Tag Archives: Story

No Normal

I’m starting work (meaning working on my book) late today for two reasons. I had to take care of some other stuff, which is now done, and because my dad is traveling for work this week, which my schedule is more adjustable, anyway. I wasn’t intending to write a blog post, but in the course of doing my things that needed to get done, I came across this quote:

“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”

Last night I came to the conclusion that while there is stability sometimes, there is no “normal.” In the past year, I’ve had to adjust to a “new normal” several times. This concept really solidified in my mind after Vermont’s funeral. At the time I had a desperate, but hopeful thought that eventually things would go “back to normal.” Then it hit me that they wouldn’t. Our family would have to adjust to a new normal. On a happier note, my brother is finishing his Bachelor’s degree this year, and will be commuting to school to get his Master’s (because he’s actually a genius). Finally all of our friends will be at home, generally at the same time. It will almost be like when we were kids. It will almost be like going back to what was normal for so many years.

Except it won’t. I still don’t know exactly what the future holds, but I’ve been trying to get in touch with a Secular Institute, which is a kind of religious organization that, in this particular case, helps people with disabilities, like myself, consecrate themselves entirely to God. I can’t entirely truthfully say that I don’t care about the consequences. I’m going to pursue this no matter the cost, but I don’t know how my friends will react. I want them to know that I’m still a total nerd and weirdo who will continue to play fantasy games with them. The only difference is that I’m officially making an unbreakable commitment to God. That will be a new normal for everyone to get used to, including myself.

I brought up the quote at the beginning of this post because I decided to do my “spiritual stuff” before work instead of after work today. Part of that “spiritual stuff” is just making sure I read something from Scripture. I had an idea of what I was going to read, but when I went to the website I usually use to read the Bible, this was the “verse of the day,” and for some reason, it sunk in deep, and it seemed like I just needed to leave it at that and think about it.

I do pray a lot. It’s often just conversational. The first part, “Rejoice always,” however, is difficult for me. It’s not about an emotional kind of joy. It’s about knowing, and being satisfied with the fact that Jesus saved us. That is always worth celebrating, even if whatever “new normal” we’re in is complicated, or weird, or even painful. The Gospel reading for this weekend was about when Jesus says to his apostles, “I no longer call you slaves, I call you friends.” Our priest explained that he said this to prepare them for what was about to happen. Before we are saved, we are slaves to sin. Jesus bought our freedom at a price.

At first, As I got to know Jesus, whenever I thought about that steep price, my response was always, “I’m sorry.” He’s had to teach me that I’m worth that to him, and because I’m worth that to him, I am objectively worth it. With his help, my response has changed to, “Thank you.” The fact of the matter is, my God intimidates me. The idea that anyone would go that far for me is insane, but the idea that the God of the Universe would go that far is both baffling and kind of scary.

I have to remind myself that God’s power is in his love. Jesus says in the Gospel that he is gentle and humble of heart. Saint Paul says that love is tender and kind. Sometimes the “new normal” sucks, but God is faithful. He is only ever good. If there is nothing else to be thankful for, remember that you’re still breathing; remember that you’re heart is till beating; remember that you’re alive; remember that the God of the universe wants to know you. That is something to be thankful for.

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What Did It Sound Like?

Ever since Easter I’ve been wondering off and on what Jesus’ resurrection sounded like, and how it might be rendered musically. I realized as I was praying a few minutes ago that I’m thinking about it too much, or maybe just too intellectually. There are, doubtless, many things no one can know about what happened at the tomb right when it happened, but certain things can be known, or at least, could be plausible.

There were soldiers stationed there overnight. What I imagine is a couple of comrades in arms muttering to each other because they were tired. With a sigh of relief, they see the dawn slowly approaching. It’s very quiet because it’s so early and because they wouldn’t have the noise of the city that we’re used to. It would be nearly, if not completely silent. Then the sun would come over the horizon, and they would hear something different.

They would be confused by the sound of powerful wings like nothing they had heard before. Then, maybe they would and maybe they wouldn’t see the angel, but something strange would happen. They would yell and undoubtedly, run away, maybe to tell someone, maybe to hide, or maybe just to try and rationalize what was happening and try to convince each other that they were not crazy.

The Angel would then role away the stone, revealing the entrance to the tomb. I don’t know what angels sound like or look like, but I do know what large stones being rolled on the ground sounds like. It would be reasonably loud, especially if it were pushed away with force, which it probably was. The light would flood into a previously pitch dark space, and Jesus would push away the shroud, take a breath, know what had happened, and step outside. Maybe he would talk to the angel, and maybe not. Maybe he left instructions for the angel to tell the women what to say when they came and found the tomb empty.

There are a lot of maybe’s in there. There’s ultimately too much I don’t know. Somehow, though, I just want the whole thing to be louder. I want to know what happened to the soldiers. I’ve never really thought about them before. To me, they’ve never really been an important part of the story. Thinking about it, though, to Jesus, everyone is an important part of the story. He knew who those soldiers were. He cared about them. Maybe at some point those same soldiers came to know Jesus through his Apostles. Then again, maybe not, but I don’t think they would have been unaffected by what happened. I guess this went in a different direction than I was intending, but it’s interesting to think about.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

That’s Life

I’ve been trying for days to write something interesting and profound. I’m obviously trying too hard. This is just a life update because I can’t think of anything else to write.

For various reasons my sleep schedule has been messed up this week. I’ve been trying to get back on track, so far with minimal success. I also haven’t got a lot of work done on my book, though I’m almost done with one of my longer stories, and I really need to finish this one because I’ve come up with a magic system, and I’m using this story as an experiment to see if it works. I find it often helps to figure things out as I go along. It often complicates things, but the project is reasonably organized right now.

It’s been super warm out the past couple of days, which is most excellent. I’ve had terrible cabin fever. Because it’s New England, it basically went from winter to summer in a matter of days. It does that around here. I was just waiting for it. This winter was long. There wasn’t a whole lot of snow, but it was cold for a very long time. My idea of cold is anything below sixty degrees, though.

I’m currently rereading the Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini. I just started the second book. I’m completely addicted. I had read the first book twice, but this is just my second time reading the whole series. It’s partly because of my addiction that I’ve been staying up way too late. I pretty much don’t watch Netflix or anything anymore. Instead I do this. I realized that I love fantasy so much because it takes my mind off the real world. I think too much.

We had a minor setback on the development of hour house in Maine. They guy who was digging the hole for the foundation did some kind of calculation wrong and had to redo it, but apparently it wasn’t a huge deal. Stuff like that is annoying, though. I really have no idea when we’ll be able to at least camp up there. Even if the house isn’t totally finished, it would be good to just have a place to stay when we visit family and such.

We recently learned that both of the priests at my church will be leaving at some point. They’re being reassigned by the diocese. One of them is going to be working full time at a Catholic school in town, and the other is moving to another town. I’m bummed because I like these guys a lot. They’re my friends. Plus, getting used to someone new will just be odd for a little while. I’m still hopeful, though. I was nervous when the priest we have now was assigned to our parish, and it turned out great.

Speaking of Catholic stuff, my cousin was confirmed last weekend. I was, and I guess really still am his sponsor. I don’t want to be too much of a pest, but I want to try and keep him connected to the faith. After I was confirmed, “church stuff” sort dropped off the face of the earth for a while, and I fared the worse for it. I would have been spared a lot of pain had I actually known Jesus back then. My cousin seems more receptive to it than I was at the time, though, so that’s a good thing.

I just finished another mosaic. I’m kind of obsessed with doing them now. I’m not sure what my next one will be. I’m going to wait for inspiration. The one I finished was harder than my others because I was using materials I wasn’t used to. I’m happy with how it turned out, though. Mostly my ideas have been inspired by religious concepts, but I might try and make a mosaic visual of one of the Realms from my book. That might be hard to do because the Realms are kind of an abstract concept in themselves, plus there are a lot of them.

So as you can see, I’m still pretty boring.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Fear Is A Lie

I realized something recently. When I’m working, I listen to Christian music almost exclusively. I’m talking about bands like Tenth Avenue North and Rend Collective. When I’m hanging out with my dad (my mom doesn’t really like music), we almost exclusively listen to secular music. My preferences in both categories don’t cover a hugely wide range of genres because I know what I like. When it comes to movies, I’ll watch almost anything, from romance to action to horror films, as long as the story is good. I don’t mind what some might consider vulgar language, and I don’t mind portrayals of faiths or belief systems that contrast with my own. I’m not afraid of these things.

Similarly, I am beginning to care less and less about what people think when I say that I am Christian, and I believe the Christian God to be the only true God. As I said, I am beginning to care less. As a teenager, I purposefully separated myself from others, but it was not for faith reasons. I had no faith back then. Still, I didn’t care what people thought of me. It was out of spite. Now I have faith, and my God has taught me to love, and now that I do love, I care what people think of me. It’s odd, and ironic. I care what people think because I love. I need people to understand that I believe in absolutes and in objective morality, and though I’m not perfect, I try not to judge. What I am trying to say is that I care less about my image now, and more about whether or not people can see the real me. The real me is Christian.

The world breeds fear. It’s hard to overcome it because the world is just so complicated. There are wars, there is violence, there is hunger, there is sickness, and there is a multitude of other problems, not to mention the supernatural factors. I’ve learned that fear is probably the Devil’s most powerful weapon. The most important thing to remember is that Jesus has already won. That means we’ve already won. My mom and I are listening to a story right now that’s told largely from the perspective of a seventeenth century Jewish woman living in London. At that time in London, apparently the leaders of the Jewish faith condemned theater because it was vulgar. I remember hearing that Christians had very similar sentiments about early Rock ‘n’ Roll, thinking that it was downright evil. They said the same about games such as Dungeons and Dragons when that first came out.

Such fear is nothing but a lie. Of course there are lines that need to be drawn. I don’t listen to certain bands or even just certain songs by bands that I otherwise like because they insult my Lord or my religion, for example. However, fearing something and ignoring or condemning it are two entirely different things. There are things we as Christians can ignore, tolerate, and even enjoy, even when these things are not explicitly Christian. There are also, of course, forms of entertainment or other practices that should be spoken against. Obviously this requires discretion, and I believe there are plenty of people braver and better equipped than myself to do this. My aim in this post is to speak against fear. I’m not a warrior, and I’m not a coward.

I started thinking about this recently because I’ve started getting bored of the same phrases and imagery that are used over and over in so many worship songs. I want real worship, and I want real artistry, not a bunch of lines that are copied and pasted from Scripture on top of yet another new melody. This is done because it is easy, but also because Scripture is the Word of God, and we love it. We trust his word, and it gives us comfort and hope. It is understandable, but it is also overdone. God himself is an artist. His plan and his way of doing things are totally strange, yet beautiful. We are made in his image and likeness, and as Christians, and especially as Christian artists, we should aim to mirror that. Be bold, be strange, venture into the absurd, do not be afraid to love, and above all, do not give into fear.

Why I Don’t Edit

Readers might notice that I don’t always thoroughly edit my posts. I do some editing, but I’m certainly not as meticulous as I am with my book. This is for a few reasons. The first is that this is where I share my thought process, and my mind is crazy and unscripted. I think my blog should reflect that. The second is that I’m imperfect, and I think leaving a few grammatical errors is a fine way of letting it show. The third is that I simply miss stuff, and sometimes I’m just lazy. As long as what I’m trying to say is understandable, I’m good with it.

The thing is, I kind of like imperfection. I love working on mosaics because sometimes trying to get pieces of broken glass to fit together how I want is nearly impossible, and I have to let them do their own thing. Sometimes I’ll want to do one thing, and something entirely different, and often better, will present itself out of the blue. The same might be said of music or painting. Opportunities often arise from mistakes.

When working on mosaics or paintings, I almost always make abstract designs. For one thing, I don’t think I’m quite skilled enough to make realistic things, but I also think the abstract world gives me so much more freedom. Beside that, though, the abstract has a mind and a language of its own. Realism captures an image, while abstract and Impressionism interact with the artist and the audience. In the abstract, even flaws have beauty and meaning.

People are the same. We often don’t make sense, and it is often our perceived insanity that gives us beauty and meaning. We are so unique and abstract to one another that there is a world contained in each individual. God is our artist, but as with abstract pieces of art, we are unruly and flawed. We want to write our own stories, and we are given the freedom to do so, but to make them truly good stories, we need the help of our Artist.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

My Epilepsy

The other night I couldn’t sleep. I occasionally get insomnia, which wasn’t helped by the fact that I had drank an enormous cup of regular coffee that day. I usually drink decaf. I had a very strange seizure very late that night, which was different than my usual ones, which generally are infrequent, but after that I still wasn’t tired, so I decided to go on a quest. In normal people language, that means I decided to do some research on different types of seizures. I found two different things that night. I found that I most likely suffer from what are called focal impaired awareness seizures. It describes my symptoms when I get “brain fuzz” almost perfectly.

What usually happens is I’ll have some warning before the seizure actually occurs. The warning is hard to describe, but it usually gives me a few seconds or even a few minutes to warn anyone around that I’m going to space out. Then, depending on how severe the seizure is, I usually don’t lose full awareness of my surroundings or black out, but I lose my ability to understand or use language, or if it’s really bad, I can’t process any audio at all. Most of the time I know that I’m going to have a seizure, and I’m mostly aware of what’s going on around me while it’s happening, and I’m aware when it stops. However, in the worst cases, I’ll have absolutely no clue that I’ve even had a seizure. Most people associate seizures with twitching on the ground and foaming at the mouth kind of behavior. That only describes one type of seizure. There are actually many. I’m writing this because while I couldn’t sleep the other night, I found another website where people could share their stories of living with epilepsy. I’ve mentioned my epilepsy here, but I haven’t really talked about it in detail, so I’d like to take this opportunity to do so.

A lot of the people who shared their stories talked about how they were diagnosed as teenagers or as adults. I was diagnosed when I was eight. I had a few seizures before we finally went to the doctor. I’m not sure why. I was given medication and never had a seizure until I was a Sophomore in college when I had a really bad one in March or April. My medication dose hadn’t changed since I was eight. Between an unruly brain, and too much work for finals, I almost did not sleep at all for the month of April. It was pretty bleak. I had discovered the band Tenth Avenue North by that time, and I almost exclusively listened to their song “Worn” through that time. The opening lines are, “I’m tired, I’m worn/ My heart is heavy/ From the work it takes/ To keep on breathing…” Needless to say, I was in a bad mood.

Over time, my epilepsy has changed, and I’ve had to increase my dosage of my original medication and introduce two others. I take a lot of pills, and I hate them. Some of them are hard to swallow, but without them, I wouldn’t be functional. Some peoples’ epilepsy is entirely independent of external factors or other bodily functions. On a lot of video games and movies, there is a warning for people with epilepsy that graphic effects or flashing lights might cause seizures. This has never been a problem for me. What is a problem for me is that I literally can’t be hungry. I have to carefully monitor how hungry I am, or I will most likely have brain fuzz. Plus, if I don’t eat I get hangry (angry because I’m hungry) anyway.

I have had a weird life post graduation because of my epilepsy. Because of my Muscular Dystrophy, as well as my epilepsy, I can never move out of my parents’ house. I can also never have a “normal” job, partly because I wouldn’t want my medical conditions to inconvenience an employer. The fact of the matter is, I am prideful in some ways, and I’m on social security. I hate that, but I have no other source of income. I keep up a blog and I’m writing a book because I can stop when my brain craps out on me. Because of my condition, I need a lot of sleep, and this enables me to get the ten to twelve hours of sleep that I need most nights.

I actually consider it a blessing in a way that I was diagnosed as a young kid because I can’t remember life without epilepsy. People on the website I found wrote how they were diagnosed in their twenties, thirties, or forties, and how it made them terribly depressed because they lost things like their drivers’ license, or in bad cases, lost the ability to work in the places they had been, doing the things they had been doing. I think epilepsy is one of those things you have to choose to laugh or cry about. While it is frustrating, I have to make jokes and laugh about it because I won’t let it rule my life. The fact of the matter is, though, that the prospect of having a seizure in public (which almost never happens), makes me uncomfortable. Quite frankly, if I can avoid even my family knowing, I will hide until it passes, and then act like nothing happened. Sometimes I have to tell, though, and ultimately, it’s important to do so, but it’s important not to make a huge deal out of it. The other night, when I had the seizure that was different than normal, I told my dad. It’s important to calmly explain what happened because, at least in my case, it usually isn’t something to be worried about.

It’s important also to let people who have had a seizure take their time to recover if they need to. Don’t freak out, because that makes the situation significantly more stressful for the person. Seizures suck, so you don’t want to be further complicating things. The best thing to do is to follow their lead. If it looks like they need help, try to help, but let them try to show you what they need if they can’t verbally tell you. Don’t make presumptions because this is unhelpful and annoying. Also, if you know the person well, and you know language might be an issue, like in my case, talk as little as possible. Talking puts more stress on the person because it makes the person feel obligated to respond when they can’t. If you know the person, and you can get them their medication, show it to them. If it looks like they need to take a little extra, let them take it. If it looks like they just need to sit, let them sit. Generally, the best thing to do is to be patient, and let them shake it off.

When my epilepsy came back with a vengeance in my sophomore year, and then morphed over time before finally stabilizing, for the most part, it both scared me and pissed me off. I hadn’t had any seizures for about twelve years, so the fact that I was dealing with this again seemed very unfair. As I said before, though, epilepsy is one of those things you have to choose to laugh or cry about, and these days I mostly see it as an nuisance. It doesn’t stop me from playing music, or making mosaics, or painting pictures, or writing a book. It doesn’t stop me from loving, and it doesn’t stop me from having fun. Most importantly, it doesn’t get between me and Jesus. The other night, I couldn’t think because language was inaccessible to me, but he wasn’t. I knew he was there, and when language was finally starting to come back, the first four words I managed were, “Jesus, I trust you.” I won’t pretend that seizure didn’t scare me, but it would have been far worse had I not known he was there.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

The Sky Did Not Fall

I’ve written about half of my mythology. Yesterday, a file went temporarily missing, which constituted a significant portion of what I had written, as well as a log of what I had finished. I had finished half a book. I thought I had lost nearly all of it. After an initial panic attack, I did something I normally never would have done. I looked for it for a bit, but then I gave up. It wasn’t the kind of giving up that feels like ultimate defeat, though. I decided that this was God’s book, and if it was gone, I would just start over. There was nothing else I could do. It seemed simple enough. Don’t get me wrong, I thought I had lost a year’s worth of work, and it sucked, but I realized that I couldn’t hold onto something that was presumably gone.

This is my fourth attempt at writing a book, and I wasn’t just going to drop the project, so I prayed. I said, “Father, this is your book. If it’s lost, then I don’t see much I can do about that, but I will start over because it’s yours, not mine, and I want to finish it for you. Maybe you have something better in mind that I haven’t even come up with. I really want to get this thing back, but your will be done, not mine.” I knew I might be able to get it back if I had help, but I’m technologically inept, and my brother and my dad were both out of town last night. There was literally nothing else to do, so I prayed the Chaplet of Divine Mercy, read some scripture, and waited for my friends to come over, since we had made plans earlier that day. We hung out, talked about Star Wars, and watched the latest episode of Runaways, then they left, and I went to bed. I ended up having insomnia last night, so I slept very late today. My dad had got an early flight home from New York, and got to the house before I was awake, which was around three thirty. He did some work stuff, Mom and I went to get coffee, and then he helped me rescue my book. The sky did not fall.

The sky didn’t fall for three reasons. The first was that I was prepared for the worst. The second was that I trusted my dad. The third is that I trusted the Lord. As a Christian, and really as a realistic, rational person, I can simultaneously expect the worst and hope for the best. I keep coming back to a very important lesson God taught me recently. He can take my almost nothing, and turn it into something awesome. He could take all the work I had done, and even the loss of that work, and turn it into something better than anything I had planned. Even recently with a supposed lost like this, I probably would have had the expected panic attack, and just given up, but yesterday, because I was able to give the disaster to God, I was able to look forward to the next step. I was able to think to myself, “Well, there’s one final thing I can do. My dad might know how to get this back. If he can’t, then I know now how the Abyss works, even if I can’t get all the actual content back. I can work off of what I have and let it go from there.” Today, hope and trust won out, and the sky did not fall.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Advent Reflection Notes (Week Two)

I’ve already watched the videos for week two, and I didn’t find them that insightful, except for one done by a priest named Father Nathan Cromly. These are a few points that were in his video that I’ll expand with my own thoughts a bit.

1: God prepares us by making us wait, and making us thirst for him.
-I think this touches on one of the points that stuck with me from last week. It reminds me of the quote from Saint Padre Pio: “I’ve been praying for something for twenty years, so I’m beginning to have hope.” Father Cromly says that it can be very tempting to despair and give up on faith in our current culture, especially if we don’t know many or any others who practice our faith. It’s easy to look at the problems in the world and wonder where God is or what he’s doing, but God wants us to dare to hope.

2: God isn’t afraid to disturb our sense of peace.
-In a recent post, I talked about how I really don’t know exactly how one would prepare for the coming of a king, let alone the King of the Universe. This point is definitely true for me because I’ve grown a lot spiritually in the past few years, and as I grow, I feel a desire to be holy very strongly, and sometimes it’s hard to figure out how to put the things I like into terms that make sense, or even to know if they’re dangerous to my spirituality. For example, I’ve been watching the show Daredevil with my dad on Netflix. The story is super interesting, but the symbol for the superhero/protagonist is the devil, and there’s a lot of problematic language in the show. Granted, the protagonist is Catholic, so I’m assuming the irony in that was meant to be simply amusing and innocent, but it still strikes me as possibly problematic. I have a harder time overlooking the language, but part of my problem is that I can’t help watching this show from a writer’s perspective, and in that sense, it’s really good. The point I’m trying to make is that figuring out how to take on the world is exceedingly complicated.

3: God comes into our lives to expand what we think is possible
-Yesterday I was still wrestling with the feeling that what I had to offer the Lord would never be enough. Again, this hearkens back to the parable of the goats and the sheep. Out of the blue, while my mom and I were in the car headed somewhere, I sort of felt him ask me, “Do you doubt what you can do or what I can do? Do you doubt my mercy?” I was speechless for a minute, then all I could manage was, “Sorry… I don’t doubt it any more.”

4: What does it mean and what does it take to unconditionally say “yes” to God like Mary did?
-This is a tough one because I know from experience that it often means being totally socially weird. For me, at least, it has meant getting used to being weird, accepting it, and celebrating it. I know that it also means doing things I don’t like sometimes, or doing things I could never initially see myself doing. When I first volunteered to teach fourth graders, I never actually thought I’d like it. Actually, I like teaching the little kids more than the high school kids. I started with high school kids, though, and even then, it was kind of on a whim, and I just went with it. If it weren’t for my epilepsy, I might consider trying to get a teaching degree and teaching theology at a Catholic school.

I would also just like to mention something I read the other day. Jesus appeared to Saint Faustina several times, and in one of these apparitions, he gave her a prayer that would greatly help in the salvation and conversion of souls. The prayer is, “O blood and water which gushed forth from the Heart of Jesus as a font of mercy for us, I trust in you.” I’ve been praying for a few people for around four or five years at least. Ultimately, I guess that’s not really a very long time, but sometimes it feels like forever. Still, this revelation to Saint Faustina kind of reminds me of Saint Padre Pio’s quote. I like to tell people that I can swim a mile. After the first half mile, I’m exhausted, but I make it the second half because I’m more stubborn than I am strong.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Cake

Everyone, firstly, I want to thank you all for following my blog. I don’t say that enough. I really do appreciate it. As a writer, it’s really wonderful to know someone sees and knows about what I do.

Secondly, I want to announce some very exciting news. I’ve reached my goal of twenty stories. Of course my book isn’t even close to finished, but twenty stories has always been a goal of mine. I’ve come this far through small bouts of epilepsy, generally being a scatter brain, family vacations, road trips, self discovery, sin, love, faith, learning, and certainly with the help of my God, so this post is meant to say “thank you” to him, too.

I’m quite excited because my friend agreed that when I wrote twenty stories she would make me cake. She makes darn good cake. I would like to celebrate with you all, too by sharing, in a way, a metaphoric piece of the cake. When I wrote my Creation story, I didn’t even know this would turn into a book. Now the first draft of the book is about half finished. So without further ado, I would like to share story number twenty.

Feorolf

As one might expect, Ferolf’s mere name struck unease at the very least, into the hearts of even the bravest souls. He was not a creature to be taken lightly. He was stronger than any man, and smarter and faster than any wolf. Yet, he was neither and both. He fought without weapons, in fact, he hardly fought at all unless absolutely necessary. He simply hunted. He hunted fear. According to legend, he did not always live in the Forest, but once terrorized the towns of an infant Kingdom. Finally, after many eternities, however, he was driven away by the earliest hunters of Kich. Some of these hunters were rumored to be descendents of the King and Queen themselves. Many were nearly mortally wounded in the effort to track him down even, because in those times there were many strange and dangerous wonders, fully alive, and without thought for human life. Luckily, it was during those times, however, that humans were mysteriously protected from death by the Barrier created by the Exile at the moment of Creation. This was, of course, before the Change.

Still, there were scattered stories of Feorolf’s mercy, and even regret about certain things. He would not hunt very young children, and would not leave them orphaned far from civilization. That is not to say he would not leave them orphaned at all, for he could be cruel. Feorolf was not a simple brute like any average predator. Though his mind was certainly not human, he was intelligent. He was strangely trusting of humans who generally wanted to hunt him down, and creatures that no one else would trust; even making the mistake on several occasions of trusting the Faceless. This never turned out well for him, but he was a forgiving creature.

Oddly, it seemed that, in a way, Feorolf’s nature was like that of the Transient spirits. It was not that he often changed without explanation, but simply that he was unreadable. It was assumed that he had his reasons for acting the way he did, and he did not share them. The truth was he was alone, and he knew it, and regretted it for it was of his own doing. We know this because he shared it with the Wisdom who always shares her knowledge with us, especially knowledge of the Creatures of the Outer Realm.

The story goes that Feorolf was the second Creature to awaken in the Outer Realm, after the Falcon of Destiny. The world was young and fearless in that first eternity, before Reome and Fritam were made by the spirit Time, and Feorolf reveled in this fearlessness. When Time faded, and fear entered the minds of the first humans, it gripped Feorolf’s heart, and all he wanted to do was kill it. In that first eternity the Falcon of Destiny gave the first humans fire. They loved it, and it filled them with joy, but they became dependent on it. Without their fire, the fear returned, and all he wanted to do was kill it, so he attacked. He ripped to shreds some of the first made humans, but to his utter dismay, he realized that this only increased his hatred of fear and the human fear of him. He wanted to help them, but he had to stay away. Any time he came close to a human, two things happened. They panicked, and he almost always went into a frenzy; compelled to destroy the fear in their hearts. He knew how to bite, and tear, and rip, and shred with claws and teeth, and he knew only contempt from humans and Creatures alike. He was eventually forced into Thorn Forest, where he lived in solitude, and slowly even grew to hate himself because he could do nothing to destroy the thing he hated most.

In time he grew darker, seeking the company of Creatures like the Faceless and the Night Bearer. It is unknown whether he ever found the Night Bearer, and in fact, its existence is entirely unverifiable. However, It is believed that it was the Night Bearer that brought fear into human hearts to begin with and that it was a creation of Chaos. It is rumored that Feorolf found it, but could not kill it, but another story says that he defeated it, and it became his slave. Still, there were occasions on which Feorolf interacted peacefully with humans. He even helped those who passed too close to Thorn Forest find safety from darker beings, and he certainly had a sense of his own responsibility for their fear. He always felt it was his duty to protect them. Still, this was rarely possible due to the fact that their level of fear was usually too overpowering for him to handle.

Feorolf treasured brave souls. He had no true friends, but the memories of bravery kept him strong. He hoped for a day when someone would come who truly did not fear him, but he doubted that day would come. Sometimes, if travelers happened to be passing through or very close to parts of the Forest, and he could find them asleep and therefore unafraid, he would try to find and steal books. He needed food, yes, but he was fully capable of getting plenty on his own. He was not a normal animal, and could survive on nearly anything and almost nothing. What he really hungered for was the truth. He needed to know where fear came from. Through eternities, he had come to believe what many humans do: to defeat one’s enemy, one had to know that enemy.

Though he spent much time sneaking and thieving and learning, it seemed that he could not come to a satisfying answer. Then it occurred to him that the answer was simple. He did not need to know where fear came from. He simply needed to usurp its power, and he knew immediately just how he would do this. People were afraid of him, largely because of stories they had heard. He needed to change the story. Among the things he had taken in his time were notebooks, many of them filled with things he had written on his quest to discover the root of fear, but some, empty. He began writing his story, and this is how he told it.

“My name is Feorolf. I am neither man nor wolf. I am no beast that is known to humans. Some of what has been said of me is true. I have killed, but it is not for the reason people think. I do not need humans for food, nor do I hate them. In some sense, I fear them as much as they fear me. I was one of the first Creatures to awaken in this world. When this Realm was formed, there was no fear, but somehow, fear entered, and I hated it. I have always hated it. I sought to destroy it, but in doing so, I made a terrible mistake. I thought killing the first humans to fear would kill the fear itself, but it only made it stronger. I have been banished because of what I have done, and rightly so. I want to right the wrongs I have done. I want to change, if I can, but if I cannot change myself, if I cannot destroy my hate for fear, I must destroy it in a peaceful way. This is my gift to all who have been affected by the fear of me, and the fear of anything else. I shall take it away, as best I can, though I do not think it will ever be possible for there to be a true bond of friendship between humans and myself. We are strangers to each other, and our natures too different. I am not an animal, but I am a beast. I freely admit this.”

He then left this, attached to a tree with a sharpened tooth he had lost. Feorolf was accustomed to using tools, though not tools one might easily recognize. Then he left that place and went far away, so someone could find it, and he would not feel the fear in them. He then wondered if he could detect other feelings in humans since he could feel fear so strongly. He decided he would try, from a safe distance. He began practicing, and after a while, he realized that he could. The trouble was that, in the Forest, fear was generally the strongest feeling. Under the safety of night, he finally decided to venture into a town rather close to the edge of the Forest. It was late, but there were still people out. He stayed in the shadows, listened to conversations and tried to feel what people were feeling. The array was like a beautiful symphony to him. He felt everything from sorrow to joy, and hope. Very late that night, he heard a man and a woman talking to each other in an upper room of a house. He could tell from their emotions that they were the only two there. He was able to catch snatches of what they were saying. They were talking about “makers,” whatever those were, and of leaving and going to Kich. He heard one of them say the name “Lydia,” though that meant nothing to him, and he heard a mention of the Falcon. He felt for the first time what he later learned was love between them, and there was joy again, too, and he felt hope so strongly coming particularly from the man, that it brought him to his knees, and he wept.

He loved hope as much as he hated fear, and he began to hunt it. He followed people cautiously, but more closely, to catch pieces of their conversations, and when he learned that they had lost something, he would seek it out, find it, and leave it somewhere with a note that read “From Feorolf.” Other times, if he learned that someone was hoping for something to happen, he tried to find ways to make it happen, and he would leave them messages, explaining what he had done. People still feared him, but slowly, outright terror morphed into cautious curiosity or perplexed wonder. The bravest souls wandered deeper into the Forest, and people in general seemed to travel with a bit more ease in their hearts. True to his nature, he still made mistakes. He still caused damage. In the worst cases, he still took lives, but he did his best to repent, and he always left notes; in many cases, leaving long letters lamenting his failure and begging the forgiveness of those he had hurt. Once, he received a letter back.

It read, “Feorolf, I’d be willing to bet you weren’t expecting a reply. I want to let you know that I forgive you, and I hope other people do, too, because I know you don’t mean to do the bad things you do, but I’m not sure other people do.” He didn’t know what he had done to whoever this was, but he was overwhelmed with gratitude. After much thought, he finally decided to leave another note for them to find. Again, he was not expecting a reply, and again, he received one. A strange correspondence grew between them, though he never learned who he was writing to. After the Change, he worried about them, but was very happy to learn that they were made young. When they grew old, he left things out for people to find, with notes explaining that the person he was writing to needed help. Eventually he received a note that read, “Feorolf, my name is Kyle. I recently learned that you were friends with my father who died several months ago. I am sorry if this is the first news you have received of his passing. His name was Andrew. I just wanted to say that you have helped us, and thank you.”

Not What She Deserved (Spoiler Alert)

My friend Julia and I have been watching a series called Once Upon a Time for a while now. I watched it for the first time with my friend Nick, and it was totally necessary to share. Eventually it becomes evident that the series follows a pretty basic good versus evil scenario, typical of any fantasy series, and rather apt, considering all the characters are, in fact, from fairy tales or Disney movies. Over and over again, the heroes are faced with a villain or several villains, and several problems that have to be solved. What’s great about the series is that it sometimes changes the nature of characters, so, for example, characters that were heroes in the original telling of the story, are villains in the “real world,” and characters that were once villains become heroes.

One might think that a series that follows a basic good versus evil plot like this where the situations simply get more and more difficult to handle might get boring. It doesn’t. Just when you think the heroes have won and it could never possibly be worse, it gets worse. From a writer’s perspective, it’s fantastic to see just how creative these writers are.

There is one part in the series where the heroes actually get sent into the Underworld–where the Greek god Hades lives. The afterlife system in this series is actually pretty interesting. Basically, one goes to the Underworld if one has unfinished business, and one has to stay there until one has taken care of whatever that may be. Once it’s finished, one moves on, either to a better place or a worse place; in other words, Heaven or Hell. There is one character in particular who definitely does not get what she deserves. She plays a significant part in the series, and she is utterly detestable, but because of something she does for her two daughters while she is in the underworld, she moves on to the better place.

I mention this because Julia and I had very different reactions to the scene. I found it rather satisfying, while Julia was thoroughly displeased. I don’t know all of Julia’s reasons for her reactions, but I could likely guess a few. I do know my reasons. To be sure, there is nothing redeemable about this character. However, she has a brief moment when she realizes how awful she is, and she freely and honestly chooses to help her daughters. I like it when people are given the gift of redemption. It doesn’t matter who they are or what they’ve done. This character didn’t have a long, drawn out redemption story. She simply saw reality for what it was, acknowledged that she deserved the worse place, and was given the better place because of it.

In real life that’s called Grace.