Equivalent Exchange

I consider myself an avid, but sensible anime fan. I won't watch anything just to say that I have. So, before giving anything a try, I research it thoroughly on the Web. If the story/characters/morals/etc seem unique and interesting enough, I'm willing to give it a shot.

Of course, usually I end up setting it aside, or just watching it 'in my spare time' because it falls short of its potential (which drives me crazy!) or, even worse, it leads up so well toward the climax, only to fall on its face.

There have been few exceptions, I'm sad to say. Most anime and manga series disappoint. Even those that end decently often forget to address several important underlying themes. As a writer, this irks me the most.

So, why do I bring this up? Because there is one anime, at least, that does not disappoint. It does not cater to the fans. It does not sidestep issues or apologize for anything. It steadily climbs upward, ending in a bittersweet, yet truly satisfactory way.

Full Metal Alchemist.

After the loss of their mother, two alchemically-skilled brothers attempt the forbidden science of human transmutation to bring her back to life. But what they don't understand is the rule of equivalent exchange: To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. After nearly dying, these brothers have lost most everything; the older, his arm and leg, the younger, his body. Now, one with metal limbs, and the other trapped in a suit of armor, they have only one goal: To find the Philosopher's Stone and get their bodies back to normal. But they aren't the only ones after the red stone.

This series has taken the title of 'greatest anime of all time', and for good reason. This story doesn't back down. If future series can learn from this one, anime may yet survive. Otherwise its fans will eventually have to accept and admit that there's nothing new to see. The same story has been done time and time again.

How is Full Metal Alchemist different?

As I said before, it doesn't apologize. The characters struggle with moral issues; each having to decide whether the end truly justifies the means. Each character has an ultimate goal. Each character has feelings, a story. And it's not all tragic either. This series shows life: all its ups and down (even if it is on a more explosive scale). It doesn't deal solely with action, but with people.

Death. That is the issue most often addressed. And what could be more poignant? As mortals, we all have brushes with death. We have all seen it, we will all experience it. To some, it is a fear, to others, a relief.

With Full Metal Alchemist, anime reached new heights. This series defied the rules and broke free. It is more than entertainment. It is a true epic journey--one that, if you allow, will change your perspective, or make it even more firmly set.

The story drives you. Touches you. Teaches you. It's an inspiring journey where you can experience laughter, regret, sadness, love, and tears. The protagonist doesn't have all the answers, and he isn't always right. That is the nature of us all. We're all on a journey to discover ourselves and our purpose.

This story will definitely stay with you long after its end. Because it doesn't just entertain the mind; it talks to the heart.

--M.W.
review 1st draft

Perception

Stop for a moment
And consider.

The person beside you
Or just out of view
Is a person who thinks
And considers, like you.

Just down the road
Is a person who roams
While you're safe and warm
In your comfortable home.

And high up above
In that skyscraper tall
Or far down below
In that subway's long hall—

Everywhere that you go
Every way that you turn
Someone else has a thought
A desire that burns.

For each hope of yours
Someone else prays
For each passing fancy
Another's life fades.

In each act of mercy
Or every cruel deed
Is another's love deepened
Or an unfulfilled need.

We all have feelings
High hopes and dreams
Each person's a child
In life's moving stream.

So stop and consider
The choices you make
And whether your actions
Are sincere or are fake.

You aren't alone
We're all here together
Each life more important
Than we can merit or measure.

Yesterday's over
And Tomorrow is never
Today is what matters
Now and Forever.

So hurry and move
Remember to care
Before it's too late
To answer a Prayer.


--M.W.

It's more fun that way!

A while back, at work, we had something like com-line competitions. As soon as my department advertised some new special, the butcher block jumped on and tried to be as creative in their advertising bit. This continued on, neither side winning, until suddenly Produce came on and totally whooped us both. We laughed and applauded their creativity.

Now, com-line competitions have turned into all-out inter-com warfare. Everytime either Produce or the butcher block jumps on, we don't wait five seconds to take our turn and make it better.

It's rather amusing, if juvenile.

We probably have more fun on our com-lines than any other store around.

Nearly Complete

The writing block decided to finally desist, and so I'm back on tracking, typing away the last few chapters of PARADISE? With so little left to write, I find it challenging to tie in all the plot elements I've laid out. I keep going back to certain parts, making certain I haven't contradicted myself, and also to make sure I've answered all the questions. This is the hardest part; I can't drag the book out too long or make it end to abruptly. Finding the balance while making certain every issue is addressed and dealt with is very difficult.

Still, I'm very excited. With its conclusion begins the daunting, yet satisfying task of editing and polishing the book. It isn't a long book; only 300 pages at the most. But it's the best 300 pages I've ever written, of that I'm certain. While I know future novels that I write will be better than this, it is only because of this, and so I am happy.

As I reveal the final secrets in the close of this fantasy novel, I laugh at how complex it has become. At first this was only a side project; one that aided me when writers' block reared its ugly head. I had no real direction, no definite plot. Now, one year and 300 pages later, I wonder how it grew so much. There is much left to be done; the next draft will be a brutal one. Every unnecessary element will be eliminated mercilessly, and parts that should have been, but weren't, will take the place of those unimportant moments. Whether the book's length will shrink or increase, it will be for the best.

I never thought I was writing a Young Adult book, but apparently I have been without realizing it. I just wrote, letting the characters lead me along on a journey of discovery; both for me and for them. What an adventure it has been! And, with its ever-nearing end, I cry fond tears. How fun it has been, and will be. When all is said and done, I will bid these new friends farewell, but each time I want to see them again, all I have to do is pick up the book and begin the journey anew.

Writers Block

Like a disease, it struck. Now it won't go away.

There's only one story that seems to have been able to evade the virus that has eaten away the progression of all other projects. The bad part is that this story wasn't even started before the block struck. Now, when I finally get my creative juices flowing again, I'll have added another project to my ever-increasing list.

But, it's better than not writing at all right now.

Is there something on my face?

...It can't be that, because even on the internet I run into the same thing.

What am talking about?

Yesterday a woman came to the counter of my work place and ordered a chicken meal. This is far from uncommon, but when she spoke with me, I was: Sweetheart, hun, and--in closing--doll. She's not the first to refer to me as these. In fact, nearly half the people I serve, along with others at church, or on the street, both friend and stranger, call me some endearing name like "hun."

I asked a fellow associate if I had something written on my face that stood out more than my nametag. She just laughed.

While I don't hate such names, it always catches me offguard when everyone calls me by one of them. I just don't feel suited for them. A few more such endearing titles include: Miss, missie, love, darling, sweetie, and cutey. I've been called each of these more than once.

Do I really look so innocent?

But it's also the internet, where people can't see my face or hear my voice. Where they don't know me very well. Yet, while many of them are younger than I and don't refer to others in the same manner, I am still "hun" or "sweetie."

Apparently I am quite good at trickery. I've got the whole world deceived.

Nifty-ness!

See that nifty new banner up there at the top? Beautimus, isn't it? My good friend Angie did it for me, and I'm eternally grateful. It's so pretty!! <3

The Infamous Entrance of Crenen

While I have always tried to make my characters unique and memorable, never before as it come about in such an explosive manner as when Crenen makes his infamous entrance. Before introducing him, Paradise? had yet to find its direction, and while the plot would have survived without Crenen, it just wouldn't be the same, yeah? ;)

I give you Crenen! ...'Nuff said.

---
As I leaped over bushes and ducked under low-hanging branches, I didn't notice the snapping of twigs above me, or the shadows that followed both beside me and above. I blame my loudly beating heart on my poor observation skills.

Suddenly a dark form landed before me, and I skidded to a halt. My lungs burned from lack of air and my legs trembled with exhaustion. I squinted in the forest gloom to see what blocked my path. The flicker of sharp, grinning teeth filled me with dread; Jenen had caught me.

The slight crunch of undergrowth informed me that I was surrounded. There was more than one. Glancing around, I caught the glimmer of more pearly-white fangs in the dark. My heart was thundering in my chest. I was going to die — just for calling Jenen a girl.

The figure before me stepped closer. I stepped back. The forms around me moved in, cutting off any possible escape. That left me just one option. Falling to my knees, I cupped my hands, and bowed my head.

”Please don't kill me,” I begged, my eyes squeezed shut in preparation for anything.

I felt the figure hesitate, filling the gloom with awkward silence. And then it burst out laughing; an evil cackle. Not Jenen then. I felt a clawed hand touch my chin and force my head up. I carefully opened my eyes. It was still too dark to make out the figure's features.

"Tell us,” the clawed hand found my shoulder, digging in until I winced, “where is Sick Nasty Dog?”

Who? I decided I’d better ask out loud. “Who?”

“Sick Nasty Dog!” the figure repeated, sounding agitated. Judging from the voice I would have guessed it to be a boy, but I was starting to second-guess my guesses by now. “Where is Sick Nasty Dog? You answer us now!” Agitated was putting it lightly if his clawed grip told me anything of his mood.

As my panicked mind raced with visions of death, I decided to take a wild guess. “Sick Nasty Dog?”

“Yeah,” the figure growled, still grinning. Perhaps his smile was permanent.

“I left Sick Nasty Dog back at the fire.” A surge of guilt went through my stomach. After everything Jenen had done for me — but hadn't he been about to kill me anyway? Besides, chances were he wasn’t their prey. And this was just a dream.

“Go check fire,” he barked at a comrade.

His English was decidedly bad.

“You sit, Strange Coward Boy,” he addressed me then.

Strange? I had definitely been called strange. Cowardly? Maybe. Boy? That was going too far. I clenched my fist, prepared to defend my manhood, but upon glancing at his claws once more, I decided sitting was a very healthy choice at the moment. I sat.

“Who are you people?” I ventured, hoping I wouldn’t be slashed to bits for speaking out of turn.

“We?” the figure (obviously in charge) asked, smiling crookedly. “We are the Order of Crenen.”

Order? Great. Just great. I just had to think it, didn’t I? Curious, I peered at the figure to see if he had a shawl. From what little light remained I saw nothing like one. “'Crenen'? What’s that?”

A deep growl welled up from the forms standing in the shadows. I gulped.

“I am Crenen, Strange Coward Boy,” the leader stated, kneeling in front of me to meet my gaze. “Remember that, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I repeated with a humble nod.

“Excellent.” He clapped me on the back and stood once more.

The scout returned then and bowed to him. Then he whispered in his ear, and Crenen’s frightening eyes narrowed. He snapped his fingers and two more figures stepped from the shadows. They took position on either side of me, and heaved me to my aching feet. “Sick Nasty Dog not at fire. Tell us, Strange Coward Boy, tell us where Sick Nasty Dog is, yeah?”

I knew the consequences for being ignorant would not be pretty, but what could I say? Honestly, if Jenen wasn’t at the fire, how could I know his location any better than they?

But saying nothing promised pain as well.

“I don’t know where he is now. I left him at the fire. If he moved how could I possibly know?”

Crenen observed me for a moment, as though contemplating. “Very well.”

I breathed a sigh of relief — too early.

“Strange Coward Boy’s use has run dry as village well. Kill.” He turned away.

“W-wait a minute!” I cried out, raising my hand to block the blow.

Crenen turned around and raised his brow. “Yes, Strange Coward Boy?”

“Why kill me?”

“You heard. Your use is dry like empty cloud.”

“Yeah, I heard that part,” I whispered, trying to bite back a retort about his mix-up in phrases.

“Tell us, Strange Coward Boy, why you run from Sick Nasty Dog?” He leaned close to my face and looked into my eyes deeply. I realized his eyes were like Jenen’s, then; one silver, one gold.

“Well, I…” My cheeks flushed. “I called him a girl.”

Silence reigned over the small clearing for a full minute, and then Crenen burst into laughter. It was an almost insane laugh, malicious, yet delighted. I managed a weak smile until he quieted down.

“Sick Nasty Girl, yeah?” He burst into fits of laughter once again.

Everyone else in the group seemed as uncomfortable as I felt.

“You funny one, Strange Coward Boy. Too bad you must die.” He clapped my back again. “Kill.”


---
Excerpt from Paradise?
Chapter Three: The Order of Crenen

Formajn's First Day

Here's the link to FFD, per a-certain-someone's request. ;)
Formajn's First Day

Hope you enjoy!!

Gotta love it!

I love drama.

No, seriously! Real-life drama is more entertaining than any comedy movie. Maybe at the time you hear/experience/witness the drama it's not so great, but thinking back, those things are FUNNY if you let them be. The problem with drama is that without the intensity of the moment it seems ridiculously, well, dramatic.

I guess it's good that I love drama. It makes loving people much easier (including myself)!

My philosophy: It's much easier to enjoy life if you try and get a kick out of it.

PARADISE?

Prologue
The Liar

She was hysterical, and her tears blinded her vision. Her tires dug into the pavement as she swerved around sharp curves on the mountain road. Hard rock music blared from her speakers, coinciding with her hurt and anger.

Viciously she wiped at the tears shimmering in her deep blue eyes. Still they fell, and she rubbed at them again. In the moment she took her hands from the wheel that the car hit a deep pothole and jerked wildly toward the right. The front of the vehicle slammed against the guardrail, tearing through the metal with a loud screech; the car hovered in the air for a moment, but then it dropped. The woman screamed as she plummeted toward the creek bed far below.

She did not survive.

Which really doesn't matter as this story isn't about her—thank goodness. Though I must admit it would be entertaining to fall from such a height. At least, up until the part where one actually crashed into the water. That might not be so enjoyable. Unless of course one is a masochist, which, I hope, one is not. Or was not, seeing as how one is dead now.

Moving on...

Hi there; I'm Key. Pleasure. You're probably asking, ”What kind of a name is Key?” Trust me, you'll think it pretty normal by the end of my story in comparison with a few others... Of course my proper name is Jason Sterling, but I prefer Key. As do my friends.

I want you to know here and now: I am a huge liar. Nearly everything I say is a lie. (Though the fact I almost always lie could be a lie, and you'd never know. Especially since liars always lie, which means they lie about lying, but because it's a lie that doesn't really work, and you get all jumbled up trying to figure out exactly what I'm talking about and why. Not to mention why you are even attempting to understand the mind of a lying liar who doesn't not lie about lying or not.)

Now that we've covered that, I want to commend you. You obviously haven't stopped reading yet, and that means some twisted part of you actually gets amusement from reading what I have to think. I'm impressed you comprehend me, or at least, you're making a good effort.

My mom once said my favorite pastime, aside from lying, was making long rants that made very little sense. I could be lying. Maybe she didn't say that, but you can decide for yourself whether or not to disbelieve me. I don't mind either way.

I just want you to know one more thing. Read on at your own peril.

Shall we begin?


---
The prologue to PARADISE? I think it rather sets the mood, but some people won't read it after this because they think it's too morbid—which I actually find even more amusing.

Mutiny!

It has been my experience that no matter how much I say "No!" my characters will inevidably proceed to disregard my ideas and take charge. The worst part is that when the characters do this the story ends up better than I could have imagined. It wounds my pride to recognize that my characters know better than me.

Somehow, when I don't plan so thoroughly, letting the characters have free reign to explode into hyper tangents, it brings the story to new levels of depth. When I try and force the story to stay on course, it kills the flow and destroys the enjoyment of writing. I've tried several experiments and it remains true. The previous novel I wrote (The Demon's Game) was forced to stay true to my notes and ended up falling short of its potential, but Paradise? wasn't supposed to be a serious project. It was an extra, but by letting it write itself however it pleased, it somehow mutated into something grand. The characters therein take all the credit.

I've learned not to argue.

That's one sign...

I've spent far too much time with food. First KFC, now a deli. And it shows, too. Anyone who can speak with food as though holding a two-way conversation, even making it sound intelligent, has issues. I can't count the times I've told those chicken legs to stop behaving like wings every time they fly off the pan. And those wings? I have to keep reminding them that if in life they couldn't fly, death wasn't going to make it any different.

"Speaking to your food is a sign of insanity, you know. Isn't that right, food?"

Is this a good sign? Probably not, but I don't see too much harm. It certainly amuses me, if no one else. Still, the more I converse with the food the more determined I am to get out of the food industry altogether. Especially since the food tends to listen to me a whole lot better than anyone I work with. That is just sad.

One thing seems certain, I doubt if I'll ever enjoy eating chicken again. Or meat in general. There are some jobs one should never work if they don't want to end up being vegetarian.

For Thy Good

Yesterday was quite the emotional roller coaster. The ups and downs were constantly shifting in absolute extremes. By the end of the day, however, I found myself sobbing in my Dad's arms, somehow having reverted back to a nine-year-old child.

I guess the stress of rent money, and a nearly broken car, along with too few, and very inconsistant hours at a difficult job, and then when my Dad finally gets a chance to visit I don't get to spend time with him because of said inconsistant hours, and the free time I do have is spent helping him attend to business... I guess it all just crashed down on me at once. Or something.

You see, I love my Dad. I can talk to him about anything, and fear no snide remark, or indifferent attitude. He takes everything I say with a calm, gentle seriousness. I haven't had that lately (and talking on the phone doesn't cut it) because he's a truck driver, and when he gets time off, naturally he visits the family back in Idaho.

I got so excited to see him when he came to my apartment late Sunday night, but I had to go to work early the next morning, so I couldn't talk too long. Then, only a few hours after getting off work on Monday, it was time to say goodbye. All the day long I had struggled to stay cheerful and energetic at work, and while I succeeded there, by the time I got home I was totally emotionally drained.

Add into the equation that I got pulled over by a cop for not signaling (which I couldn't, because the signaler just broke a few days back) Monday night, and... well, when my Dad was walking out the door I just broke down and sobbed. Mostly, I didn't want him to leave. I wanted my Dad.

So what did he do?

He took me gently to the couch, sat me down, and listened. That was all. For two hours I poured out my heart to him. I explained my frustrations, stresses, hurts, confusion, anger, awkwardness, and EVERYTHING that has been building up inside for months. I told him things I hadn't even realized were buried beneath my cheerful exterior. By the time the tears had semi-dried, he had only shown me love, consideration, and a father's gentle affection. It was amazing. I love my Dad.

He gave me a blessing of strength and endurance, which I will give my all to fulfill.

After he finally left I cried for hours. Today I still feel like crying, but his selfless love last night has already made everything so much less daunting, so much less important. I still feel sad, a bit depressed, and very overwhelmed, but it will be okay. Somehow, with my Dad's love, and also the love of the Lord, I can overcome all obstacles, and I will be a better person for it.


"All these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good." D&C 122:7

I thank my Father in Heaven every night for my Dad, as well as for my Mom, and all the other good examples I have in my life. Without them I would be lost.

Obsession

"Moderation in all things."

That's my mom's favorite piece of advice, and wise words they are. There's just one problem. While I can attempt to balance all aspects of my life, one seems to outweigh all others even still. And, it's not just writing. No. It's the characters in my writing.

To me, the most enjoyable process of storytelling is the slow unveiling of a character's mystery. Creating entire lifetimes for people in whole new worlds; creating means by which they feel the way they do. It's a beautiful thing, creation.

I love to take aspects of myself, and others around me, and blend them into characters; good and bad traits alike. I love to balance a character; give them meaningful reasons for the way they are. While I believe in a true good and evil, I also believe that in this life there are shades of gray. Occassionally I create solid black or white motives, but most often I try to give each character a solid, sympathetic reason behind their actions. It makes the story more alive, more believeable, more inspiring.

Can you tell I'm obsessed? Moderation be hanged (not really). I will create new characters forever!

I love my characters. They are my children, and I love them. Mostly, I love to torment them.