Feb 15

Disconnects

The fun part of marriage are the odd disconnects that make life interesting or, should we say, challenging. Years ago, for instance, we were shopping at a major suburban mall and I noticed there seemed to be few customers in the mall’s primary store, Lord & Taylor. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was nearing 8:00 pm closing time. Just then, an announcement came over the store’s sound system confirming they were closing and everyone should leave.

Now, I’d never been in a department store so late, but I mentioned to Joan that we’d better get moving. She said she’d only be a minute, so I ambled out of the entrance to wait inside the mall. As expected, within minutes, Lord & Taylor’s store lights began winking out with no Joan in sight. Then, to my great concern, a twenty-foot-high metal security gate began descending from the ceiling but still no Joan. Many other mall stores were also closing and, with few people around, there was an eerie sense of abandonment. She’d always made sure I wasn’t to worry in case she didn’t arrive exactly on time; that she’d be alright. But this fortress-like metal gate was clanking its way half-way down and it was now so dark inside Lord & Taylor that I couldn’t see her in last mad scramble to get out.

As the massive, castle-like gate thudded into position, she rounded a corner and stood there, helpless. We were well and truly separated, with not the slightest clue what to do to extricate her. This was long before cell phones, and I had no idea how to contact Lord & Taylor Security, much less the store’s main offices. Would I have to find someone in the mall and call corporate headquarters somewhere in Georgia? This couldn’t be the only occasion when a customer was trapped inside. Did Lord & Taylor offer sleeping bags and emergency rations in cases like this? Were there any other trapped last minute shopper ladies inside? I’d never inspected the store notices, so maybe Lord & Taylor offered all-night champagne parties that no one knew about, but I wasn’t counting on missing anything.

How can wives who love to shop actually purchase anything when it’s too dark to see and no sales people selling them anything?  Was this what drove the beginning of the new age of internet shopping, when they can look at a screen, with no salespeople, and customers don’t get trapped inside? In this case, we finally came upon a security guard that let my wide-eyed wife escape. Seeing her tiny, at first clinging in desperation to the wrong side of the bars, her release reminded me of a cuddly thing being coaxed from behind a zoo cage enclosure. We were overjoyed at reuniting, promising such a separation would never happen again.

Of course, the next time we were abruptly scary-separated, we were schlepping two, very large, roll-around suitcases and a smaller version through downtown Portland, Oregon’s streets, trying to catch a rail-car to the airport. It was misting rain, what else, and we weren’t really dressed for the weather. An automatically-operating inter-urban rail train finally arrived, the doors opened, and I began lifting our two, huge, overweight suitcases up into the interior while Joan waited momentarily with the smaller roll-around on the curb.

While I was still struggling with the two pieces, the doors began closing. Before I could locate and push a button to stop the entire process, the train began moving. Joan was still standing, wide-eyed, curbside in Portland’s ever-lasting mist. What to do? Semi-scary panic time. I wasn’t sure where, exactly, to get off. Joan had our airline tickets and I wasn’t even sure what airline we were taking or what terminal to use. Neither of us had cell phones at the time so, should I get off somewhere between the last stop and Portland International, or guess what Joan would do?

I decided the best thing was to get off as soon as possible, still struggling with the two suitcases, wondering how to return to the previous train stop to meet her again. But now it wasn’t obvious where the opposite direction line was located. How much time did we have before the flight left, I had no idea, but we were well and truly disconnected without a backup plan.

Saving us both, the next automatic rail-car arrived with Joan on it before a train in the opposite direction hove into view. She was waving wildly, hanging onto her smaller roll-around, and a passenger pole, which takes three hands if you’re counting. Practically tossing the suitcases inside, I clambered aboard in record time. Greeting each other again after only minutes of separation, throwing our arms around each other, was like Stanley meeting Livingston in the deepest African jungle.

 

Feb 10

Dirty Laundry and Dimples

Pop and snap, pop and snap, it was an incessantly annoying tempo that was making her jaw clench. Yvette turned her head to stare at the woman chewing the gum hoping the laser death glare she shot that way would make the woman’s head explode.

Folding another t-shirt Yvette pressed and lined up edges for each fold in time with the snapping and popping of the gum. She snarled and snapped. “Would you stop it!”

The woman had short shorts on and a t-shirt that strangled her abundant cleavage. She looked up with wide eyes and shut her mouth. Then she said, “Sorry honey,” frowned and went back to her laundry. She also threw out her gum.

Yvette sighed. “No, I’m sorry for yelling at you. I just hate that I’m spending money I don’t have at the laundry mat, I have a headache, and I’m going to be late for work.”

The woman nodded. She gave her sympathetic eyes. Definitely more forgiving than she.

Earlier in the week, Yvette’s washer and dryer took fried to a whole new level. Just her luck, lightning had decided her side of the apartment building was as good a target as any and ripped through her apartment, burning the machine’s wires useless. I guess she should be happy the place didn’t burn down. She sighed and shut her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“I know what you mean. My Tony, he’s about the sweetest man you’ll ever meet, but he can’t keep from spending most everything we earn on games and such. You know? Video games. He likes them first person shooters, but they’re like fifty bucks a pop. And then he has to have his beer and chips during his breaks while…”

The high pitched nasally voice buzzed on and on as if the woman stepped out of a movie about the New York Mafia. Yvette just nodded and went back to folding laundry trying not to let her mouth hang open in disbelief and surprise. Did that woman really have a voice like that? She shut it quick enough.

The white dress shirt she pulled out of her basket was just like all the others she’d worn day after day, trying to earn enough money to get a better place, a better car, a better life. Waitressing was all she’d ever done. Every restaurant she had worked in seemed like a replica of the one she’d left. It was always for a higher wage, or better tips just until she’d have enough to go to culinary school. It never did add up to enough, though. Her dream of being a chef was pushed back for one more night or one more shift. But today she’d have an interview for a rare chance to apprentice in the kitchen.

She’d had enough of the too-handsy boss at a pit she worked at in Detroit. She’d thrown her order pad and apron at the owner, hit him with a closed fist and then walked out and took a drive. It turned out to be a four-hour drive. Taking that time to think of her next move turned out to be the best spontaneous decision she’d made to date. The drive had landed her in a small town that almost put her compact car in Lake Michigan. But then she rounded a corner and saw a sign for On the Rocks.

Her heart hammered hard. Her palms started to sweat. She’d never felt so drawn to a place. She pulled over, parked, and got out of her car. Freaked out by her reaction she was determined to go in, have a drink, and calm her nerves. Then she would find a place to stay, get a good night sleep and go home in the morning. She didn’t know why she was so nervous, but she felt something stirring inside her and decided to go with it.

When her feet hit the pavement, and she stepped out of her car, she could hear the music thumping from one side of the building. Female patrons waited in line with their high heels and skin tight dresses. Men wore slacks and shiny shoes with buttoned up shirts. They stood waiting and admiring the woman. Both sexes were sophisticated but also relaxed like they didn’t need to preen or flash a sexy smile for those next to them. It’s like they knew someone was waiting for them, so they didn’t have to do anything special to attract each other’s attention. Most were already paired up or held close by a significant other, or groups of girls gave the flirty eyelash flutter, and groups of guys gave the universal chin lift for hello, or gave a wave. There was familiarity. It was a small town after all. It wasn’t like the meat markets at the clubs in downtown Detroit.

She’d looked over to the other side of the building. The crowd was older, but no less done up like the younger group. There was something different at this place, and she wanted to know what it was all about. The calm side drew her, and she walked up to the large wooden door and went in. The line had been for dinner reservations and it warm enough for patrons to stand outside. She had approached the bar and sat down. The decision to get a drink and stay a while had changed her life. She’d met the owner, Ricky, as he was known and he’d offered her a job. It never occurred to her that she would move to the small town and make a home and it would start at On the Rocks.

The timer dinged on her last load. “Thank God,” she mumbled.

She looked at the time on her phone and quickly grabbed the last of her clothes, stuffing her unmentionables in the basket and then topping that off with her folded white shirts and black pants. Yvette grabbed everything else to fold it later. She needed to get home to get ready, late already, her first impression was going to suck.

With one basket on top of another her visibility almost zero, she rounded the corner and raced toward the door.

“See ya honey!” the woman with the gum and big boobs yelled over the whirring of washer and dryers.

Yvette turned to politely say good-bye trying to make up for her rudeness as she opened the door. She pushed her back up against it and spoke as she went. “Bye, uh…”

“Dallas,” the woman replied.

“Dallas,” Yvette said. “Nice to meet you.” And she waved. Turning to get to her car, which was a block away, the wobbling clothes baskets giving her trouble, she ran anyway, but within a couple of steps, she unexpectedly ran into a large immovable object just as the sky unleashed another torrential downpour. She crashed into said mountain which sent Yvette’s momentum backward. As she righted herself and before she fell and broke something important, the baskets with all her clean clothes went flying.

She reached out to try and catch at least one set before they hit the ground so she’d have something to wear for the interview because she wanted to make a good impression on the new chef. But that didn’t happen. She only had two hands. With her red hair dripping wet across her eyes, she was mumbling expletives as she gathered her now dirty, soggy mess. She flipped the tangled mop out of her eyes and started to straighten up with her soiled armload when fingers curled around her arm steadying her. And then a voice that sounded like sin and sex danced across her skin. “I am so sorry.”

When she stepped back the man who had clearly been the one she’d run into was now kneeling and gathering up the clothes she’d missed. And boy what a view of a very fine backside. When he finished helping and finally stood and held out her clothes, she lost all forms of communication. Because standing in front of her had to be one of the hunkiest men she’d ever seen in her life.

She swallowed hard her throat suddenly very dry.

The man’s arms dropped still holding onto–she looked down–her lacy underwear. Heat blazed through cheeks which were probably bright red knowing her pale complexion. She looked back up and was about to say something when their eyes met. His hand reached out, and his fingers pushed back an unruly curl that had sprung from the wet mass on her head. He pushed the curl gently behind her ear, skimming the curve of it down to her earlobe. She shivered.

She blinked a couple of times. What was she doing? Oh, right, she thought. She needed to get home.

“I’m Jacob.” He gave back her panties and smiled, a dimple forming. All she could do was stare at his smile. A smile only the devil would recognize it was so full of sin. Holy Moses and the four horsemen. She just died and went to heaven. All her girly parts, which had been dormant for far too long, saluted hello, how are ya’.

She licked her lips, and his eyes tracked the movement. Her lips pinched tight. Her heart started beating as if she were freefalling over a waterfall. She didn’t have time for a relationship. She needed to work, earn, and pay for tuition. Not think about one night stands with hot guys that had see-through shirts. Thank you, God, for the rain.

She grabbed the panties dangling from his finger and nodded like a big dork.

“You are?” he asked when she couldn’t say anything.

She blinked and finally got a hold of herself, only a little drool pooling at the corner of her mouth. She licked her lips again, and again his eyes followed the motion.

Oh, dear Lord, she needed this man in a big way. He was tall, at least six two. The rain still coming down hard, sluiced over muscles that were held in by the white t-shirt. She loved that white t-shirt. And his face, a play on chiseled angles and sharp brows, with hair that was as black as a still lake at midnight, plus that killer dimple, sent tremors through her body making her skin feel tight and tingly as she became more aroused.

“I’m…I’m Yvette,” She stammered.

“Nice to meet you, Yvette.” He held out his hand, and she took it and froze from the contact. Not that she was cold, oh no. She was getting very, very, warm.

All she could think to say when their eyes met again was, “Oh, boy,” because sparks were flying as their gazes stayed locked.

And then Jacob smiled even bigger.

Yvette squeezed his hand tight and tried not to groan. He didn’t just have one dimple. He had two.

Feb 08

Four Types of Playful Writers

Writers are, in general, playful people. As explained in a study by Dr. Rene Proyer “Playful people are able to reinterpret situations in their lives so that they experience them as entertaining or are able to reduce stress levels.” In my writing, I often rework real life situations with a better (or worse) ending and a more empowered character – a SuperMe – capable of witty remarks and amazing feats of skill, knowledge or cunning. Although it seems hard to find anything entertaining about pain or loss, the expression of an unpleasant experience in a creative way can be cathartic. For an example, recall Life of Pi by Yann Martel; young Pi survives on a boat with what seems to be a tiger, baboon and hyena.

The study categorizes playful people in four ways. I imagine writers can check one or all these categories. I will test each categories with myself and with the four Russian writers on my reading list for the year – Tolstoy, Chekov, Bulgakov and Nabokov.

1) “Other-directed playful” includes socializing with friends and other writers.   For me – a member of several writing groups, an “E” for extrovert on Myers-Briggs tests and working in a profession that involves people – this category is a hit. For the Russians writers, socializing with each other is well documented. Tolstoy reportedly took partying (1800’s style) at college to the extreme and never graduated. Lucky for him, it did not deter his writing career and success.

2) The “light-heartedly playful” consider life a game. And in games, it’s how the game is played. During the years I cared for my parents, we continued to play games. I had a performance baseline for each of them and measured each day against the previous. During play, the filters and pretensions dropped. Strategy choices revealed character, health and mental faculty. Humor was also part of the game. Chekhov began his writing career by publishing humorous anecdotes and stories to pay for his medical school studies. After that, his writing took a turn for the dark and serious.

3) The “intellectually playful” like to play with thoughts and ideas. Occasionally, the less tired and more clever me does re-orchestrate events to tell a playful story. I once threw away a microwave because my son said smoke came out of it. When I learned this might not have been true, I wrote a short story, “Trial of the Microwave.” On a more serious topic, Bulgakov wrote a satire about Stalinist Russia, Master and Margarita, which casts a wall-eyed loon and a talking cat as the devil’s attendants. I needed the talking cat in the microwave situation.

4) The “whimsically playful” enjoy “strange and unusual things and are amused by small day-to-day observations.” Details – accents, tone of voice, body language – convey information to the observant. The crystallized conflict photographed above caught my attention the other day. I took several photographs to determine if the ice was melting or the water was freezing. Before I could decide, my fingers numbed, and I almost dropped my phone in the water. Nabokov’s narrator in Lolita can dial up the description to create a complete image and feeling. Read through this jewel by Nabokov. He writes “. . . on the trim turf of the lawn-slope, an old gentleman with a white mustache, well-dressed – double-breasted gray suit, polka dotted bow-tie – lay supine, his long legs together, like a death-size wax figure.”

One last point about playfulness, Dr. Proyer notes that play enhances the ability to solve complex problems. A playful person can shift perspectives. In writer-speak, this shift is changing point of view. A writer imagines the thoughts and motivations of each character and determines the best narrator for a story. Solving (complex) plotting problems may mean jumping into another character’s thoughts and point of view. Or the story might need the intimacy of first person. Sometimes, I get it wrong. I’m quite proficient at switching from third person to first or vice versa. And being playful, I find it fun to edit and try it again in a different way.

Feb 06

Begin Anew

“Whether you believe you can or you can’t – you’re right.” Henry Ford

We’re one month into working on our New Year’s resolutions. How many have you kept? What? You’ve given up already, not going to try again until next year? I know that the first of January marks a new beginning for many of us, but why does it have to be that date? Why not look at the first of each month as a time to make a change, start a trend, learn something new, or finish a project. What’s wrong with the beginning of the week? How about waking up each morning and saying, “Yes, I can.”

Do you want to lose weight? Learn a new language? Travel more? Or write that book you’ve thought about for far too long? Don’t give up just because you’re behind schedule. If you’re still breathing, you still have time to keep your resolutions.

Set measurable goals for yourself and record your progress. Renew that membership to the gym or start with vigorous daily walks. And don’t forget to add healthy recipes to your meal plan. Sign up for a language class online or at a local community college. Look through travel brochures, then book your next destination.

Take out your computer or that notebook collecting dust and continue working on your manuscript. Sometimes you’ll run into a problem with your story. If it’s not coming together the way you want it to, work on a different scene. Novels aren’t always written in chronological order. Some writers begin writing the end of their story before they know how the story will begin.

Today, right now, is a new beginning for you. Are you ready to “resolve” to make a change? How will you accomplish your goals?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Feb 05

The Top Ten Things I Love About the Mass Effect Series

(Note: There are spoilers in this article.)

Finding a video game series that is well thought out and has a fully fleshed out history to its name is a rare thing.  One such series that does so is the Mass Effect “Commander Shepherd” Trilogy.  I don’t know of any other franchise on the same level, but the Mass Effect series sets the bar for how to make a trilogy outstanding.  Though the overall ending presented with Mass Effect 3 left many fans disappointed, that shouldn’t take away from the quality of the games as a whole.

The sci-fi series kicks off with the introduction of Shepherd, the second-in-command officer of a starship called the Normandy who leads a team to save a colony under siege.  Though only one colonist is found alive, he reveals the perpetrator as Saren, a member of an elite and exclusive galactic policing organization (SPECTRE) who’s gone rogue.  In addition, Shepherd comes into contact with an alien artifact that gives him or her a cryptic vision of a cataclysmic event to come.

Those are just the basic plot points that set the stage for a huge epic adventure that takes three games to tell.  Unfortunately, the setup doesn’t do much for telling just how great the trilogy is, so here is my top ten list of what makes the Mass Effect games so fantastic.

10) History/Backstory – The first game introduces players to a dozen different alien races.  While each race has a distinct look that makes them intriguing enough, the game’s developers took the time to establish detailed backgrounds for each and every one of them – even the Elcor and Hanar though they don’t play a central role in the story.  I don’t know of many sci-fi games that would build up a cultural and economic history for alien races who don’t get a lot of screen time, so kudos to the production team.

9) Game-save imports – It is not necessary to play all three games in the trilogy to understand the overall story, but it is recommended if the player wants to make the most of their experience.  There are at least a hundred different characters to interact with in Mass Effect 1 – most of whom Shepherd merely engages in conversation with.  However, supporting characters, provided they survive, will only appear in the subsequent chapters of the trilogy if the player imports a save containing data of what occurred in the preceding installment.  These imports add more depth to the overall story.  For example, saving or sacrificing a seemingly unimportant character in the first game has an impact of on how the second or third installment plays out.

Two versions of Commander Shepherd as created by me.

8) Character Customization – I know that there are other games that allow the player to decide how the main character looks or what their name should be, but the Mass Effect trilogy takes it to another level.  Shepherd’s look is not set in stone from one game to the next, even if a save is imported.  For example, Shepherd dies within the first fifteen minutes of Mass Effect 2, only to be brought back to life by expensive scientific means by one of the trilogy’s more shady characters, The Illusive Man.  Upon his or her resurrection, Shepherd’s appearance can be altered by the player if desired.  Though there is no clear reason given for why Shepherd’s appearance is prone to change between the second and third games, the option to alter the main character’s look is also present in Mass Effect 3.

7) Variety – One of the things I love most about the trilogy is how versatile the story is.  There are so many variants present in the games that you would have to replay them multiple times to experience everything.  Whether you’d like to see Commander Shepherd as male or female, peacemaker or badass, or engage in a relationship with one of the many romanceable crew members available, there is guaranteed to be enough variety to keep the games from ever getting stale.

6) Unavoidable decisions – Since nothing particularly bad happens to any of Shepherd’s squad mates\team members through much of Mass Effect 1, it’s easy to get attached to all of them.  So when a mission to take down Saren on the planet, Virmire, comes around late in the game, the player is forced to make a tough call.  Two squad mates – Kaiden Alenko and Ashley Williams – each come under heavy fire at separate ends of Saren’s complex, and Shepherd can only save one of them at the expense of the other.  While decisions don’t carry as much weight in the second game, there are several in Mass Effect 3 that pack the same kind of punch.

5) Multiplayer mode – In addition to its main story, Mass Effect 3 has a multiplayer mode where up to four players can team up via internet connection for a skirmish against one of the enemy armies present in the trilogy.  In this setting, you can choose to be a human combatant or one of the humanoid aliens present in the main game.  My personal preference is to play as a Quarian Engineer since their sentry turrets come in handy in keeping enemy units from sneaking up behind you.  For the most part, I like doing solo runs though those are mostly limited to easy/bronze mode.  Maybe one day I’ll actually get good enough to make it through a hardcore/platinum mode (which has the toughest units from all four enemy armies coming at you right off the bat) on my own.

4) Personal pratfalls – As much as I love the trilogy for its story, variety, and engaging characters, there are a few dumb things I’ve done at points that made it a truly unique experience.  For instance, I’ve come to learn from a number of games that I suck when it comes to steering a ground-based vehicle.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve crashed a car into something within a video game, but in Mass Effect 1, I somehow managed to drive off the edge of a wide cloud-level platform multiple times.  During my first playthrough of Mass Effect 2, I thought I was doing fine until I undertook the mission to recruit Archangel/Garrus as a team member – I got confused on what I was supposed to be doing and personally gunned him down myself.  In addition, I would often play the second game when I was dead tired.  This sometimes resulted in me jolting awake in front of the computer to find myself holding down the forward arrow key and Shepherd face-planted against a wall.

3) Monsters – No matter the game, there is nothing more jarring than being forced to combat someone you think of as an ally.  Mass Effect 3 uses this premise in spades by pitting Commander Shepherd against monstrous versions of the alien races that players had come to know and love.  While most are easy to take out with the right weapon or skill set, none of them are more frightening than the mutated Asari, or Banshees.  A long-limbed grotesque creature with a distinctive scream and the ability to teleport toward you at a fast pace, any one Banshee can kill Shepherd/the player with one blow if he or she isn’t careful.  FYI, Banshees are also included on my list of video game monsters that terrify me.

2) Romances – Pursuing a relationship in the Mass Effect trilogy is quite the experience in itself.  Between the three games, including the expansion packs, there are a total of 18 characters (or 19 if Aria T’Loak even counts) that Shepherd can get up close and personal with.  Romances are something that greatly add to the versatility of the games.  Shepherd can choose to stay true to his or her love interest from the first or second game or move on with someone else.  In most games that offer character customization, I prefer to play as a female character.  However, I have made an exception with the Mass Effect trilogy in the interest of pursuing a romance with one of Shepherd’s female teammates.

1) Humor\One-liners – The one thing that makes the Mass Effect series truly memorable is its unique wit.  The trilogy is filled with zingers guaranteed to get people chuckling.  Whether it’s Shepherd’s trademark statement for ending a conversation (“I should go.”), a snappy comeback to someone who confuses Shepherd with a very distinctive-looking alien (“Here’s a tip.  Two eyes – human.  Four eyes – Batarian.”), or humorous one-liners such as “I don’t need luck, I have ammo,” there is certain to be one bit of the dialogue in the games that will elicit a laugh.

This video game trilogy depicting the adventures of Commander Shepherd will always hold a special place in my heart, even if there is a forthcoming game to be released in March 2017 that may surpass them.  The upcoming Mass Effect: Andromeda will be completely removed from the original trilogy by taking place 600 hundred years later in a separate galaxy and featuring an all-new cast of characters.  I don’t know much of what to expect from this upcoming game.  But if it retains the same elements that made its predecessors so great, I’m sure I’ll find it immensely entertaining.

I hope you all enjoyed this article, and please leave a comment below if you did.  Be sure to tune in next month for my first impressions of the soon-to-be-released Resident Evil 7.

©January 18, 2017