Stephen Strange himself. Way back in 2010 I pontificated on Strange in the comics, given the decision to have him lose the title of Sorcerer Supreme due to an act of hubris that, while motivated by the best of intentions, cost him dearly. In the film, we can see both that hubris and that humility and self-sacrifice, which I'll get to. But what makes Strange stand out from the start is his baseline level of self-awareness. He knows how great he is, but he tempers that with taking opportunities to save lives as well as proving it. The opening scene's bullet extraction is a fantastic, pitch-perfect moment of character-building without too much exposition or too many bells and whistles. Okay, from here on, it's spoiler territory. Fairly be ye warned. When he loses the fine dexterity of his hands, Strange pushes himself to find a way to fix himself, improve himself. He isn't motivated by an outside force, nor is he willing to settle for a more mundane profession, like teaching or dictating his theories to another person. While he is ambitious, arrogant, and even antagonistic at times, to the degree he alienates friends & colleagues and burns up his life saving, he is still seeking a return to his former glory, a position where he can regain his cushy lifestyle and keep saving lives. That, by itself, makes for a good story. Then, when he arrives at Kamar-Taj, a very interesting thing happens. Once the Ancient One actually allows him to study, he throws himself into those studies. The haunted and hurt surgeon gives way to the astounding and curious student. A legitimate bookworm and very quick study, Stephen Strange gains a fundamental grasp on the essence of the Mystic Arts even as he struggles with the hand gestures that manifest even the most basic of spells. His focus on and struggles with his mangled hands do get in his way, but when he is studying, he gets out of his own way to a degree that is even more inspiring than his redemptive struggle itself. Then, after the obligatory Marvel cinematic fight and chase scenes (which are still Inception-levels of creative and compelling, no seriously, they are that good), we come to his confrontation with Dormammu, ruler of the timeless Dark Dimension and overall sadistic bastard. What does Doctor Strange do? He doesn't unleash any offensive spells, never throws a single punch. Instead, he uses his mind. Knowing that time is foreign to Dormammu, he locks himself and the godlike creature in a time loop, bewildering and frustrating his opponent rather than seeking to destroy or even cripple it. Haunted by the one murder he did commit (even if it was in self-defense), Strange pushes himself to redeem the act, refusing to do actual battle with Dormammu. He dies, over and over and over again, to fill Dormammu with such impotent rage that the entity has no recourse but to bargain with the sorcerer. His calm and somewhat whimsical admission that "pain is an old friend" perfectly encapsulates this strategy. And it works. At last, we have a Marvel movie that reaches its climax in a way that, while gruesome, ultimately resolves in a non-violent fashion. And after all of that, Strange is not Sorcerer Supreme. He has no predefined destiny, no obligatory position as an exemplar or pinnacle-occupying hero. Instead of promoting his own genius or prowess, he humbly becomes the mere guardian of one of the Sanctum Sanctorum locations that protect our world, and offers his assistance to those who share his goals, even if they present a possible threat. He shows intelligence, discretion, charisma, and an ongoing desire to continue improving, continue changing, continue to do and get and be better than the man he was at the start of his journey. This is why I hold him in higher regard than Captain America. I may get some backlash for this. But while Captain America basically was born as a paragon of the virtues United States citizens aspire to exemplify and wish their country would represent, Stephen Strange is truly a self-made and ever-improving vanguard of actions matching intention and morals defining actions. Relying on his wits and intellect rather than physical violence or even his powers, he shows us that what it takes to be a hero isn't what you are, but the choices you make, especially if you've made bad ones in the past. Steve Rogers has made mistakes, but not to the degree of Stephen Strange. Tony Stark has improved himself, but not to the degree of Stephen Strange. He is simply, in my opinion, head and shoulders above the rest. And not just because of the Cloak of Levitation. I'll be watching Doctor Strange quite a few more times. I suspect it will join other works in my yearly practice of revisiting narrative moments that inspire me on a foundational level. There are echoes of who I was, and goals for who I want to be, in the cinematic portrayal of Stephen Strange. This deeply personal connection, along with its production values, memorable portrayals, and mind-bending effects, is why Doctor Strange is, if not the best, one of the finest Marvel movies they have or will produced.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

My Country In Wartime

My Country In Wartime — Blue Ink Alchemy

I have felt this atmosphere in my country before. In the wake of the attacks on the World Trade Center in 2001, there was a palpable aura around the people who walked to and fro, doing their best to go about their daily lives. We fought back against a paralysis so gripping, it threatened to choke the life from us. We'd been knocked back on our heels. We'd taken a sucker punch to the gut. And we resolved, as a nation, not to let the fear rule our lives. We didn't normalize what had happened. We fought back. We went to war. I hate that word. War. FDR hated it, too. He said as much in an address given at Chautauqua, N.Y. in 1936:

I have seen war. I have seen war on land and sea. I have seen blood running from the wounded. I have seen men coughing out their gassed lungs. I have seen the dead in the mud. I have seen cities destroyed. I have seen two hundred limping, exhausted men come out of line—the survivors of a regiment of one thousand that went forward forty-eight hours before. I have seen children starving. I have seen the agony of mothers and wives. I hate war.

I am seeing, and feeling, so many parallels, between those times and now, that I have to use a word and idea that may prove antithetical to what's best for our society, but rings true no matter how I might deny it. What has happened in the wake of this latest election in the United States is no less than a declaration of war. I look at the rhetoric. I read between the lines. I see what's been spewed from the deep places of the Internet. I hear tell of ambitious plans to continue shifting the global atmosphere to one of hatred and "cleansing", from electing more radically prejudiced leaders to a delineation of in what order to "purge" those who are "lesser". These are more than words. These are weapons. And they are aimed directly at a global heart of compassion and understanding just now beginning to emerge from the darkness. In art, there is truth, and words from one of the authors who helped shape me ring true:

ARAGORN: Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not.

This is why it is so important that this behavior, this aggression, this warmongering, is not normalized. We cannot and must not accept it as the new zeitgeist. We must stand together against a tide of ignorance and smug notions of superiority. Our imperative, as a species that wishes to survive and prosper, is to stand together, in love and understanding, and declare that this venom will not kill us. Regardless of our colors, genders, orientations, creeds, and backgrounds, we owe it to ourselves and each other to work as one to overcome what threatens to undermine, belittle, divide, and destroy us. We had a hand in how this came about. We ignored the warnings. We downplayed the severity of the potential consequences. Some of us fell into arrogant presumption, others savored the opportunity to say "we told you so", still others took the proceedings as a joke, and as a whole, we failed to stand against a rising tide of darkness that now threatens, more than it ever has before, to engulf the world we are trying so hard to save. The mistakes are ours. We made our decisions. We behold and are sickened by the consequences. Blame does not matter. Being crippled by guilt is no better than being crippled by fear. What matters is — what do we do now? We stand. We plant our feet. We take one another's hands. We look at one another to see the light we have to share, and foster that light to shine with our individual flames. We meet the enemy on the field and declare that we do not and will never surrender. This is not normal. This is not right. It falls to us to protect the work we've already done and the potential we have to make our future better. Each of us, as individuals, has something to offer in what is to come. If we can come together, if we can stymie the growing threat of all-encompassing hatred, if we prove that love can, should, and must prevail — we can win this. We can protect ourselves and our future. And we can look back on this moment and say that, this time, this time, evil was not allowed to rule the day. We can prove that we can get, and be, better. We shall overcome. If my voice has any reach, any meaning, I use it to say this: join me. Not in accepting this as the new normal, but denying it power over us and our future. Join me in a community that shares love, strength, and truth. Join me in looking past one another's flaws, mistakes, and prejudices, to the veracity and beauty of our inner Selves, and telling the darkness and hatred in the world that it cannot prevail, it cannot destroy or conquer us, and it cannot and shall not pass. I will not be silent. I will not stand idle. I will not let this poison kill us. I will stand with you, in this time of war. Will you stand with me?

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

From the Vault: Paging Doctor Strange

From the Vault: Paging Doctor Strange — Blue Ink Alchemy

It's been almost six years since I originally wrote about Doctor Strange, and now, there's a major motion picture telling his story. I haven't seen it yet. But I'm very eager to do so. Part of the reasons why are laid out below. As is his origin story, at least from the comics, so... spoilers, I guess? This is a time where, now more than ever, the world needs some magic, and those with the wisdom and humility to wield it for the greater good. The world needs wizards.

---

As much as I never really got into reading his stories on a regular basis, I'm a big fan of Doctor Strange. Marvel's a world full of armored geniuses, super-soliders and Viking gods. Standing right beside them is this bookworm, a former surgeon who managed to become Earth's Sorcerer Supreme? How did he do it? Did he stumble across a magical MacGuffin or get touched by an angel or bitten by a magical spider? No. He worked for it. Granted, his origin story isn't a terribly noble one, but this is Marvel we're talking about. Strange was a gifted surgeon who cared more about his wealth and reputation than actually helping people. He got involved in an auto accident that damaged the nerves in his hands. He lost much of the fine manipulation necessary to be a surgeon. Stubborn and vain, Strange refused to take a position as a consultant or practice 'lesser' medicine and hunted down every potential cure he could find. His search was fruitless and drained his fortune, leaving him a destitute back-alley doctor, his reputation lost and his bar tabs mounting. Finally, he heard word of someone called "the Ancient One," pawned the last of his possessions to seek the hidden monastery, and begged for the Ancient One to heal him. The Ancient One refused. Furious, Strange very nearly left only to see the Ancient One beset by mysical forces. His curiosity overwhelmed his frustration and he began to speak to the Ancient One as a pupil does to a student. Uncovering treachery and trying to warn the master, Strange overcame his selfishness and vowed to combat the evil he'd seen with his own eyes. Through years of study and practice, he became a sorcerer and one of the foremost minds of the arcane in the world. He's been through a lot. He's faced all sorts of challenges from the likes of Doctor Doom to personifications of cosmic forces. He's survived them all, with nothing more than the contents of old scrolls and his own quick thinking. And he has never, ever gone back to thinking only about himself. At every turn, he's contributed to the greater good of the world around him. How is this not something to which we should aspire? Doctor Strange is a shining example of the proper response to hubris and hardship. Despite all his challenges, all he's lost, he soldiers on, taking on the next obstacle as resolutely as possible. He never gives up. Even when he loses the title of Sorcerer Supreme, he holds on to his abilities not to pursue his own aims, but to help from the sidelines, advise from the shadows. He still refuses to give up on a world that would have given up on him long ago. I have to wonder if, these days, walking as he does with a sullen disposition and rocking a mean trenchcoat, he ever thinks back to those days as a surgeon, to the way he'd casually light a cigarette the moment he's out of the operating room ensuring the patient can pay for the life-saving medicine he just administered. Since becoming a sorcerer, he's never demanded payment, never asked for special recognition or reward. Even when he's all but bugged to remain with Luke Cage's New Avengers, he politely and humbly tries to tell them he's not worthy to stand among them, that his mistakes are too great, his burdens too much for others to bear. Yet he has borne the hardships of others many times, and when Strange finally cracks the smallest of smiles, it's a greater statement than reams of text could make. Brian Michael Bendis and Grant Immoren are doing a fantastic job with Strange. I'm glad to see him in this current form and look forward to more. When I was a child, I was fascinated with the magic. Nowadays, I'm fascinated by the man.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

— Blue Ink Alchemy

This was a terrorist attack. Looking at the outcome of the 2016 Presidential Election in the United States, that is the only conclusion that makes sense to me. Granted, I'm no authority on such matters, but the evidence points to a large number of voters who did not respond to polls, organized and mobilized in large numbers, and took action to undercut and disenfranchise a progressive movement that, while stymied thanks to the DNC, still has momentum and promise. A lot of people are terrified as a result. And that is the goal of a terrorist attack. Not the loss of life. Not the damage to property. The fear. We don't talk about white terrorism a lot in this country. It doesn't get a lot of press. It doesn't sell headlines. And even if it would, the white businesspeople in charge of the news media don't normally allow such things to come to light. It's always been easier to foist blame upon the other and alienate those who are different. It's deflection. It's projection. And, most disgustingly, it's worked for millennia. I know this might be coming off as hysteria or paranoia, but this is the only way the outcome makes any sense to me. White rural voters — poorly educated, irrationally angry, entrenched in antiquated notions, and/or deliberately misinformed — let their hate fester in their homes and hearts. They ignored polls and pundits. They anticipated election day. And they turned out in droves. Motivated by ignorance, hatred, and fear of their own, they pushed their racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic agendas through in the form of a demagogue, and they're salivating at the thought of 'taking [their] country back' and 'making America great again'. If that isn't terrorism, I don't know what is.

---

It was arrogance, on both sides, that allowed this to happen. I mean, we've been on this path since before the "American experiment" began. But I don't have the room to expound upon that here. All I can do is look at the facts. Not cast blame, but discuss facts. The DNC, in its arrogance, turned its nose up at a progressive platform full of motivated, well-educated voters whose candidate spoke with conviction, passion, and honesty. The prevailing Democratic campaign, in its arrogance, did not take the threat of hate-fueled demagoguery seriously. Disgusted voters, in their arrogance, raised middle fingers to the call for a unified front from the very candidate they had backed, and threw their votes away on candidates that did nothing but fracture their own base. And the arrogance of the opposing voter base that they would 'rise again' pushed them to take deliberate action that threatens to set this country back decades, if not reshape it into something truly ugly and unrecognizable to the idealists who fought for the freedom of slaves, women's suffrage, and the rights of the LGBTQ community. In one way or another, we all have a share of responsibility in how things have turned out in this country. Which means the responsibility of pushing back against our mistakes and doing better, acting better, being better, falls to us, as individuals, and as a people who need to stand together, believe in ourselves and one another, and not go quietly into the night.

---

I'm terrified. I worry about a lot of people around me. My thoughts are with the wonderful human beings I've met who boldly express their nonbinary identities, the indigenous people of this land who have been cruelly and wantonly abused since Europeans landed on their shores, and the women and people of color who now have to wonder what the future holds for them and their families. I'm disconnected from many of those I knew personally. I've worked hard to be a better version of myself than I ever have before, in spite of the fact that, in the long run, that work may not matter to anybody but myself. Every day, that work continues, in spite of the phantoms of my mistakes and this renewed feeling of despair. But this is not a time to crawl into a hole and cover oneself in dirt. I feel and acknowledge my fear and my grief, but I will not allow them to prevail over me. I recognize that my sincerity and integrity and veracity may be questioned, but I will not allow my voice to fall silent. In spite of all the damage that has been done, through deliberate acts or poor decision-making, on a national or personal level, I still believe we can rise above our circumstances and what is set against us. I still believe in the better natures within us — as Yoda put it, "luminous beings are we, not this crude matter" — that defy basic animal reactive impulses of lashing out blindly, fleeing, or freezing. I still believe that love is far, far more powerful than hatred. I still believe that our capacity to imagine one another complexly is far, far more powerful than reducing one another to caricatures of humanity or spectres of monstrosity. I still believe that, without violence or destruction, love can prevail over fear, knowledge can prevail over ignorance, and barriers set up by established and insecure bastions of power can be smashed by those who stand together, as one unified force of understanding and love, and say

NO. YOU MOVE.

Like so many, I feel like an outcast, disconnected from what I thought I knew, adrift in uncharted territory. But dammit, I am still holding onto the idea that there is good in this world. And it is worth fighting for. It may be a foolish idea. I've had quite a few foolish ideas in my lifetime. Some lead to horrible mistakes. This isn't one of them. This foolish idea, this one, is good, and worth sharing. And if all I can do is share it with you, tell you that you're not alone, and that I love you — we may have never met, we may have lost touch, we might never meet, but dammit, I love you — and that we can and will fight back against this — not just fight, but win — then that is what I will do. With all the strength I have. With all of the love in my heart. With every breath I take until I breathe my last. I stand with you and for you. Now. And always. Let's get to work.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

— Blue Ink Alchemy

This was a terrorist attack. Looking at the outcome of the 2016 Presidential Election in the United States, that is the only conclusion that makes sense to me. Granted, I'm no authority on such matters, but the evidence points to a large number of voters who did not respond to polls, organized and mobilized in large numbers, and took action to undercut and disenfranchise a progressive movement that, while stymied thanks to the DNC, still has momentum and promise. A lot of people are terrified as a result. And that is the goal of a terrorist attack. Not the loss of life. Not the damage to property. The fear. We don't talk about white terrorism a lot in this country. It doesn't get a lot of press. It doesn't sell headlines. And even if it would, the white businesspeople in charge of the news media don't normally allow such things to come to light. It's always been easier to foist blame upon the other and alienate those who are different. It's deflection. It's projection. And, most disgustingly, it's worked for millennia. I know this might be coming off as hysteria or paranoia, but this is the only way the outcome makes any sense to me. White rural voters — poorly educated, irrationally angry, entrenched in antiquated notions, and/or deliberately misinformed — let their hate fester in their homes and hearts. They ignored polls and pundits. They anticipated election day. And they turned out in droves. Motivated by ignorance, hatred, and fear of their own, they pushed their racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic agendas through in the form of a demagogue, and they're salivating at the thought of 'taking [their] country back' and 'making America great again'. If that isn't terrorism, I don't know what is.

---

It was arrogance, on both sides, that allowed this to happen. I mean, we've been on this path since before the "American experiment" began. But I don't have the room to expound upon that here. All I can do is look at the facts. Not cast blame, but discuss facts. The DNC, in its arrogance, turned its nose up at a progressive platform full of motivated, well-educated voters whose candidate spoke with conviction, passion, and honesty. The prevailing Democratic campaign, in its arrogance, did not take the threat of hate-fueled demagoguery seriously. Disgusted voters, in their arrogance, raised middle fingers to the call for a unified front from the very candidate they had backed, and threw their votes away on candidates that did nothing but fracture their own base. And the arrogance of the opposing voter base that they would 'rise again' pushed them to take deliberate action that threatens to set this country back decades, if not reshape it into something truly ugly and unrecognizable to the idealists who fought for the freedom of slaves, women's suffrage, and the rights of the LGBTQ community. In one way or another, we all have a share of responsibility in how things have turned out in this country. Which means the responsibility of pushing back against our mistakes and doing better, acting better, being better, falls to us, as individuals, and as a people who need to stand together, believe in ourselves and one another, and not go quietly into the night.

---

I'm terrified. I worry about a lot of people around me. My thoughts are with the wonderful human beings I've met who boldly express their nonbinary identities, the indigenous people of this land who have been cruelly and wantonly abused since Europeans landed on their shores, and the women and people of color who now have to wonder what the future holds for them and their families. I'm disconnected from many of those I knew personally. I've worked hard to be a better version of myself than I ever have before, in spite of the fact that, in the long run, that work may not matter to anybody but myself. Every day, that work continues, in spite of the phantoms of my mistakes and this renewed feeling of despair. But this is not a time to crawl into a hole and cover oneself in dirt. I feel and acknowledge my fear and my grief, but I will not allow them to prevail over me. I recognize that my sincerity and integrity and veracity may be questioned, but I will not allow my voice to fall silent. In spite of all the damage that has been done, through deliberate acts or poor decision-making, on a national or personal level, I still believe we can rise above our circumstances and what is set against us. I still believe in the better natures within us — as Yoda put it, "luminous beings are we, not this crude matter" — that defy basic animal reactive impulses of lashing out blindly, fleeing, or freezing. I still believe that love is far, far more powerful than hatred. I still believe that our capacity to imagine one another complexly is far, far more powerful than reducing one another to caricatures of humanity or spectres of monstrosity. I still believe that, without violence or destruction, hope can prevail over fear, knowledge can prevail over ignorance, and barriers set up by established and insecure bastions of power can be smashed by those who stand together, as one unified force of understanding and love, and say

NO. YOU MOVE.

Like so many, I feel like an outcast, disconnected from what I thought I knew, adrift in uncharted territory. But dammit, I am still holding onto the idea that there is good in this world. And it is worth fighting for. It may be a foolish idea. I've had quite a few foolish ideas in my lifetime. Some lead to horrible mistakes. This isn't one of them. This foolish idea, this one, is good, and worth sharing. And if all I can do is share it with you, tell you that you're not alone, and that I love you — we may have never met, we may have lost touch, we might never meet, but dammit, I love you — and that we can and will fight back against this — not just fight, but win — then that is what I will do. With all the strength I have. With all of the love in my heart. With every breath I take until I breathe my last. I stand with you and for you. Now. And always. Let's get to work.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy