Twilight Imperium - Hunka Hunka Burning Sun

Twilight Imperium - Hunka Hunka Burning Sun — Blue Ink Alchemy

Previously in Twilight Imperium: It was a pirate's life for me. There are a few games out there that promise a different play experience every time you unpack it. I've played a few that do vary from session to session, but after two games of Twilight Imperium, I can say that every game is, in fact, different. Tactical actions are done the same way, and the strategies were the same, but everything else was different. Even though we opted for another pre-set map, rather than taking the extra time to distribute the system tiles per the rules, the map was completely different. I did not expect all of the tech specialties to pepper our galaxy the way they did. For the most part, we chose our races at random. My father chose the L1z1x Mindnet (blue), my neice represented the Federation of Sol (purple), my brother-in-law lead the Yssaril Tribes (red), and I drew the Embers of Muaat (black). I chose to include the options of Custodians of Mecatol Rex and the Wormhole Nexus, as the last time we played, it was far too easy to steam right to the capital. My neice began taking advantage of Sol's racial powers right away, spawning extra Ground Forces on planets she occupied. My father industrialized quickly, pushing out from 0.0.1, while my brother in law and I established at least a casual alliance as he took sped out from his own home systems. My War Sun, hampered by slow movement, was at least able to claim the rare triple-system near Muaat. The newcomers got a handle on how the turns and actions worked, and by the end of round 2, we all had a good idea of how to proceed with our various plans. As round 3 moved forward, my father essentially blocked off my neice's advance towards his systems, and she seemed put off by the approach of my War Sun, now armed and fully operational. My brother bolstered his position on one side of Mecatol Rex, and the War Sun moved into the other side. For most of the rest of the round, each of us tried to determine who would actually go for it. I took the Diplomacy action to prevent my nearest system from getting trounced by either my neice's growing armies or my father's dreadnaughts. With that peace of mind, I rolled into Mecatol Rex, the public objective for which had just been revealed. At this point, the game was very close, with my father and my neice tied for first at 2 or 3 Victory Points. My dad's a bit notorious around our gaming table. With his massive fleets and aggressive expansion, nobody trusted him. At one point, he asked "How did I make 3 enemies in a 4 person game?" My brother and I were sort of glaring at one another as his Flagship occupied space near my War Sun. As Sol and the Mindnet also glared at one another, there was a palpable sense of tension around the table. It felt very different from the previous TI game, and as my brother swept into my father's space, I knew that our erstwhile alliance was coming to an end. Sure enough, the Yssaril Tribes moved in on Mecatol Rex. A great deal of fire was exchanged, but at the end, I was still able to complete my Master of Ships secret objective. The lead that afforded me was tenuous at best, as both my brother and my neice were right behind me. We had agreed to play to 8 victory points, and my objective put me at 6. This was the point in the game where the Diplomacy strategy could almost be used as a weapon or a means to limit an opponent's choices, and the Bureaucracy strategy became more and more attractive. By this point, my father had caught up to me in terms of tech. He, too, could construct War Suns. I knew I had to deal with him, but I had to do so in such a way that neither my niece nor my brother could capitalize on my focus. I needn't have worried, through, as it was at around this point that the Yssaril invaded Muaat. Knowing that I could not claim any more objectives if my homeworld was occupied, the bold move was meant to forestall a Muaat victory. I now had the choice between going after my homeworld or taking my brother's as he had taken mine. Before I could decide, my brother activated Diplomacy, declaring his home system a DMZ. With no choice, I steamed home, abandoning Mecatol Rex, and fought to reclaim Muaat. There was some confusion over the proper use of the Gen Synthesis technology, but in the end, Muaat remained in the hands of the Yssaril. The other players were closing in, aiming to destroy my remaining space docks and possibly knock me out. However, during the Strategy phase, I had chosen Bureaucracy. When I activated it, the Imperium Rex card was available, and I played it, ending the game. Twilight Imperium is quickly becoming one of my favorite board games of all time, and not just because of this win. The variety and depth of the game is staggering, and I feel like I've only scratched the surface. I have yet to play with Mercenaries, Political Intrigue, or Leaders, to say nothing of Distant Suns, but I know they're on the horizon. My niece, at the conclusion of this game, asked "When are we playing again?" in a very eager tone of voice. Even if I'd lost, I couldn't have asked for a better victory.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Twilight Imperium - Hunka Hunka Burning Sun

Twilight Imperium - Hunka Hunka Burning Sun — Blue Ink Alchemy

Previously in Twilight Imperium: It was a pirate's life for me. There are a few games out there that promise a different play experience every time you unpack it. I've played a few that do vary from session to session, but after two games of Twilight Imperium, I can say that every game is, in fact, different. Tactical actions are done the same way, and the strategies were the same, but everything else was different. Even though we opted for another pre-set map, rather than taking the extra time to distribute the system tiles per the rules, the map was completely different. I did not expect all of the tech specialties to pepper our galaxy the way they did. For the most part, we chose our races at random. My father chose the L1z1x Mindnet (blue), my neice represented the Federation of Sol (purple), my brother-in-law lead the Yssaril Tribes (red), and I drew the Embers of Muaat (black). I chose to include the options of Custodians of Mecatol Rex and the Wormhole Nexus, as the last time we played, it was far too easy to steam right to the capital. My neice began taking advantage of Sol's racial powers right away, spawning extra Ground Forces on planets she occupied. My father industrialized quickly, pushing out from 0.0.1, while my brother in law and I established at least a casual alliance as he took sped out from his own home systems. My War Sun, hampered by slow movement, was at least able to claim the rare triple-system near Muaat. The newcomers got a handle on how the turns and actions worked, and by the end of round 2, we all had a good idea of how to proceed with our various plans. As round 3 moved forward, my father essentially blocked off my neice's advance towards his systems, and she seemed put off by the approach of my War Sun, now armed and fully operational. My brother bolstered his position on one side of Mecatol Rex, and the War Sun moved into the other side. For most of the rest of the round, each of us tried to determine who would actually go for it. I took the Diplomacy action to prevent my nearest system from getting trounced by either my neice's growing armies or my father's dreadnaughts. With that peace of mind, I rolled into Mecatol Rex, the public objective for which had just been revealed. At this point, the game was very close, with my father and my neice tied for first at 2 or 3 Victory Points. My dad's a bit notorious around our gaming table. With his massive fleets and aggressive expansion, nobody trusted him. At one point, he asked "How did I make 3 enemies in a 4 person game?" My brother and I were sort of glaring at one another as his Flagship occupied space near my War Sun. As Sol and the Mindnet also glared at one another, there was a palpable sense of tension around the table. It felt very different from the previous TI game, and as my brother swept into my father's space, I knew that our erstwhile alliance was coming to an end. Sure enough, the Yssaril Tribes moved in on Mecatol Rex. A great deal of fire was exchanged, but at the end, I was still able to complete my Master of Ships secret objective. The lead that afforded me was tenuous at best, as both my brother and my neice were right behind me. We had agreed to play to 8 victory points, and my objective put me at 6. This was the point in the game where the Diplomacy strategy could almost be used as a weapon or a means to limit an opponent's choices, and the Bureaucracy strategy became more and more attractive. By this point, my father had caught up to me in terms of tech. He, too, could construct War Suns. I knew I had to deal with him, but I had to do so in such a way that neither my niece nor my brother could capitalize on my focus. I needn't have worried, through, as it was at around this point that the Yssaril invaded Muaat. Knowing that I could not claim any more objectives if my homeworld was occupied, the bold move was meant to forestall a Muaat victory. I now had the choice between going after my homeworld or taking my brother's as he had taken mine. Before I could decide, my brother activated Diplomacy, declaring his home system a DMZ. With no choice, I steamed home, abandoning Mecatol Rex, and fought to reclaim Muaat. There was some confusion over the proper use of the Gen Synthesis technology, but in the end, Muaat remained in the hands of the Yssaril. The other players were closing in, aiming to destroy my remaining space docks and possibly knock me out. However, during the Strategy phase, I had chosen Bureaucracy. When I activated it, the Imperium Rex card was available, and I played it, ending the game. Twilight Imperium is quickly becoming one of my favorite board games of all time, and not just because of this win. The variety and depth of the game is staggering, and I feel like I've only scratched the surface. I have yet to play with Mercenaries, Political Intrigue, or Leaders, to say nothing of Distant Suns, but I know they're on the horizon. My niece, at the conclusion of this game, asked "When are we playing again?" in a very eager tone of voice. Even if I'd lost, I couldn't have asked for a better victory.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Twilight Imperium: Hunka Hunka Burning Sun

Twilight Imperium: Hunka Hunka Burning Sun — Blue Ink Alchemy

Previously in Twilight Imperium: It was a pirate's life for me. There are a few games out there that promise a different play experience every time you unpack it. I've played a few that do vary from session to session, but after two games of Twilight Imperium, I can say that every game is, in fact, different. Tactical actions are done the same way, and the strategies were the same, but everything else was different. Even though we opted for another pre-set map, rather than taking the extra time to distribute the system tiles per the rules, the map was completely different. I did not expect all of the tech specialties to pepper our galaxy the way they did. For the most part, we chose our races at random. My father chose the L1z1x Mindnet (blue), my neice represented the Federation of Sol (purple), my brother-in-law lead the Yssaril Tribes (red), and I drew the Embers of Muaat (black). I chose to include the options of Custodians of Mecatol Rex and the Wormhole Nexus, as the last time we played, it was far too easy to steam right to the capital. My neice began taking advantage of Sol's racial powers right away, spawning extra Ground Forces on planets she occupied. My father industrialized quickly, pushing out from 0.0.1, while my brother in law and I established at least a casual alliance as he took sped out from his own home systems. My War Sun, hampered by slow movement, was at least able to claim the rare triple-system near Muaat. The newcomers got a handle on how the turns and actions worked, and by the end of round 2, we all had a good idea of how to proceed with our various plans. As round 3 moved forward, my father essentially blocked off my neice's advance towards his systems, and she seemed put off by the approach of my War Sun, now armed and fully operational. My brother bolstered his position on one side of Mecatol Rex, and the War Sun moved into the other side. For most of the rest of the round, each of us tried to determine who would actually go for it. I took the Diplomacy action to prevent my nearest system from getting trounced by either my neice's growing armies or my father's dreadnaughts. With that peace of mind, I rolled into Mecatol Rex, the public objective for which had just been revealed. At this point, the game was very close, with my father and my neice tied for first at 2 or 3 Victory Points. My dad's a bit notorious around our gaming table. With his massive fleets and aggressive expansion, nobody trusted him. At one point, he asked "How did I make 3 enemies in a 4 person game?" My brother and I were sort of glaring at one another as his Flagship occupied space near my War Sun. As Sol and the Mindnet also glared at one another, there was a palpable sense of tension around the table. It felt very different from the previous TI game, and as my brother swept into my father's space, I knew that our erstwhile alliance was coming to an end. Sure enough, the Yssaril Tribes moved in on Mecatol Rex. A great deal of fire was exchanged, but at the end, I was still able to complete my Master of Ships secret objective. The lead that afforded me was tenuous at best, as both my brother and my neice were right behind me. We had agreed to play to 8 victory points, and my objective put me at 6. This was the point in the game where the Diplomacy strategy could almost be used as a weapon or a means to limit an opponent's choices, and the Bureaucracy strategy became more and more attractive. By this point, my father had caught up to me in terms of tech. He, too, could construct War Suns. I knew I had to deal with him, but I had to do so in such a way that neither my niece nor my brother could capitalize on my focus. I needn't have worried, through, as it was at around this point that the Yssaril invaded Muaat. Knowing that I could not claim any more objectives if my homeworld was occupied, the bold move was meant to forestall a Muaat victory. I now had the choice between going after my homeworld or taking my brother's as he had taken mine. Before I could decide, my brother activated Diplomacy, declaring his home system a DMZ. With no choice, I steamed home, abandoning Mecatol Rex, and fought to reclaim Muaat. There was some confusion over the proper use of the Gen Synthesis technology, but in the end, Muaat remained in the hands of the Yssaril. The other players were closing in, aiming to destroy my remaining space docks and possibly knock me out. However, during the Strategy phase, I had chosen Bureaucracy. When I activated it, the Imperium Rex card was available, and I played it, ending the game. Twilight Imperium is quickly becoming one of my favorite board games of all time, and not just because of this win. The variety and depth of the game is staggering, and I feel like I've only scratched the surface. I have yet to play with Mercenaries, Political Intrigue, or Leaders, to say nothing of Distant Suns, but I know they're on the horizon. My niece, at the conclusion of this game, asked "When are we playing again?" in a very eager tone of voice. Even if I'd lost, I couldn't have asked for a better victory.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Goals and Failure

Goals and Failure — Blue Ink Alchemy

I have certain daily goals. Write 350 words. Get my running pace to around 11 minutes. Spend wisely. Eat healthy. Lift more heavy things. So on and so forth. In addition to being an imperfect human animal, circumstances sometimes fall together in that a goal is unattainable temporarily, or I am too drained to reach for it. Whatever the reasoning or excuse offered up, though, the bottom line is that I fail in my goal. The day comes to a close and I find myself looking at several failures, large and small, littered behind me. I've come to understand that I can't let them weigh too heavily on my shoulders. Emerson tells us this:

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.

Goals are great for us to have. They give us something to aim at, an achievement to strive towards. As much as accepting compromise or failure can lead to complacency and stagnation, we also cannot obsess over achieving every goal we set, at least in the short term. That way lies madness. So, as in most things, the key is in balance. Have your goals. Work towards them. Make as much effort as you can to get where you want to be. And if you don't exactly get there, you'll at least be closer. Progress is progress, even if it seems slow or even glacial. I'm reminding myself of that every day, and you should, too, especially if you're feeling frustrated or depressed about how work is turning out or how circumstances are coming together. Be patient. Take a deep breath. Try again. If all else fails, remember that you get to start fresh tomorrow, and possibly do even better. Don't give up. Never surrender. Put one foot, physical or metaphorical, in front of the other, and you'll get where you want to go.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Movie Review: Anchorman - The Legend of Ron Burgundy

Movie Review: Anchorman - The Legend of Ron Burgundy — Blue Ink Alchemy

I can finally remove a stigma from my character in the eyes of my friends. I used to confess that I'd never seen Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgandy and there would be a collective gasp. Apparently it was an ironclad classic of comedy and I was doing myself a disservice by not watching it. That was the impression I got from some, anyway. And in any event, it's now a moot point, as I finally made the time to watch this little Will Ferrell gem. Will takes the title role of Ron Burgundy, the lead anchor of Channel 4's Action News team in San Diego. This is in the 70s, "a time before cable," and network news was a big deal, especially the 'action' slant on it. Ron's backed up by his suave man in the field, the ten-gallon-hat-wearing sports commentator, and a weatherman who's a few cold fronts short of a weather map. They're at the top of their game, and everything is going smoothly, until their boss tells them there have been some concerns raised about diversity and - much to their shock - a woman is added to their team. There's something timeless about Anchorman. Unfortunately, the timeless element is the misogyny observed within a male-dominated professional environment. To its credit, the movie definitely comes down against the behavior of those that would keep Christina Applegate's character from advancing. We observe these idiotic shenanigans from the outside, and as much as the setting of the 70s may underscore the silliness of the mens' behavior, the opportunity to point and laugh at such simple-minded perspectives is a welcome one. It's subtle, but under the more obvious jokes is the impression that our fearsome foursome are seriously out of touch with the world around them, wrapped up in their own legends and the reputation of their news team.
Ron's mustache is unimpressed. I will go on record and say I'm not the world's biggest Will Ferrell fan. I'm generally more interested in subtle or deadpan humor than overt, pie-in-the-face silliness. Timing is everything in comedy, and too much in-your-face relentless slapstick just turns me off. Anchorman does have some flashy, overt set pieces - the jazz flute sequence, the news team brawl, and so on - but the film is actually rather balanced. For every overt sight gag, there's a subtle jab either at a character in the film or at society in general. While it's certainly not the highest of comedies, nor is it steeped in satire like some other works, it does not make the mistake of relying entirely on on particular kind of humor, be it repeated gags or body humor or innuendo. The variety in the comedy keeps it fresh enough to not overstay its welcome. Another factor in Anchorman's favor is the spot-on performances of the cast. From Paul Rudd's unctuous Brian Fantana to Steve Carell's somewhat simple Brick Tamland, the cast behind Will Ferrell brings their A game. Christina Applegate, in particular, not only puts Veronica Corningstone side by side with Ron Burgundy in every way, but holds her own in comedic timing and delivery right next to Ferrell. As much as the world of the movie revolves around Ron Burgundy, I was glad that his character did not entirely dominate the proceedings. The construction of the film is overall very solid and balanced, and this leads to a very enjoyable viewing experience.
Yeah!!!!! I don't review comedies often, and it feels like my usual breakdown is detrimental to them. I don't want to spoil any more jokes than I already have, so let's just skip right to the Bottom Line: Anchorman - The Legend of Ron Burgundy is a well-paced, well-staged, and very funny comedy. It's silly fun, similar in tone and timbre to older parody movies like Airplane!, and while it doesn't quite reach that level of brilliance, it's still a good time, especially with friends.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Flash Fiction: The Dagger of McNally

Flash Fiction: The Dagger of McNally — Blue Ink Alchemy

This week's Terribleminds challenge is Must Include Psychic Powers, and the d20 of Destiny chose Psychometry.

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"This is dumb." It was about the thirtieth time Victoria had said so. "It's been in my family since before they came over. I know where it came from and who it was made for. And on top of all of that, curses do NOT exist." "Look, I just want to be sure, okay? You know I love your dad; think about it. He's a chemical engineer. He knows how proportions work. Didn't you tell me once he's a great cook?" "Yes..." "Then how exactly did he give himself a case of food poisoning?" Victoria glared at her would-be mother-in-law. "I still think we're wasting our time." "Our time isn't better spent in the waiting room. We're being proactive." Victoria studied the facade of the building. ISAIAH WELLINGTON - PSYCHIC SERVICES "I'd rather trust the medical professionals." "They're doing all they can. Come on." With a pained sigh, Victoria followed Sylvia into the house. The main room of the small domicile was paneled in dark wood and filled with the smells of sweet incense. It was definitely present but not overwhelming. The man at the table in the center of the room did not look up from the Tarot cards on the table in front of him. "Mister Wellington?" "Please, Sylvia, call me Isaiah." Victoria rolled her eyes. "Some psychic. You probably called him." "You're not going to learn anything if you have that attitude." "And what am I going to learn here?" "You're going to learn about the history of your family." "You don't know a thing about my family." "You are Victoria McNally, your family has been in America since before the Revolutionary War, and you come from a long line of conquerors and betrayers." "Did you look that up on Google, Mr. Psychic?" Isaiah looked up. His eyes were completely white, and Victoria gasped at the sight. "I don't get much from websites, Victoria." As he packed up his deck, Sylvia noticed the titles of the cards were in Braille. "Now. Let's have the item." Sylvia fished around in her purse to pull out a white dishtowel wrapped around something. She began to unwrap it. Isaiah's face uncannily turned in her direction. "Be careful. It must touch no other hand but mine. Did you wear gloves when you retrieved it from the mansion?" "Yes I did. It's considered a historical artifact. Anybody who's wanted to see it outside of the case has had to wear gloves." "Good. It should be as clear as possible." Sylvia carefully began to unwrap the towel, letting the contents spill out into Isaiah's extended hands. Fingers with cracked nails turned ancient metal end over end, and Isaiah's milky white eyes slowly closed. "The dagger was forged in the highlands seven... maybe eight hundred years ago. A gift, for one of the first warriors to bear the name McNally. I can see him... tall he was, broad of shoulder..." "Like the cover of a romance novel?" "I don't think he'd know, Victoria." "Actually, I wasn't born blind." Isaiah opened his eyes and smiled. "But I do need you to keep quiet and not interrupt me." Victoria found herself blushing. "Sorry." The psychic closed his eyes again. "Ah... there it is. It was forged in honor, and yet, it was used to stab friends and family... even lovers... spouses... and every time it tasted blood that way, its anger grew..." Sylvia took a deep breath. "How can a... knife... be angry?" "Shh." Victoria waved a hand at Sylvia. In spite of the way the atmosphere in the room had changed, grown more cold, Sylvia smiled. "The anger," Isaiah went on, "is not from the weapon. It's from the victims. They left a tiny bit of themselves behind. Soaked into the metal on a level science will never, could never find. And it's reached out into this family through the ages... Victoria, how did your mother die?" Sylvia turned to look at Victoria, as the college freshman looked down at her hands. "She got sideswiped by a truck on a bridge. Her car went down in the river and she was trapped inside. She... she drowned." "And now your father is... ill?" "Bad case of food poisoning." Sylvia studied the dagger in Isaiah's hands. "Is... is it cursed?" "In the most simple of terms, yes." Isaiah turned it over one more time. "Its effects will not always be obvious, but it does not know the state of the world or even where it is. All it knows is its need for revenge. It will never be rid of it." "Then how do we get rid of it?" Isaiah closed his eyes for a long moment. "If the dagger is undone in a way that knows no dishonor, the vengeance will have nowhere to go." Victoria furrowed her brows. "Why am I thinking about Lord of the Rings all of a sudden?" "It's a shame we don't have any volcanos nearby." "No, but don't we have that steel mill?" Sylvia thought about it. "Yes. And they're very proud that they've gone for months without an accident..." "Which would be dishonor, right?" Sylvia smiled, reached into her purse and laid some money on Isaiah's table and plucked the dagger from his hands. "Thank you, Isaiah." "I look forward to your return. Oh, and Victoria... if you study too hard for physics, you won't be rested enough to do well on the exam." Victoria blinked, then started to smile. "Wow. You're the real thing, aren't you?" Isaiah smiled and shrugged. "I had to give up my dream of being an indy car driver and find something else to be good at." Victoria giggled, and Sylvia took her hand to lead her back to the car. The mill was a short drive away. They found a worker eating lunch outside, and Sylvia paid him a few hundred dollars to throw the dagger in. They waited for half an hour. Victoria was starting to doubt it'd work, and then Sylvia's phone rang.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Memento Mori

Memento Mori — Blue Ink Alchemy

For two years running I've made the same post on Memorial Day, which starts something like this:

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." - George Santayana

We have the country we have today because people got pissed off enough to fight for it.

America's military is based entirely on volunteer service. People enlist for various reasons, from pure-hearted desire to serve the country to paying for a college education. And those who can already afford college can embark upon a career as an officer right from the start. The important fact, though, is that none of it is compulsory. Nobody is making these young men and women sign up for service that could ultimately mean they're going to die far from home, in some foreign land, possibly alone with no one to remember them save for a line item in a report listing them as "Missing In Action".

Other countries compel their citizens to join the military from an early age. There's no choice in the matter. Regardless of how you feel about your country, you're going to be serving in its military. As much as I admire Heinlein, the idea of compulsory military service being the only route to citizenship is a pretty scary one. But unless I'm mistaken, no country has gone completely that far yet.

Here, though, every person who puts on that uniform, male or female, young or old, gay or straight, left or right, does so for the same reason. They want to serve. They chose to answer the call to duty. Nobody made them.
And if they died on a foreign shore, they did so as the ultimate result of that choice. As lonely, painful, cold and dark as it might have been for them, it is a deep hope of mine that they do not consider themselves forgotten.

We have not forgotten.

Read the rest here

It may seem we have forgotten to some veterans, though. If they make it home, they tend to bear scars, and not always obvious ones. It's shamefully easier to sympathize with a soldier who's lost a limb or suffered major facial trauma than it is one who seems intact in body but says nothing about what's going on in his or her mind. These are people who, because of a choice they made, have stared death in the face, and been told, ordered, demanded not to flinch. We hold soldiers in high esteem. Most see them as brave or even fearless. But they're human beings, just like you and me. They have our doubts, our fears, our weaknesses. They, like us, are mortal. They're going to die, and some die on foreign shores because they're told to be there. They fight for us anyway, and that's what makes them great, and worth remembering. I don't have any particular charity or cause to champion here, nor do I know how easily one can get to some place like Walter Reed to see what becomes of those who only partially make it home. All I ask is that you remember them, not just today, but every day.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Memento Mori

Memento Mori — Blue Ink Alchemy

For two years running I've made the same post on Memorial Day, which starts something like this:

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." - George Santayana We have the country we have today because people got pissed off enough to fight for it. America's military is based entirely on volunteer service. People enlist for various reasons, from pure-hearted desire to serve the country to paying for a college education. And those who can already afford college can embark upon a career as an officer right from the start. The important fact, though, is that none of it is compulsory. Nobody is making these young men and women sign up for service that could ultimately mean they're going to die far from home, in some foreign land, possibly alone with no one to remember them save for a line item in a report listing them as "Missing In Action". Other countries compel their citizens to join the military from an early age. There's no choice in the matter. Regardless of how you feel about your country, you're going to be serving in its military. As much as I admire Heinlein, the idea of compulsory military service being the only route to citizenship is a pretty scary one. But unless I'm mistaken, no country has gone completely that far yet. Here, though, every person who puts on that uniform, male or female, young or old, gay or straight, left or right, does so for the same reason. They want to serve. They chose to answer the call to duty. Nobody made them. And if they died on a foreign shore, they did so as the ultimate result of that choice. As lonely, painful, cold and dark as it might have been for them, it is a deep hope of mine that they do not consider themselves forgotten. We have not forgotten.

Read the rest here It may seem we have forgotten to some veterans, though. If they make it home, they tend to bear scars, and not always obvious ones. It's shamefully easier to sympathize with a soldier who's lost a limb or suffered major facial trauma than it is one who seems intact in body but says nothing about what's going on in his or her mind. These are people who, because of a choice they made, have stared death in the face, and been told, ordered, demanded not to flinch. We hold soldiers in high esteem. Most see them as brave or even fearless. But they're human beings, just like you and me. They have our doubts, our fears, our weaknesses. They, like us, are mortal. They're going to die, and some die on foreign shores because they're told to be there. They fight for us anyway, and that's what makes them great, and worth remembering. I don't have any particular charity or cause to champion here, nor do I know how easily one can get to some place like Walter Reed to see what becomes of those who only partially make it home. All I ask is that you remember them, not just today, but every day.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Writer Report: Struggle Within

Writer Report: Struggle Within — Blue Ink Alchemy

I'm still not back to 100% on my regimens. The gym gets skipped or skimped on from time to time, finances continue to present challenges, I'm behind on getting Magic decks together, and oh yeah, I need to make more time to write. At least my brain has been active. The very nature of Godslayer has changed. As eager as I am to move forward with it, I know that Cold Streets needs to be completed first. It's been almost a year since I started writing it, and it should be done by now. In the weeks to come I will be redoubling my efforts to get a draft finished and out to test readers. There really isn't much else I should be devoting much time to, after all. I don't participate in MMOs as of now, play by post games are not urgent, single player games can always wait, and Hangouts are more sources of relaxation and support than they are distractions. It may take some conscious effort to reassert my focus at home, but I know I can do it if I just take the time to stop and breathe before making a decision. And of course, there will be more flash fiction, reviews, after-action reports, pontifications on writing and support for good causes here, so stay tuned.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Writer Report: Struggle Within

Writer Report: Struggle Within — Blue Ink Alchemy

I'm still not back to 100% on my regimens. The gym gets skipped or skimped on from time to time, finances continue to present challenges, I'm behind on getting Magic decks together, and oh yeah, I need to make more time to write. At least my brain has been active. The very nature of Godslayer has changed. As eager as I am to move forward with it, I know that Cold Streets needs to be completed first. It's been almost a year since I started writing it, and it should be done by now. In the weeks to come I will be redoubling my efforts to get a draft finished and out to test readers. There really isn't much else I should be devoting much time to, after all. I don't participate in MMOs as of now, play by post games are not urgent, single player games can always wait, and Hangouts are more sources of relaxation and support than they are distractions. It may take some conscious effort to reassert my focus at home, but I know I can do it if I just take the time to stop and breathe before making a decision. And of course, there will be more flash fiction, reviews, after-action reports, pontifications on writing and support for good causes here, so stay tubed.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

From the Vault: Writing as Mortar

From the Vault: Writing as Mortar — Blue Ink Alchemy

I don't have a clever lead-in for this, I have a lot coming up this weekend and in the near future, so here's something from the vault as I work to catch up on things and get a little ahead if I can.

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Pop quiz, hotshot. You're not ready to be a professional writer. You want to keep a steady paycheck, which means a steady job, which means no solid blocks of writing for you. You've checked Chuck's list and felt the crushing weight of reality telling you that being a professional writer just isn't going to happen. But the need is still there. That thing that makes you want to put words on paper for people to read for no other reason than they make sense, possibly to entertain, and definitely because nobody else in the world writes exactly the way you do. What do you do? What do you do? You find a way to keep writing. Writing as a skill, especially one aimed at earning a living, is like any other. It takes practice, experimentation, practice, failure and even more practice. Training your ability to write is like training a muscle group in your body. You pick up the weights and repeatedly use the muscles to lift them, or you run in a circle or bike the same route over and over again. The more you do it, the easier it becomes and the more you can do at one time. However, if you have somewhere else to be or something more urgent to do, you can work in a quick burst here and there. It's the same with writing. Even if you're not doing it to earn a living (yet), you can find ways to keep that intellectual muscle in shape. Lunch breaks, mass transit commutes, commercials during a favorite show, loading screens - that's just a few examples off the top of my head. During any of these snippets of time, you can write. It doesn't have to be anything earth-shattering or the next bestseller, but it might lead to something earth-shattering or the next bestseller. You won't know till you try. Anybody who works out can tell you that having a regimen or a trainer is the best way to stay on track with your goals and remain motivated. For the writer, that means feedback. There are quick, dirty ways to get that, too. Find a forum in your field or genre and see if they allow sample or snippet posting for peer review. Facebook notes are good for this, especially if you have friends following you willing to tell you when something stinks to high heaven. If you're feeling up to it, start a blog. Just like when the trainer yells at you to keep you motivated, a peer giving you feedback probably isn't looking to erode your self-esteem. The abuse is for your benefit. It might sting and you might resent them in the moment for it, but when the end result turns out looking much better than your initial effort, you'll be thankful for the harsh words. Try not to take things too personally, unless the critic actually starts attacking your person. Remember, friends don't let friends publish crappy writing. Most of us can't become professional writers right out of the box, and some of us just aren't ready to make that leap yet. We need to lay bricks instead of writing to make a living. However, there's no reason we can't work our art into the mortar between those bricks. If you look at a building held together by mortar, some of the gaps between the bricks or stone are larger than others. It adds character to the building. Again, so it is with writing. Some of our stretches of writing between shifts, tasks and days will be longer than others, and some will be far too short. But the overall effect will be a richer life and one that gives us more motivation, as we seek the next gap between bricks to fill with our mortar of words. The most important thing is to write, and to not stop writing.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

The Power - And Scarcity - Of New Ideas

The Power - And Scarcity - Of New Ideas — Blue Ink Alchemy

One of the chief complaints I have about Star Trek Into Darkness is the way it treads old ground. It was a fear I had going into the movie that turned out to be justified, and while I still enjoyed watching the film, the overarching problems I have with the very core of the narrative continue to bother me. It's an endemic issue I have with a lot of genre films, and I think it's not limited to those, so let me get right into it. Sequels. Reboots. Prequels. We see more and more of these cropping up throughout Hollywood, from mindless iteration of the most basic, lowbrow, idiotic comedies to what was once high-concept science fiction. There are some that do it right - Nolan knocked it out of the part with his Dark Knight trilogy and I have higher hope than I thought I would for Man of Steel - but for the most part, there's at least part of this storytelling that feels lazy. I may be inclined to like Marvel and its superheroes, but they've been around for decades, and as much as their big-screen realization continues to satisfy, and while I'm curious to see what's next for them, I'm not as thoroughly intrigued by them as I am by other titles coming our way this summer. Consider Elysium and Pacific Rim. Both are coming from writer/directors that have been described as visionaries, and rightly so. Neill Blomkamp of Elysium gave us the fantastic District 9, and Guillermo del Toro not only brought Hellboy to the big screen, he also crafted the haunting original vision of Pan's Labyrinth. Not only are these films powerful stories with excellent execution, their ideas are practically brand new. On top of the fact that neither is a derivative work, they come from different cultural perspectives - Blomkamp is South African and del Toro is Mexican - which color the nature of their ideas differently than those that come from Hollywood's old and somewhat creaky idea machines. These story ideas are best described as breaths of fresh air. I have to wonder, however, if their novelty is actually enhanced by the amount of derivative drek that permeates the media. I consider it a shame that new ideas are so scarce, but at the same time, their rarity may lend them even more weight and power. This may be a paradox intrinsic to the entertainment industry: as much as there's nothing new under the sun, there's only so many ideas that can be shifted or reborn in new ways to really capture the attention of the audience. What do you think? Are new ideas more powerful for their rarity? Or would they be just as welcome if every idea was brand new?

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Blue Ink Alchemy

The Power - And Scarcity - Of New Ideas

The Power - And Scarcity - Of New Ideas — Blue Ink Alchemy

One of the chief complaints I have about Star Trek Into Darkness is the way it treads old ground. It was a fear I had going into the movie that turned out to be justified, and while I still enjoyed watching the film, the overarching problems I have with the very core of the narrative continue to bother me. It's an endemic issue I have with a lot of genre films, and I think it's not limited to those, so let me get right into it. Sequels. Reboots. Prequels. We see more and more of these cropping up throughout Hollywood, from mindless iteration of the most basic, lowbrow, idiotic comedies to what was once high-concept science fiction. There are some that do it right - Nolan knocked it out of the part with his Dark Knight trilogy and I have higher hope than I thought I would for Man of Steel - but for the most part, there's at least part of this storytelling that feels lazy. I may be inclined to like Marvel and its superheroes, but they've been around for decades, and as much as their big-screen realization continues to satisfy, and while I'm curious to see what's next for them, I'm not as thoroughly intrigued by them as I am by other titles coming our way this summer. Consider Elysium and Pacific Rim. Both are coming from writer/directors that have been described as visionaries, and rightly so. Neill Blomkamp of Elysium gave us the fantastic District 9, and Guillermo del Toro not only brought Hellboy to the big screen, he also crafted the haunting original vision of Pan's Labyrinth. Not only are these films powerful stories with excellent execution, their ideas are practically brand new. On top of the fact that neither is a derivative work, they come from different cultural perspectives - Blomkamp is South African and del Toro is Mexican - which color the nature of their ideas differently than those that come from Hollywood's old and somewhat creaky idea machines. These story ideas are best described as breaths of fresh air. I have to wonder, however, if their novelty is actually enhanced by the amount of derivative drek that permeates the media. I consider it a shame that new ideas are so scarce, but at the same time, their rarity may lend them even more weight and power. This may be a paradox intrinsic to the entertainment industry: as much as there's nothing new under the sun, there's only so many ideas that can be shifted or reborn in new ways to really capture the attention of the audience. What do you think? Are new ideas more powerful for their rarity? Or would they be just as welcome if every idea was brand new?

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Movie Review: Star Trek: Into Darkness

Movie Review: Star Trek: Into Darkness — Blue Ink Alchemy

Fair warning: I am going to spoil this movie. Forget Abrams and his mystery box, there really isn't any mystery at all with Star Trek: Into Darkness. He likes to pretend there is - he always does - but if you still haven't figured out the BIG TWIST of this movie, I'm about to "ruin" it for you. Seriously, jettison all of that stuff. Let go of your hatred, as another now-Abrams sci-fi franchise would tell you. Take this one on its own merits. Because it does have merits. Some good ones. They're there, and you can see them, if you can look past the overarching disappointments that still cling to this Star Trek and make you remember the previous iterations of it even more fondly. Since the first new Star Trek film, the crew of the Enterprise has been doing some surveying and scouting work. Captain Kirk is eager to be considered for Starfleet's first five-year mission, but his inexperience and constant flouting of regulations have put his entire career in jeopardy. Admiral Pike is willing to go to bat for his protege, but first an imminent threat to the Federation must be dealt with. That threat takes the form of John Harrison, or as he was known in his time, Khan Noonian Singh. At this point, it's really difficult to consider that a spoiler. A cursory look at even the movie's IMDB page reveals the true identity of Benedict Cumberbatch's character. To get the bad news out of the way first, this laziness is perhaps the biggest extant problem with Star Trek: Into Darkness. While the use of the genetic super-people from the TOS episode "Space Seed" is not without its cleverness and interesting moments, the blatant copy-paste of the character of Khan invites several questions. If he is Khan, and is named Khan, why is his actor a British man, instead of someone from India or southeast Asia? If he is like Khan but not the same as Khan, why is he named Khan? The use of the same name for a villain who is only somewhat similar to the other is laziness for the sake of name recognition, and the whitewashing of the character is extremely unfortunate. Taken as a whole, it's clear that the creative minds behind the new Star Trek are mostly working off of old themes, ideas, and even names just to get butts in the seats, rather than trying to tell a new story, and this story in general and Khan in particular suffer for that.
A perfect specimen of the 21st century superman, preserved here in the most comfortable of iBrig units. The only thing that really saves the character is Benedict Cumberbatch himself. He is electrifying in his role. He plays the canny, manipulative villain very well, holds his own in action scenes, and steals most of the moments he's in. The cast overall is excellent, even more settled into their roles and deepening the dynamics established three years ago. Joining the cast is Alice Eve as Carol, an indirect parallel to another of Wrath of Khan's characters, and she manages to hold her own in the presence of the veterans. The main draw, however, and the best performances come from Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto as Kirk and Spock. As good as everyone from Karl Urban to Simon Pegg are, their dynamic is rock-solid by this point and they are a delight to watch together. Good acting, however, is only part of the equation. A bad script or director can ruin even the finest performance. Thankfully, Kurtzman and Orci spare us the problems they suffered from in the Transformers movies, and as lazy as they are, they can write decent dialog when they actually try. I maintain that they do decent work when under Abrams as opposed to other directors. And Abrams seems to have throttled back on some of this more bombastic tendencies, allowing the human elements and powerful performances of his actors to come through the lens flares and dubious mysteries. For all of the fears some may have had about this director, his vision, and the future of other sci-fi franchises, I personally think it could have been a lot worse.
When the captain says, "Put on a red shirt," you're gonna have a bad time. For all of its failings in rehashing plot and characters, sometimes in an extremely lazy fashion, Star Trek: Into Darkness delivers a story that is both light enough to convey the space opera sense of the original series and serious enough to get real moments out of its players. It surprised me in a few places, most of which were unrelated to the overarching plot. It feels like it's trying harder than its predecessor, both in being a good story by itself and in being amenable to Trek fans. If nothing else, it is admirable for this effort. Stuff I Liked: There are multiple nods to continuity here, both to the old universe and the previous film. Alice Eve's character feels like more than just a plot device, and she's not bad in the role at all. What is done with the original "Space Seed" concept and the role the war criminal supermen play in this new universe is interesting, and reflects a discussion that's been going on between Trek fans for decades. Stuff I Didn't Like: So many things in the film just feel lazy. Khan's name and backstory most of all. Also, you couldn't come up with a better name than USS Vengeance? No legendary heroes or conquerers came to mind? Not even Caesar or Alexander or Ghengis? Really?? Some parts of the story were a touch predictable and none of the plot twists were terribly surprising. I still don't know what Scotty's little friend is supposed to be or do. I still have some trouble with a couple pacing moments: Kronos and Earth should feel farther apart than they do. Stuff I Loved: Pine and Quinto are fantastic. Cumberbatch is downright legendary. The rest of the hero cast gets their moments, and not just action-packed ones. I adore what they do with Uhura. This film feels more geniune, deliberate, and structured than the last, and that feeling of cohesion leads to an overall better watching experience. Bottom Line: Is Star Trek: Into Darkness a great film? I wouldn't say so. I would say, however, that it's very good. It stands with some of the better films of its previous franchise, and while it will never, ever, in a million years, live up to its spiritual ancestor, it has enough good moments and does enough things right that saved from being an aimless and shallow action flick with a familiar name super-glued to it. This Star Trek is definitely a cinematic animal, nowhere near as cerebral as earlier films or the television series could get, but as a straight-ahead sci-fi action-adventure, it works. Abrams sets out to make films for everybody, and this is definitely one of his more well-rounded and enjoyable successes. Oh, And... Now that Abrams and his crew have this out of their systems, I really hope they can go in a new direction. Like they should have done last time. Seriously, guys. Give us something new.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Flash Fiction: The Wandering Sage

Flash Fiction: The Wandering Sage — Blue Ink Alchemy

The random fantasy character concept generator at the crux of this week's Terribleminds Flash Fiction challenge gave me, among others, "a foul-mouthed sage is searching for a legendary weapon."

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"If this infernal heat doesn't kill me," Balthazar growled, "I'm sure the desert would love to fill my lungs with sand." "Why would the Equalizer be out here?" "Think about it." Balthazar tried not to snap at his apprentice. Gaspar was a good kid, and smart for his age, but he had an annoying tendency of not thinking things through. "If you wanted to hide something from the world, how smart is it to build a great structure out where everybody can see it?" "But way out here? Wouldn't you lose track of where you left it?" "Not if you're a Gods-damned Sage. Now enough with the belly-aching and give me the Astrolabe of Epsilon before I choke on the damn dune that's come to play with us." Gaspar fumbled in his packs and produced the device. Balthazar squinted against the swirling sand, and tugged the dials into their appropriate positions. It was much like the other astrolabes in the world, but the one created by Epsilon, a sage so ancient even his name was lost, charted not the paths of the Sun and stars, but the lines of power that lay beneath the surface of the earth, invisible to the naked eye. He kept his eyes on it as he walked, stopping suddenly, turning, then moving on. "The storm is getting worse!" Gaspar had to shout to be heard above the wind. "If we don't find it soon...!" "Please keep stating the obvious," Balthazar replied, "because that certainly isn't getting old." The Astrolabe of Epsilon rattled in his hands. No one was entirely sure how it knew, but it did. Balthazar pointed at the featureless sand at his feet. "Here! We dig!" Gaspar pulled the shovels out, and handed one to his master. It was hard to get started with the wind, but working together they managed to carve out a small hole in the dune. Gaspar's shovel struck something about a foot under the surface, and when he tried to lift his shovel, it caught hold and there was a mechanical sound. "Idiot boy! Back away before...!" With a whirring, clunking sound, the trapdoor under the pair gave way, and they fell through the sand into the chamber beneath. The trapdoor shut almost immediately, and while the drop was short, it left both men half-buried in a small pile of sand. "Augh! I told you Esvartus set up his laboratory this way! You should have been more careful!" "I'm sorry, Master, but..." Balthazar got to his feet and dusted off his robes. "'But' nothing. You need to pay more attention, Gaspar, and keep your mind more ordered. I know you're young, yet, and visions of moaning women yeilding to your manly charms dance behind your eyes, but focus on where you are and what you're doing, or you're going to get yourself killed. Or worse, me!" "Of course, Master. It won't happen again." "By all the Gods' knickers, it won't. Now, let's have some light." He extended his hand and spoke the right words. Elemental flame came to life in the air between his palm and fingers. He opened his hand more to give it more room to breathe. It illuminated the antechamber, showing pictograms and carvings on every surface, even the bottom of the trapdoor that had just admitted them into its bowels. "Now. To find the Equalizer. Epsilon's Astrolabe won't work underground, so we need to go by Esvartus' notes. What did you piece together?" Gaspar pulled several half-ruined bits of parchment out of his pocket. "Only that to approach the Equalizer is to court the most dangerous of minds." "Pshaw. Esvartus wasn't so dangerous that he wouldn't let a pretty girl turn his head, either. You'd have liked him, Gaspar." "Why is that?" "He died fucking." Balthazar picked his way through the corridor leading away from the antechamber, stepping over the skeletons laying over the various traps they'd triggered. Only a couple got past the first few feet of blades and spikes. The rest of the traps were cleverly concealed, at least from lesser minds. Balthazar made it a point to not tell Gaspar where they were. If the child was going to make it as a sage of his own, he'd have to deal with things far deadlier than static, ancient traps. Once he reached the only other chamber in Esvartus' hideaway, he turned to see Gaspar stepping gingerly over the last acid pit. Balthazar tried not to smile. "There may be hope for you yet, shitbrain." "My hope is that you'll stop calling me that." Gaspar nodded towards the center of the room. "Is that it?" Balthazar approached the dias, his unlit hand reaching towards the pedistal. "Yes. I believe it is." "Master, wait." Balthazar stopped, whipping around towards Gaspar. "What is it now?" "On the off chance that intruders were able to pass all of these traps, do you think he would leave everything else unprotected?" Balthazar blinked. "Come on, Gaspar, he wasn't that paranoid." "Wouldn't you be?" Gaspar stepped up to stand beside his master, produced a long thin wand of yew, and touched the pedistal. A sigil appeared in the stone. "A summoning glyph. Probably some form of bound devil." Balthazar watched agape as Gaspar twirled his wand in an anticlockwise motion, intoning the dispersal spell Balthazar had taught him the week before. The sigil disappeared with a soft sigh. "Hmm. Perhaps a succubus. A good way to appear to offer an explorer a reward before destroying them." Gaspar turned to Balthazar. "What?" "Gaspar, I take back most of the bad things I've said about you." "... Most?" Balthazar did smile, now, as he removed the top of the pedistal and reached inside. The Equalizer was just past the stone lip. He pulled it out, and showed it to his apprentice. "This is what the princes all fear?" "Indeed." "What could men of power possibly fear from a book?" Balthazar's smile broadened. "That proves, shitbrain, that you still have much to learn."

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Castles & Chemo

Castles & Chemo — Blue Ink Alchemy

Instead of my usual Writer Report, I've been asked to say a few words about the non-profit organization known as Castles & Chemo. After looking into this little initiative, I agreed wholeheartedly - they're a great cause that could use all the support they can get. Dedicated to raising money to fight cancer through research and support efforts, Castles & Chemo uses tabletop role-playing games to achieve its goals. They publish game supplements, and organize and run fundraising events around the world. The organization is the brainchild of John J. Gillick, who I spoke to about his condition about how he came to found this ambitious endeavor.

My recovery from Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia was relatively quick, though I had a number of issues that arose. Resulting from an infection surrounding my port, I was put into the ICU 5 times (I jokingly say that I died 5 times as part of my treatment, as the first one had a doctor look at me, dumbfounded that I was still breathing with extremely low blood pressure). My last ICU stint, coincidentally, was for a staph infection, almost exactly at the same time that famed artist Tim Hildebrant died of one. Mostly, though, my treatment was straightforward, with my last form of chemotherapy being taken, orally, in April of 2009. I still hesitate to call myself "cured" though. While the physical treatment has ended, I don't feel as healthy as I did beforehand, and there are still some emotional issues I feel need to be addressed. During my treatment, I had discovered that my first military supervisor, Peter Anderson, contracted and died of the same cancer that I had, and I don't think I ever really came to terms with that. Overall, though, I'd say I've done really well, considering how it could've gone. Going through cancer is not fun. Nurses hovering over you constantly. The looming threat of infection. The nausea. The hair loss. One of the things that helped me get through it all was my weekly D&D game. For that 6 hours around the table, I could stop being John, cancer patient, and become Alton, halfling rogue, putting all of those concerns behind me.

You can learn more about John's struggle and success, and how you can help, by visiting Castles & Chemo on Facebook. You can also contribute to their Indiegogo campaign, which ends today.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Castles & Chemo

Castles & Chemo — Blue Ink Alchemy

Instead of my usual Writer Report, I've been asked to say a few words about the non-profit organization known as Castles & Chemo. After looking into this little initiative, I agreed wholeheartedly - they're a great cause that could use all the support they can get. Dedicated to raising money to fight cancer through research and support efforts, Castles & Chemo uses tabletop role-playing games to achieve its goals. They publish game supplements, and organize and run fundraising events around the world. The organization is the brainchild of John J. Gillick, who I spoke to about his condition about how he came to found this ambitious endeavor.

My recovery from Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia was relatively quick, though I had a number of issues that arose. Resulting from an infection surrounding my port, I was put into the ICU 5 times (I jokingly say that I died 5 times as part of my treatment, as the first one had a doctor look at me, dumbfounded that I was still breathing with extremely low blood pressure). My last ICU stint, coincidentally, was for a staph infection, almost exactly at the same time that famed artist Tim Hildebrant died of one. Mostly, though, my treatment was straightforward, with my last form of chemotherapy being taken, orally, in April of 2009. I still hesitate to call myself "cured" though. While the physical treatment has ended, I don't feel as healthy as I did beforehand, and there are still some emotional issues I feel need to be addressed. During my treatment, I had discovered that my first military supervisor, Peter Anderson, contracted and died of the same cancer that I had, and I don't think I ever really came to terms with that. Overall, though, I'd say I've done really well, considering how it could've gone. Going through cancer is not fun. Nurses hovering over you constantly. The looming threat of infection. The nausea. The hair loss. One of the things that helped me get through it all was my weekly D&D game. For that 6 hours around the table, I could stop being John, cancer patient, and become Alton, halfling rogue, putting all of those concerns behind me.

You can learn more about John's struggle and success, and how you can help, by visiting Castles & Chemo on Facebook.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Is Gatsby Great?

Is Gatsby Great? — Blue Ink Alchemy

I will not be writing up a full review of Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby for several reasons. One of them is that this far past the release, most critics have already gotten their works out there and I really have nothing new or interesting to say in that overall regard. I will say that the movie's quite good, and you should go see it. Leonardo DiCaprio has a screen presence that completely cements him as a Hollywood leading man on par with classics like Humphrey Bogart or Clark Gable, with an intimacy and humanity in many of his roles that pulls the audience in without visible effort. His Jay Gatsby is no different. But I find myself pondering something about this self-made man: is Gatsby great? We're certainly lead to believe he's great. His wealth, opulence, and movement with ease amongst high society's best and brightest certainly seems great by the standards of our materialistic, superficial culture. If he kept a bevy of attractive women in his mansion, he'd be the Roaring 20's Hugh Hefner. A person in his position in our current day and age would probably be one of those odious Kardashian or Jersey Shore types - rich and famous for no reason, and vacuous as a result. Yet Gatsby is so smooth and polished, so classically debonair, so relentlessly likable, that envious as we might be, we can't hold his success against him. His charm is, perhaps, his greatest weapon, especially in the eyes of narrator Nick Carraway. Nick, for his part, is so close to Gatsby almost from the beginning, and so overwhelmed by the man and his image and achievements, that it's very difficult for him to see past the facade to the truth underneath. This is, in fact, one of the few quibbles I have about the film version: the audience is so wrapped up in Nick's perception of events that close attention must be paid to see Gatsby's shortcomings as true, crippling flaws rather than obstacles for this great man to overcome. The difference is a subtle one, but Nick's glasses are so rose-colored that even Gatsby's worst moments as seen as tragic moments rather than revelatory turning points. The biggest problem between Jay Gatsby and objective greatness is his objectification of Daisy. As much as he fell in love with her five years ago, his inability to let go of his idealized version of her and his placement of her in a central role of his life without her knowledge strikes me as incredibly unhealthy. Instead of focusing on building himself up for his own sake, bettering himself in order to be a more successful Gatsby today than he was yesterday, he strives towards the distant goal of reclaiming Daisy. Instead of self-determination or ambition, his driving force is obsession, an all-consuming focused idea that if he just acquires this person, his life will be perfect, matching or exceeding the nearly fantastical recollection he has of his past. He sees Daisy as needing to be rescued and swept off of her feet and back into his life. However, before Gatsby reveals himself, Daisy doesn't seem to be all that interested in rescue. Her husband may be a racist asshole, but he provides her with all the comforts of a rich life and she gets by just fine with that. Gatsby does not reawaken some spark of an old flame within her, he merely presents her with something new and exciting and interesting in her life. In truth, neither of them is really interested in the other as a person, as they are now: Gatsby desires the Daisy he used to know, and Daisy desires the distraction of this mysterious rich man who shows more affection than Tom tends to. Nick cannot see how pathetic and doomed Gatsby's obsession has become; Daisy simply doesn't care. When Gatsby's facade begins to crack and Daisy sees more of who he really is, she immediately retreats to Tom. As Nick puts it, the Buchanans are careless people, in that they do not care about the affect they have on others. Gatsby, too, is somewhat careless, but he spends so much time trying to carefully proceed in his own way that, by extension, he prevents himself from truly harming others. He may be wounded, stunted, and held back by his own selfish desires, but the glimmers of good in him shine all the more brightly due to these internal shards of darkness. In the end, no, I don't think Jay Gatsby is a great man in the same way world leaders or true altruistic souls are great. I think that his life-defining plan was flawed from the beginning; I think he suffered from a serious case of tunnel vision; I think his inability to check his ambition and see the Buchanans - both of them - for the shallow and worthless people they are prevents him from putting his wealth and charm and hope towards a more worthy end. However, it is these very flaws and shortcomings that make Gatsby a great character, and a great protagonist. His charisma puts us squarely in his corner, his ultimate plan fills us with concern, and as much as we can feel him reaching towards something he both should not have and will fail to achieve, we can't help but wish him the best. Because who among us can say we're truly great? Who has not had moments of obsession, of selfish needs, of failure that's threatened to cripple or destroy? Jay Gatsby is all of these things, and he's endearing for it. He may not be a truly or objectively great man, but he's great for us to relate to and connect with, he's great in his determination and his successes and his endless and overwhelming capacity for hope, and he is the central reason that The Great Gatsby is a true Great American Novel.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Is Gatsby Great?

Is Gatsby Great? — Blue Ink Alchemy

I will not be writing up a full review of Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby for several reasons. One of them is that this far past the release, most critics have already gotten their works out there and I really have nothing new or interesting to say in that overall regard. I will say that the movie's quite good, and you should go see it. Leonardo DiCaprio has a screen presence that completely cements him as a Hollywood leading man on par with classics like Humphrey Bogart or Clark Gable, with an intimacy and humanity in many of his roles that pulls the audience in without visible effort. His Jay Gatsby is no different. But I find myself pondering something about this self-made man: is Gatsby great? We're certainly lead to believe he's great. His wealth, opulence, and movement with ease amongst high society's best and brightest certainly seems great by the standards of our materialistic, superficial culture. If he kept a bevy of attractive women in his mansion, he'd be the Roaring 20's Hugh Hefner. A person in his position in our current day and age would probably be one of those odious Kardashian or Jersey Shore types - rich and famous for no reason, and vacuous as a result. Yet Gatsby is so smooth and polished, so classically debonair, so relentlessly likable, that envious as we might be, we can't hold his success against him. His charm is, perhaps, his greatest weapon, especially in the eyes of narrator Nick Carraway. Nick, for his part, is so close to Gatsby almost from the beginning, and so overwhelmed by the man and his image and achievements, that it's very difficult for him to see past the facade to the truth underneath. This is, in fact, one of the few quibbles I have about the film version: the audience is so wrapped up in Nick's perception of events that close attention must be paid to see Gatsby's shortcomings as true, crippling flaws rather than obstacles for this great man to overcome. The difference is a subtle one, but Nick's glasses are so rose-colored that even Gatsby's worst moments as seen as tragic moments rather than revelatory turning points. The biggest problem between Jay Gatsby and objective greatness is his objectification of Daisy. As much as he fell in love with her five years ago, his inability to let go of his idealized version of her and his placement of her in a central role of his life without her knowledge strikes me as incredibly unhealthy. Instead of focusing on building himself up for his own sake, bettering himself in order to be a more successful Gatsby today than he was yesterday, he strives towards the distant goal of reclaiming Daisy. Instead of self-determination or ambition, his driving force is obsession, an all-consuming focused idea that if he just acquires this person, his life will be perfect, matching or exceeding the nearly fantastical recollection he has of his past. He sees Daisy as needing to be rescued and swept off of her feet and back into his life. However, before Gatsby reveals himself, Daisy doesn't seem to be all that interested in rescue. Her husband may be a racist asshole, but he provides her with all the comforts of a rich life and she gets by just fine with that. Gatsby does not reawaken some spark of an old flame within her, he merely presents her with something new and exciting and interesting in her life. In truth, neither of them is really interested in the other as a person, as they are now: Gatsby desires the Daisy he used to know, and Daisy desires the distraction of this mysterious rich man who shows more affection than Tom tends to. Nick cannot see how pathetic and doomed Gatsby's obsession has become; Daisy simply doesn't care. When Gatsby's facade begins to crack and Daisy sees more of who he really is, she immediately retreats to Tom. As Nick puts it, the Buchanans are careless people, in that they do not care about the affect they have on others. Gatsby, too, is somewhat careless, but he spends so much time trying to carefully proceed in his own way that, by extension, he prevents himself from truly harming others. He may be wounded, stunted, and held back by his own selfish desires, but the glimmers of good in him shine all the more brightly due to these internal shards of darkness. In the end, no, I don't think Jay Gatsby is a great man in the same way world leaders or true altruistic souls are great. I think that his life-defining plan was flawed from the beginning; I think he suffered from a serious case of tunnel vision; I think his inability to check his ambition and see the Buchanans - both of them - for the shallow and worthless people they are. However, it is these very flaws and shortcomings that make Gatsby a great character, and a great protagonist. His charisma puts us squarely in his corner, his ultimate plan fills us with concern, and as much as we can feel him reaching towards something he both should not have and will fail to achieve, we can't help but wish him the best. Because who among us can say we're truly great? Who has not had moments of obsession, of selfish needs, of failure that's threatened to cripple or destroy? Jay Gatsby is all of these things, and he's endearing for it. He may not be a truly or objectively great man, but he's great for us to relate to and connect with, he's great in his determination and his successes and his endless and overwhelming capacity for hope, and he is the central reason that The Great Gatsby is a true Great American Novel.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Is Gatsby Great?

Is Gatsby Great? — Blue Ink Alchemy

I will not be writing up a full review of Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby for several reasons. One of them is that this far past the release, most critics have already gotten their works out there and I really have nothing new or interesting to say in that overall regard. I will say that the movie's quite good, and you should go see it. Leonardo DiCaprio has a screen presence that completely cements him as a Hollywood leading man on par with classics like Humphrey Bogart or Clark Gable, with an intimacy and humanity in many of his roles that pulls the audience in without visible effort. His Jay Gatsby is no different. But I find myself pondering something about this self-made man: is Gatsby great? We're certainly lead to believe he's great. His wealth, opulence, and movement with ease amongst high society's best and brightest certainly seems great by the standards of our materialistic, superficial culture. If he kept a bevy of attractive women in his mansion, he'd be the Roaring 20's Hugh Hefner. A person in his position in our current day and age would probably be one of those odious Kardashian or Jersey Shore types - rich and famous for no reason, and vacuous as a result. Yet Gatsby is so smooth and polished, so classically debonair, so relentlessly likable, that envious as we might be, we can't hold his success against him. His charm is, perhaps, his greatest weapon, especially in the eyes of narrator Nick Carraway. Nick, for his part, is so close to Gatsby almost from the beginning, and so overwhelmed by the man and his image and achievements, that it's very difficult for him to see past the facade to the truth underneath. This is, in fact, one of the few quibbles I have about the film version: the audience is so wrapped up in Nick's perception of events that close attention must be paid to see Gatsby's shortcomings as true, crippling flaws rather than obstacles for this great man to overcome. The difference is a subtle one, but Nick's glasses are so rose-colored that even Gatsby's worst moments as seen as tragic moments rather than revelatory turning points. The biggest problem between Jay Gatsby and objective greatness is his objectification of Daisy. As much as he fell in love with her five years ago, his inability to let go of his idealized version of her and his placement of her in a central role of his life without her knowledge strikes me as incredibly unhealthy. Instead of focusing on building himself up for his own sake, bettering himself in order to be a more successful Gatsby today than he was yesterday, he strives towards the distant goal of reclaiming Daisy. Instead of self-determination or ambition, his driving force is obsession, an all-consuming focused idea that if he just acquires this person, his life will be perfect, matching or exceeding the nearly fantastical recollection he has of his past. He sees Daisy as needing to be rescued and swept off of her feet and back into his life. However, before Gatsby reveals himself, Daisy doesn't seem to be all that interested in rescue. Her husband may be a racist asshole, but he provides her with all the comforts of a rich life and she gets by just fine with that. Gatsby does not reawaken some spark of an old flame within her, he merely presents her with something new and exciting and interesting in her life. In truth, neither of them is really interested in the other as a person, as they are now: Gatsby desires the Daisy he used to know, and Daisy desires the distraction of this mysterious rich man who shows more affection than Tom tends to. Nick cannot see how pathetic and doomed Gatsby's obsession has become; Daisy simply doesn't care. When Gatsby's facade begins to crack and Daisy sees more of who he really is, she immediately retreats to Tom. As Nick puts it, the Buchanans are careless people, in that they do not care about the affect they have on others. Gatsby, too, is somewhat careless, but he spends so much time trying to carefully proceed in his own way that, by extension, he prevents himself from truly harming others. He may be wounded, stunted, and held back by his own selfish desires, but the glimmers of good in him shine all the more brightly due to these internal shards of darkness. In the end, no, I don't think Jay Gatsby is a great man in the same way world leaders or true altruistic souls are great. I think that his life-defining plan was flawed from the beginning; I think he suffered from a serious case of tunnel vision; I think his inability to check his ambition and see the Buchanans - both of them - for the shallow and worthless people they are. However, it is these very flaws and shortcomings that make Gatsby a great character, and a great protagonist. His charisma puts us squarely in his corner, his ultimate plan fills us with concern, and as much as we can feel him reaching towards something he both should not have and will fail to achieve, we can't help but wish him the best. Because who among us can say we're truly great? Who has not had moments of obsession, of selfish needs, of failure that's threatened to cripple or destroy? Jay Gatsby is all of these things, and he's endearing for it. He may not be a truly or objectively great man, but he's great for us to relate to and connect with, he's great in his determination and his successes and his endless and overwhelming capacity for hope, and the central reason that The Great Gatsby is a true Great American Novel.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Is Gatsby Great?

Is Gatsby Great? — Blue Ink Alchemy

I will not be writing up a full review of Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby for several reasons. One of them is that this far past the release, most critics have already gotten their works out there and I really have nothing new or interesting to say in that overall regard. I will say that the movie's quite good, and you should go see it. Leonardo DiCaprio has a screen presence that completely cements him as a Hollywood leading man on par with classics like Humphrey Bogart or Clark Gable, with an intimacy and humanity in many of his roles that pulls the audience in without visible effort. His Jay Gatsby is no different. But I find myself pondering something about this self-made man: is Gatsby great? We're certainly lead to believe he's great. His wealth, opulence, and movement with ease amongst high society's best and brightest certainly seems great by the standards of our materialistic, superficial culture. If he kept a bevy of attractive women in his mansion, he'd be the Roaring 20's Hugh Hefner. A person in his position in our current day and age would probably be one of those odious Kardashian or Jersey Shore types - rich and famous for no reason, and vacuous as a result. Yet Gatsby is so smooth and polished, so classically debonair, so relentlessly likable, that envious as we might be, we can't hold his success against him. His charm is, perhaps, his greatest weapon, especially in the eyes of narrator Nick Carraway. Nick, for his part, is so close to Gatsby almost from the beginning, and so overwhelmed by the man and his image and achievements, that it's very difficult for him to see past the facade to the truth underneath. This is, in fact, one of the few quibbles I have about the film version: the audience is so wrapped up in Nick's perception of events that close attention must be paid to see Gatsby's shortcomings as true, crippling flaws rather than obstacles for this great man to overcome. The difference is a subtle one, but Nick's glasses are so rose-colored that even Gatsby's worst moments as seen as tragic moments rather than revelatory turning points. The biggest problem between Jay Gatsby and objective greatness is his objectification of Daisy. As much as he fell in love with her five years ago, his inability to let go of his idealized version of her and his placement of her in a central role of his life without her knowledge strikes me as incredibly unhealthy. Instead of focusing on building himself up for his own sake, bettering himself in order to be a more successful Gatsby today than he was yesterday, he strives towards the distant goal of reclaiming Daisy. Instead of self-determination or ambition, his driving force is obsession, an all-consuming focused idea that if he just acquires this person, his life will be perfect, matching or exceeding the nearly fantastical recollection he has of his past. He sees Daisy as needing to be rescued and swept off of her feet and back into his life. However, before Gatsby reveals himself, Daisy doesn't seem to be all that interested in rescue. Her husband may be a racist asshole, but he provides her with all the comforts of a rich life and she gets by just fine with that. Gatsby does not reawaken some spark of an old flame within her, he merely presents her with something new and exciting and interesting in her life. In truth, neither of them is really interested in the other as a person, as they are now: Gatsby desires the Daisy he used to know, and Daisy desires the distraction of this mysterious rich man who shows more affection than Tom tends to. Nick cannot see how pathetic and doomed Gatsby's obsession has become; Daisy simply doesn't care. When Gatsby's facade begins to crack and Daisy sees more of who he really is, she immediately retreats to Tom. As Nick puts it, the Buchanans are careless people, in that they do not care about the affect they have on others. Gatsby, too, is somewhat careless, but he spends so much time trying to carefully proceed in his own way that, by extension, he prevents himself from truly harming others. He may be wounded, stunted, and held back by his own selfish desires, but the glimmers of good in him shine all the more brightly due to these internal shards of darkness. In the end, no, I don't think Jay Gatsby is a great man in the same way world leaders or true altruistic souls are great. I think that his life-defining plan was flawed from the beginning; I think he suffered from a serious case of tunnel vision; I think his inability to check his ambition and see the Buchanans - both of them - for the shallow and worthless people they are. However, it is these very flaws and shortcomings that make Gatsby a great character, and a great protagonist. His charisma puts us squarely in his corner, his ultimate plan fills us with concern, and as much as we can feel him reaching towards something he both should not have and will fail to achieve, we can't help but wish him the best. Because who among us can say we're truly great? Who has not had moments of obsession, of selfish needs, of failure that's threatened to cripple or destroy? Jay Gatsby is all of these things, and he's endearing for it. He may not be a truly great man, but he's great for us to relate to and connect with, and the central reason that The Great Gatsby is a true Great American Novel.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Is Gatsby Great?

Is Gatsby Great? — Blue Ink Alchemy

I will not be writing up a full review of Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby for several reasons. One of them is that this far past the release, most critics have already gotten their works out there and I really have nothing new or interesting to say in that overall regard. I will say that the movie's quite good, and you should go see it. Leonardo DiCaprio has a screen presence that completely cements him as a Hollywood leading man on par with classics like Humphrey Bogart or Clark Gable, with an intimacy and humanity in many of his roles that pulls the audience in without visible effort. His Jay Gatsby is no different. But I find myself pondering something about this self-made man: is Gatsby great? We're certainly lead to believe he's great. His wealth, opulence, and movement with ease amongst high society's best and brightest certainly seems great by the standards of our materialistic, superficial culture. If he kept a bevy of attractive women in his mansion, he'd be the Roaring 20's Hugh Hefner. A person in his position in our current day and age would probably be one of those odious Kardashian or Jersey Shore types - rich and famous for no reason, and vacuous as a result. Yet Gatsby is so smooth and polished, so classically debonair, so relentlessly likable, that envious as we might be, we can't hold his success against him. His charm is, perhaps, his greatest weapon, especially in the eyes of narrator Nick Carraway. Nick, for his part, is so close to Gatsby almost from the beginning, and so overwhelmed by the man and his image and achievements, that it's very difficult for him to see past the facade to the truth underneath. This is, in fact, one of the few quibbles I have about the film version: the audience is so wrapped up in Nick's perception of events that close attention must be paid to see Gatsby's shortcomings as true, crippling flaws rather than obstacles for this great man to overcome. The difference is a subtle one, but Nick's glasses are so rose-colored that even Gatsby's worst moments as seen as tragic moments rather than revelatory turning points. The biggest problem between Jay Gatsby and objective greatness is his objectification of Daisy. As much as he fell in love with her five years ago, his inability to let go of his idealized version of her and his placement of her in a central role of his life without her knowledge strikes me as incredibly unhealthy. Instead of focusing on building himself up for his own sake, bettering himself in order to be a more successful Gatsby today than he was yesterday, he strives towards the distant goal of reclaiming Daisy. Instead of self-determination or ambition, his driving force is obsession, an all-consuming focused idea that if he just acquires this person, his life will be perfect, matching or exceeding the nearly fantastical recollection he has of his past. He sees Daisy as needing to be rescued and swept off of her feet and back into his life. However, before Gatsby reveals himself, Daisy doesn't seem to be all that interested in rescue. Her husband may be a racist asshole, but he provides her with all the comforts of a rich life and she gets by just fine with that. Gatsby does not reawaken some spark of an old flame within her, he merely presents her with something new and exciting and interesting in her life. In truth, neither of them is really interested in the other as a person, as they are now: Gatsby desires the Daisy he used to know, and Daisy desires the distraction of this mysterious rich man who shows more affection than Tom tends to. Nick cannot see how pathetic and doomed Gatsby's obsession has become; Daisy simply doesn't care. When Gatsby's facade begins to crack and Daisy sees more of who he really is, she immediately retreats to Tom. As Nick puts it, the Buchanans are careless people, in that they do not care about the affect they have on others. Gatsby, too, is somewhat careless, but he spends so much time trying to carefully proceed in his own way that, by extension, he prevents himself from truly harming others. He may be wounded, stunted, and held back by his own selfish desires, but the glimmers of good in him shine all the more brightly due to these internal shards of darkness. In the end, no, I don't think Jay Gatsby is a great man. I think that his life-defining plan was flawed from the beginning; I think he suffered from a serious case of tunnel vision; I think his inability to check his ambition and see the Buchanans - both of them - for the shallow and worthless people they are. However, it is these very flaws and shortcomings that make Gatsby a great character, and a great protagonist. His charisma puts us squarely in his corner, his ultimate plan fills us with concern, and as much as we can feel him reaching towards something he both should not have and will fail to achieve, we can't help but wish him the best. Because who among us can say we're truly great? Who has not had moments of obsession, of selfish needs, of failure that's threatened to cripple or destroy? Jay Gatsby is all of these things, and he's endearing for it. He may not be a truly great man, but he's great for us to relate to and connect with, and the central reason that The Great Gatsby is a true Great American Novel.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy