Proud to be Canadian

There's one topic I have studiously avoided since I began this blog: politics. Because, let's face it. Today, having a political stance means alienating about half your potential audience. And as a writer trying to get a foothold in the market, that's not a good or wise thing to do. So, politics are out. Pop culture, writing, hobby farming, family stuff...that's all good stuff that doesn't irritate people.

But right now, there's something going on that I simply can't ignore, and I can't let it go without talking about it. Frankly, I don't want to ignore and avoid it, because it's so important that it will literally determine the country's direction for the immediate and foreseeable future, maybe even the future of the entire Western world. And that would be the massive trucking convoys winding their way across Canada from all directions, heading for the nation's capital to demand that the government rescind all the vaccine mandates.

I put the 'history' tag on this post because this is history in the making. This is one of those once-in-a-lifetime things that many people don't get to experience. Right now, there are literally tens of thousands of truckers, and hundreds of thousands of people riding along with them, who are telling the Canadian government in the loudest possible way, We Have Had Enough.

It's been almost two years of having our lives torn apart by mandates, masks, and fear. Two years in which loved ones have been separated, the elderly have died in nursing homes and hospitals without their loved ones allowed to be with them, where birthday parties are celebrated over Zoom calls, and where human contact is shunned because of an endless litany of fearmongering from the government, the media, and the medical establishment.

And now, Canadians have announced, in numbers unheard of outside of an all-Canadian Stanley Cup final, that we have had enough. We want our lives back. This isn't about getting rid of the Covid vaccines; this is about no longer permitting the government to force us to take it. I know people who were forced out of their jobs because they refused to take an experimental, untested drug. I know people who haven't seen family members in over a year because they're afraid to leave the house. And I know people who lost their businesses because they were forced to close while big corporations continued to rake in big profits with even less competition around.

We are done.

I don't drive a truck; I live on a tiny island on the east coast, and I couldn't even make it to the rally at Borden-Carleton this morning because I'm lucky enough to still have a job in this economic climate. But I sat with my family tonight, watching videos on YouTube of this incredible, unbelievable show of patriotic unity across the country, and I was deeply moved. This is a true watershed moment in this country's history, made even more significant because the entire world is watching this unfold. The world is teetering on a precipice, and many of us wondered if anything would be able to prevent the inexorable slide into the world of 1984. Many of us wondered if anything could be done to stop it.

Enter the truckers, who have rallied the entire country to take this ride with them. They aren't a 'fringe minority', as the Prime Minister disparaged them in a press conference. They are riding with purpose, and the show of support from Canadians at every milepost is staggering to behold. These men and women are finally doing what needed to be done from the very start, and it is a glorious sight to behold. And they aren't doing it alone; there are thousands of truckers crossing the border from the United States to join them. This is going viral around the world, and it might be the spark that restores our freedom and our hope for the future.

And so, it's been a long time since I wrote a proper song parody, but the time is right. This one is for each and every trucker out there, as well as everyone who wishes they could be part of the Freedom Convoy. Lee Greenwood, thanks for the tune. Cheers to you all.

*****************

If tomorrow all the things were gone I'd worked for all my days
Cause the mandates kept on coming, setting freedom all ablaze
I'd spend my life in wonder at the things that we'd let slide
But I see those flags wave in the night as our trucking brothers ride

And I'm proud to be Canadian, in the true north strong and free
And I won't forget the men who drive to save those rights for me
So I'll gladly stand out in the cold and cheer you as you go
Cause there ain't no doubt you love this land! You listening yet, Trudeau?

From the lakes of Manitoba to the mountains of B.C.
Across the frozen Maritimes, from sea to icy sea
From Vancouver to Kenora, from the Rock to Montreal
Well, there's pride in every Canadian heart
And it's time that we stand tall

Yes, I'm proud to be Canadian where the winter comes on strong
And the convoy is a hundred miles and a million heartbeats long
So I'll gladly stand up, cheer you on, and wave the flag with pride
Cause there ain't no doubt we love this land! So ride, you truckers, ride!

Yes, I'm proud to be Canadian to see history unfold
And I'm going to tell my grandkids 'bout the time the truckers rolled
So I'll gladly stand here, spread the word, and wish I drove a truck
And as far as all the mandates go, I just don't give a darn.

A Whole Different Kind of Fantasy

No, not that kind of fantasy, either. I write kid-friendly stuff, or at least stuff that parents would be okay with their kids reading. After all, I want my own kids to read what I write. No, I'm talking about my first exposure to one of the grandmasters, one who died young but had an enormous impact on the field of fantasy. No, not Robert E. Howard; I'm talking about the other guy: H.P. Lovecraft.

I know, it's weird that someone who has spent literal decades immersed in D&D lore and RPGs never read Lovecraft. I mean, Cthulhu? The D-series kuo-toa, who were basically Lovecraft ripoffs? The fervent recommendations from other DMs and players? How could I have skipped Lovecraft entirely?

Well, there's a simple explanation for it: I never wanted to read Lovecraft. When I was growing up, fantastic fiction was walled off into certain ghettos known as 'genres.' There was fantasy, there was science fiction, there was romance, and there was horror. And yes, there were subsets of all those genres in there, atomizing and splitting the reading public. But those four zones covered a lot of ground in fiction.

And I was never, ever a horror fan. I wanted nothing to do with it. Probably because I grew up in the 1980s, when 'horror' in pop culture was dominated by slasher flicks. Freddy and Jason had absolutely no hold on my imagination; I wanted nothing to do with them, or with anything else like them. The genre simply didn't appeal to me. Couple that with Ravenloft's original appearance, which didn't do anything for me either, and it's easy to understand why I stayed away from Lovecraft. After all, he was a 'horror' writer.

But now that I have embraced the pulps and the grandmasters of the field, my own meandering path through Appendix N took me to the shores of the ocean of Lovecraft's writing. And while I haven't read a lot of it yet, I have read a few stories, all of them his early works. Since I'm reading this stuff chronologically, it's easy to see the influence of Merritt on Lovecraft early on, although I would have to say that Lovecraft really takes it to a whole new level of weird. Merritt's adventurers tend to survive, albeit scarred, after their experiences. Lovecraft, on the other hand, breaks their brains into a million pieces and throws them together after putting them through a mental blender. And the reader gets some of that effect, too.

Even from the very first story, "The Beast in the Cave," Lovecraft is unique. It's one of the few stories I've ever read in which there is no spoken dialogue. It relates the narrator's remembrance of being lost in the Mammoth Cave. Incidentally, that's the same cave complex that was used to inspire the Colossal Cave Adventure, the first text-based adventure computer game. He relates the tale of being hopelessly lost in the dark, and he uses very effective imagery to portray the feeling of terror and hopelessness that would come from being lost in a pitch-black cave that is the largest such complex in the world, especially when some kind of wild animal is approaching you in the dark, an animal you can't see, only hear. The narrator does eventually escape, but there's a final twist that sheds light (see what I did there?) on the invisible assailant.

Several of his early stories are similar, in that they lack any spoken dialogue. It's a very different way of telling a story, one I've never imagined doing. But it works. Lovecraft, even in his early stages, was a master of descriptive weirdness. Check out this passage from "Dagon".

The change happened whilst I slept. Its details I shall never know; for my slumber, though troubled and dream-infested, was continuous. When at last I awaked, it was to discover myself half sucked into a slimy expanse of hellish black mire which extended about me in monotonous undulations as far as I could see, and in which my boat lay grounded some distance away.
Though one might well imagine that my first sensation would be of wonder at so prodigious and unexpected a transformation of scenery, I was in reality more horrified than astonished; for there was in the air and in the rotting soil a sinister quality which chilled me to the very core. The region was putrid with the carcasses of decaying fish, and of other less describable things which I saw protruding from the nasty mud of the unending plain. Perhaps I should not hope to convey in mere words the unutterable hideousness that can dwell in absolute silence and barren immensity. There was nothing within hearing, and nothing in sight save a vast reach of black slime; yet the very completeness of the stillness and the homogeneity of the landscape oppressed me with a nauseating fear.

Creepy, isn't it? He does use the 'too horrible to describe' trope quite often, but why not? It wasn't a cliché at the time, since it hadn't been overdone at this point in time. He's drawing on inspiration from Poe as well as Merritt, and comes out with some fantastically wild stuff. Vivid descriptions of fantastic places, all narrated by men on the edge of madness.

I'm looking forward to more of Lovecraft as I slowly make my way through my pulp journey. I'm sure there will be plenty of entertainment to be had, without the jump-scares and gore that modern visual horror relies on.

Oh, it looks like the next story on the list is 'The Picture in the House.' This should be interesting.

Fight or Flight: Enterprise Retrospective

I mentioned before that this is my favorite Star Trek series. This is the first post-pilot episode, in which the crew encounter a new alien race and almost get turned into Spanish Fly. It focuses on Hoshi, of all people, who is both the youngest crew member and the least comfortable crew member in space. She gets claustrophobic in the EVA suits. Not a good disadvantage to have on a spaceship.

So, the Enterprise is just cruising along exploring the area on their Vulcan star-charts, when they run into a dead-in-space ship that shows markings of having been attacked. T'Pol tells them to just fly away, but humans being humans and afflicted with incurable curiosity, Archer takes Hoshi and Malcom and hops over to the derelict ship. There they find the crew butchered and being processed by a machine that's flushing out their bodily fluids.

Again T'Pol urges them to leave, and Archer reluctantly does so. But he has a change of heart, thinking about how he would have reacted had the crew been humans. So the Enterprise turns around and heads back. They use the ship's systems to send an automatic distress call, but are interrupted by a large alien ship that they quickly realize was doing the body-flushing. They're out for useful chemical compounds such as aphrodisiacs, and humans have similar compounds in their bodies. This does not bode well.

Sure enough, the hapless Enterprise is badly outgunned by the aliens, but before they get assimilated--sorry, processed--another alien ship arrives, related to the derelict ship. Despite communications issues, Hoshi is able to convince the alien captain that the other ship is the problem, and after some judicious blasting (and a gratuitous torpedo shot from the Enterprise), the bad ship is blown to bits, and Hoshi has made a new friend.

These aliens are the Axanar, and while we never see a live Axanar again, they do appear once in a later episode of Enterprise, and Axanar (the world) is mentioned twice in TOS as both James Kirk and Garth of Izar were awarded medals related to events on or around that world.

So, how does this episode rank? Well, Tanner liked it, although there were some uncomfortable moments with the jump-scare and the gross flushing machine. Obviously, he doesn't have a basis to compare the episode to anything else, since he's only seen Broken Bow before this. For me, I like it because it shows both the vulnerability of the ship and crew and their resilience and determination to do the right thing. Unlike Kirk or Picard, Archer doesn't have a rulebook to tell him what to do in these situations; he's got to make it up as he goes on. Here, his conscience, not the rulebook, determines the fate of not only his own ship, but the murdered Axanar crew members as well, who get the dignity of being brought home for burial instead of becoming alien sex drugs.

I'm going to rank this episode a 6 out of 10; it has good moments, but it's obvious that the show is still trying to find its footing, and it's also obvious that Starfleet needs to learn to make sure ships are fully stocked, armed and prepared before going out into space, a lesson they'll forget a century and a half later as well in Star Trek: Generations. The show does get bonus points for not having a universal translator to solve all their communications problems, although Hoshi's gift for languages borders on the telepathic. She literally carried on a complex conversation with a brand-new alien species only hours after first encountering their language, convincing an alien captain to change his mind and side with the Enterprise against a greater threat. Clearly, the universal translator was invented because not every ship could have a Hoshi Sato on board.

If exciting space action is your idea of fun, but you're looking for something other than Star Trek, consider taking a look at my own science-fiction adventure book, Bard Conley's Adventures Across the Solar System. You'll be supporting Indie publishing, and you might even enjoy it.

A Blast from the Past

Sometimes, you just have to jump into the DeLorean and go back to the past. Last night, I was idly looking at some old computer games sites. You know, the 'abandonware' stuff that nobody plays anymore because the games are so old you can't even find computers that run them? I was interested in some old Sid Meier games (Civ, Pirates), and there was a category about 'adventure' games. Many of the games in that category were the old Infocom text-adventure games. And that reminded me of one of the games I played on my dad's old Osborne computer, the original 'portable' computer. You needed to have Stallone or Schwarzenegger arms to move the thing, but it was 'portable,' at least.

Yes, that's the monitor in the middle. My phone is bigger than that today, but back then, this was state-of-the-art.

Anyway, the game I was thinking about was called 'Adventure.' It's the original text-based adventure game, the one that inspired the founders of Infocom (Zork, Planetfall, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, etc.). And lo and behold, not only is it still around, but it's actually playable online in your browser. Incredible. This game is from 1976, and is so influential that it's in the Video Games Hall of Fame. This despite not having a single graphic image; it's entirely written. Which, of course, is too boring for kids today, including my son. I let him try out the online version (which hews quite closely to the version I played as a kid), and he got frustrated just trying to get into the dungeon. He couldn't get past the grate.

"Did you try unlocking it with the keys?" I asked.

He glared at me, then laboriously typed in, 'unlock grate with keys'. It worked, but he ended up giving up soon afterward. It's just not his thing.

Too bad, because I remember these games as being incredible brain-trainers. Solving those puzzles and being rewarded with something like a few coins was thrilling. Throwing an axe at a dwarf and watching him dissipate into a puff of smoke was exciting. And while I never did finish the adventure when I first played it (I couldn't figure out the plover room), it was a fantastic experience, and one I was very happy to try again.

I still haven't finished the game, of course, but it's a ton of fun, just as I remember it. I wish my son could get the same fun out of it, but I suppose that puzzle-solving adventures can't compete with Fortnite.

Those old games, though. They were very, very imaginative and very tightly-paced. They had to be, since computer memory back then was measured in kilobytes, not gigabytes. And a lot of those programs were written in BASIC, a language I still remember with fondness. There was something really cool about getting a computer magazine or book and finding a dozen programs, most of them games, that you could just type in yourself and play. They didn't always work, since most computers had different versions of BASIC, but you could work around them if you understood the language.

Today, of course, nobody uses BASIC. Not like we did. And the games are way more sophisticated, graphically astounding and full of music and all that stuff. But they don't compare to the first time you finished typing in that program and typed 'RUN,' and watched as your computer transformed into a wonder-world of the imagination.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I just heard a voice murmur, 'Plugh.'

If you're interested in seeing this seminal game yourself, here's a link to the online version:

https://iplayif.com/?story=https%3A%2F%2Fifarchive.org%2Fif-archive%2Fgames%2Fzcode%2FAdvent.z5

Three in a Row

Well, well.  Three days, three blog posts. This could be habit-forming. I certainly hope so, anyway.

So, today was mostly about the farm. No gardening, obviously, since the garden is under two feet of snow. But the chickens are still up and about, enjoying the cold weather in their non-insulated barn. Feathers are handy. We haven't lost any chickens despite two major storms that the barn is completely incapable of keeping out; there are plenty of gaps for the wind and snow to come through, and the inside of the barn looks like a winter wonderland. But the chickens are doing just fine.

And so is the bunny; my wife found out that chickens and bunnies can get along just fine, so we moved the bunny into the coop. And sure enough, he's having a blast. He's running around in there right alongside the chickens, eating from the same dish, drinking the same water...as long as he doesn't try to sit on any eggs, it's all good.

We've got some young chickens as well, the ones that came out of the incubator. There are six of them now, three from our own eggs and three from my wife's friend (the other crazy chicken lady). They've got their own little family group, and it looks like it's one rooster and five hens. They're in the garage, living in the old bunny coop, and once the youngest ones are old enough they'll be moving as a group to the big coop to join the greater chicken community.

I wish I had more to say, but we just did work on the farm and in the garage; nothing exciting. But the point is to keep the blog going again, so even a short post is better than silence.

For those of you still reading, cheers; may 2022 be a fresh and exciting year for you. For those who aren't reading, it doesn't matter what I say, does it?

For Crying Out Loud

One of the challenging things about blogging is coming up with things to blog about. For some people, it's very easy, especially when their focused on one topic with a lot of material to work with. Gardeners, for example, can blog for years without repeating themselves. Pop culture bloggers have a lot to talk about, too. But I've had plenty of occasions when I struggled to come up with a topic.

And then there are the days where life just hands you something to write about.

On September 24, 2020, my family finished packing up our mini-convoy and hugged Nana one last time before beginning our four-day (actually five) trek from Ontario to PEI. Tanner sat in the passenger seat beside me in my car, with the Puppy-Girl in a cage in the back seat. As we pulled out of her driveway, I got the Bluetooth going and hit 'Play' on the phone.

The first song that came on? "Bat out of Hell," by Meat Loaf. In fact, we listened to the whole Bat album, and a few hours later we got the live version as we passed through Toronto. Is there a more perfect song to start a road trip? I can't think of more than five that might be more suitable.

Today, the world lost a titan of music. At the age of 74, Meat Loaf is gone. I never saw him live in concert, I only owned the first two Bat albums in my late teens and twenties, and would never have been considered a mega-Meat fan. But I always enjoyed those albums, among the very best rock music ever offered. So, I'm going to talk about what Meat Loaf's music means to me.

To me, what made Meat Loaf stand out from his contemporaries was the sheer operatic awesomeness of the Bat albums. There were plenty of rockers, bigger names like Kiss and Aerosmith, but a Meat Loaf song was more than just a song; it was an event. He did his best work with Jim Steinman (who died last year; they were roughly the same age), as Meat Loaf's bombastic vocals were a perfect match to Steinman's expansive compositions.

That first Bat album (which, of course, I'm playing as I write this) is only 46 minutes, but it packs a lot into its seven songs. There's the thundering opening title track, a couple of epic ballads in Heaven can Wait and For Crying Out Loud, and of course the signature song, Paradise by the Dashboard Light. Ironically, my first exposure to Meat Loaf was this song, but not in a setting you might expect.

In my grade 9 religion class, the teacher spent a couple of days using this song as a way to teach us tender teens about the risks of premarital sex. I really wasn't into hard rock at the time; I preferred old 50s' rock n' roll, swing and classical music. But even then, I got the sense that this was different. Sure, it was loud, it went on and on and on, and there was an interesting baseball metaphor that I hadn't heard before. But there was something about it that separated this artist from the crash-bang metal music that had literally hurt my ears. (You try listening to a Grade 8 cover-band of Ozzy Osbourne with Spinal Tap-level amplifiers in a small school gymnasium.) There was more. There was a story. And I wouldn't admit it to myself then, but I liked it.

I forgot about Meat Loaf until almost a decade later, when he made his big comeback with the Bat sequel, Back Into Hell. At this point I was more interested in classic rock, and seeing a new Meat Loaf album getting rave reviews grabbed my attention. My gamer friends were even claiming that the inspiration for the video for I'd Do Anything for Love was the Ravenloft D&D module. I knew the module and saw the video, and I suppose you could make a case for it, although I wasn't very familiar with the Ravenloft story except that it was basically Dracula in D&D.

Regardless, I made a point of buying the album, and grabbed the original Bat album as well. It was a heck of a one-two punch. The sequel album was much longer than the first one, since it wasn't restricted to vinyl limits. Objects in the Rear View Mirror might be his best song ever, although I don't like the radio edit. I mean, you can't shorten a Meat Loaf song. It's like reading the Lord of the Rings but leaving Two Towers out. Or skipping Empire Strikes Back. You need the full song for the right effect. Most of Meat Loaf's radio edits are like that; the one for Paradise by the Dashboard Light is nigh-unlistenable. These songs are epic in scope. Both Steinman's music and Meat Loaf's voice don't work well in a cut-down format. They need room to breathe, to expand, and to express a movie's worth of emotions. Of all the songs they did together, none is under four minutes in length, and only a small number are under five.

Over time, I ended up getting the rest of his albums in digital format, although I still don't have the original Stoney and Meatloaf from the early 1970s. He's one of my favorite rockers, and the world is a little less epic today. So, raise a toast, rev that bike, and let the rubber hit the road, because there will never be another one like him. Heaven couldn't wait any longer.

Starting Fresh

Well, that was quite the hiatus. Easily the longest one since I started this blog. Sometimes, life gets crazy busy, and things just fall by the wayside. This, unfortunately, was one of them. I finally decided that the best way to get back to blogging was to just get it done. I'm still not writing like I wanted to this year, but that's going to pick up again as well.

For those who care, I've been dealing with a lot of work-related stuff. Christmas came and went, and didn't feel all that special this year. We didn't do much decorating, no baking at all, and even Christmas morning felt...blah. Sad, really, but after nearly two years of Covidmania, people are getting burned out.

So, what to talk about? I don't really have much to say, even though it's been a while, but I just want to get back into the habit of posting. Daily is the goal, but even if it's just weeknights, that would be an improvement.

It's nice to see that people were still reading the blog while I was away. It's encouraging to think that people will still be interested in what I have to say. So, I'm going to get back to the root that got me started on this blog: writing.

I've written posts about heroes, I've written about heroic movies and books, and I've written about the inspiration those heroes provide. I've got more things to say, especially on the subject of writing about those heroes. I just have to take the time to actually say them.

One of the things that I find frustrating about writing is our limited vocabulary. Not that the English language is lacking in words; it's got more than just about any other language except maybe Chinese. But for the majority of the population, they don't use the wide variety of words available. The best example I've ever seen of this is from a comedian named John Branyan, who did a fantastic sketch on the Three Little Pigs. I heartily recommend it.

So, for the modern writer, there is a fine line to walk between unleashing the richness of the language and making sure the readers understand what you're saying. Go too far in one direction, and you're basically writing Dr. Seuss. Encroach deeply upon the other side of that line, and suddenly you are affecting a manner viewed as pretentious superiority.

In my case, I don't pretend to have a working vocabulary to match Shakespeare, but I am smarter than the average bear. I have Gary Gygax to thank, at least in part, since I expanded my vocabulary as a young man, reading High Gygaxian English many years ago from the AD&D rulebooks. He could have given Shakespeare a run for his money. Okay, maybe not Shakespeare, but definitely Milton.

Since I've been gone so long, I thought I'd offer a freebie to the loyal readers who have still come by on occasion. It's an excerpt from a short story I wrote a couple of years ago; the full version is available in the Universe of Possibilities book, available now on Amazon.

THE RAVEN

March 16, 1937

            “Run, Johnny!” shouted Jerome as the two scurried away from the menacing figure before them. Johnny tripped over a garbage can and sprawled on the ground. Jerome ignored his fallen friend and ran for the alley entrance. He had almost reached the street when he felt a cord fall over his head and around his neck. The cord grew tight, and he fell to the ground, frantically trying to get the cord off. A black bird landed on his chest and pecked at his face, and he screamed as he tried to beat the bird away.

            Johnny scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his gun. He tried to draw a bead on the trenchcoated figure before him, but his hands were shaking with fear. The strange figure jumped up into the air and landed astride his chest, knocking the gun out of his nerveless fingers. A sharp punch to the jaw put him to sleep.

            Jerome kept swatting at the bird, which nimbly hopped out of his reach, fluttering just above him. Then the bird disappeared, replaced by the mysterious figure that was now reaching for Jerome’s collar. Jerome was yanked to his feet and lifted off the ground with a single hand. Desperately, he tried to pull the iron grip apart without success.

            “Please, don’t hurt me!” he begged.

            “That sounds familiar,” whispered the figure before him. Jerome saw a black mask over the man’s eyes under a black fedora, with dark eyes that pierced his soul as he whimpered in terror. “Isn’t that what that man said before you pistol-whipped him, Jerome?”

            “How—how do you know my name?” said Jerome, even more afraid than before.

            “I know all about the scum that infests this city,” replied the masked man. “And I want you to take a message to your boss. Tell Roscoe Travis that his days of running the Irish underworld are coming to an end. Tell him that all the money and power won’t save him from me.”

            “I—I—”

            The masked man drew Jerome even closer, his eyes as hard and black as the hardest coal. “And tell him that he’s enjoyed his place in the sun long enough. The night is falling, and so is his empire.” He threw Jerome to the ground beside the unconscious Johnny. Then a flash of light exploded around him in a puff of smoke. Within seconds it had dissipated, and the masked man was gone.

            Jerome looked around the alley wildly, but saw nothing other than a small note left on Johnny’s chest. With a trembling hand, he opened it. Written in a florid but legible script were the words:

            “Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore.’”

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