Why the Heck am I Doing This?: Reflecting on Writing.

Well, I've been slacking off on this blog lately... I've been focusing on finishing a novel lately and haven't really gotten to editing stuff to post, and I really, really hate editing.

I have been contemplating certain aspects of writing lately, and I thought I would share them here, although, not too many people are reading these days, but who cares. I've actually been getting hits from Russia of all places. So, Hi my Russian friends, or comrades! (sorry, I'm being awful.)

What I've been turning over in my head lately has been why I write, or more specifically, why science-fiction and fantasy? Although, I do tend to favor Science-Fiction more.

Taking a more general stance to begin with, I started writing seriously in Grade 8, despite really have been writing my entire life without realizing it. As a kid, I would go play in the yard and disappear into my head making up fantastic settings and mentally turning sticks and whatever into runs and swords. But Grade 8 English, with a teacher named Mr. Fisher, changed all that. I handed in a creative writing assignment and when I got it back he told me I was crazy. He then proceeded to hand me a copy of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams and told me, "Here, this will make it worse," and he was right! It wasn't the Hitchhiker's Guide that started the mess, it was the reaction I got; I loved it and realized how much I enjoyed creating worlds and sharing them with others. I'm still not good at writing, but one day I think somethings going to come out right.

But why was I drawn to Science-Fiction? I took a class in university focusing on Science-Fiction literature and the best they could tell me what the genre was about was that it involved technology, science, ideas and the future, but I think that there is something more to it than that simple deffinition.

We live in a world that is extreemly flawed; hunger, disease, war, bullshit advertisments or just soimply being dicks to one another, and we, as a civilization (remember I am a history major), have been stuck in a never ending loop of societies rising and falling based on our ineptitude to solve problems as they arise, or at least not solving them quick enough. Science-Fiction is about the the future and technology, yes, but it is often about socity pressing forward, inventing something new, or thinking something new in order overcome human hardship, at least in a general sense. At least this is what it means to me; Sceince-Fiction is about hope, it is about overcoming our own short commings and becoming somethig more, something greater... Now whether or not it is a good idea to let oneself be led on by hope is a philisophical disscussion for another time (my expereincesd have been, sadly, that hope is nothing more than an abstract carrot on a string leading one to the next heap oif dissapointment and misery, but that's depressing, so let's shy away from that direction). Hope is that human trait keeps us going, keeps us living, in order to reach the future and discover new technoloical inovations that hopefully make our lives and our world a better place. Without it, we probably wouldn't even have come down from the trees eons ago.

But that is why I write, not just to entertain, but to show people that, hey, it doesn;t have to be like this, it can be better, but its up to us. This world is a shit hole, but its the one we built, its the one we deserve. If we want to have a better one, its up to us to make one.

Anyway, this post sort of went in a path I hadn't origionally intended; I've been a bit down on things lately, I guess. But I hope I relayed the abre bones of what this genere means to me, and it may be different for some of you; we all have our own persepctive. Again, as usual, if you have an oppinion about what Science-Fiction means to you, feel free to share, I'd be intrested in hearing how others precieve this realm of literature.

Oh, and I've just realized that my laptop has not been telling me what I spell something wrong. I don't really feel like going through it again for corrections (I should have writen this on Word first), so please forgive me for any errors. Thanks for reading!!!

Tomb of Odin: Part 1

***Sorry, I haven't been posting as much lately. This story I wrote about three years ago. I've never been entirely happy with it; I keep it around in case I can come up with something new to do with it in the future. But I'm posting it anyway, let me know what you think and thanks for reading!!!***

A young man, Stig wandered up the trail ahead of his party. They had ventured into the mountains for rock climbing and were resting along a ridge before making their way back down to camp.

Stig explored the rocks and crevices around the ridge looking up lazily up from time to time. He imagined the mountain peaks, too inclined to see at his position, and the massive glacier resting on the top. One day, he wanted to scale those icy peaks and see the world from above.

A rock slipped from under his foot causing the young man to stumble forward. He exhaled deeply and peered at the rock as it came to a rest close to the steep downward slope. Shaking his head, he knew he needed to keep his wits in reality lest he go for a tumble down the mountain side. Maybe now was a good time to return to the others; being out here by oneself was a death wish.

He turned to backtrack along the ridge but quickly became still spotting an odd gap embedded in the rock face. He approached closer and removed his glove touching the side of the rock. It was oddly rounded unlike the steady sharpness to the rest of the wall. He squinted into the gap, but saw only darkness.

He had a flashlight in his pack and quickly unloaded it and aimed the light between the rocks peering within. There was something in there; a small passage that seemed to go back quite a ways. He strained his eyes and jammed the light further into the gap, but he was unable to see the end of the passage.

He stepped back and frowned at the rock. He pulled his glove back on and wrestled with the rock causing hardened snow masking the rock’s true shape to crumble. The stone didn’t seem that big, but he was unable to budge it. He finally decided to return to the others and bring them up here. With their help, the rock could be moved and then Stig could see what was inside.

*          *          *

“Ugh, another one?” Daryl groaned glancing back at another box being placed on the workbench.

“What did you expect? There’s an entire storehouse full of coins in the basement,” his colleague said. “We need to determine their origin.”

“Don’t we have interns for this?”

“They all left for better positions. Apparently, we were just using them as coffee slaves.”

“Damn university kids.” Daryl returned to his microscope shaking his head. “At least tell me it’s close to tea.”

“I was going to go in about an hour.”

More groaning.

“I’ll go get another box and help.”

“Oh, Curt before you go…” Daryl looked up from his work. “I didn’t see you at the baptism for dean’s baby boy.”

“Was I missed?”

“Well, you know the dean; she tends to remember who comes to these things and who doesn’t.”

“Just make up something for me if she asks, and let me know what you say so I don’t contradict it later.”

“Why didn’t you go? You said you had the weekend off. Remember you asked me if I wanted to go to the pub,” Daryl said.

Curt shrugged. “I just didn’t want to go.”

“If I remember correctly, you also missed John’s wedding last summer too, which was also in a church,” Daryl recalled. “House of the Lord got you lashed?”

Curt sighed and shook his head. “Can we just date these coins?”

“Someone said you once focused on Judeo-Christian archeology back in the States. Now you’re working in Germanic studies. Come now, something changed.”

Curt’s arms dropped to his side loosely. “It’s silly, don’t worry about it.”

“Oh come on, I won’t tell.”

“Yes you will!”

“Well this time I won’t. How ‘bout it? What’s the story?”

“Fine. I got kicked out of a Bible study.”

Daryl broke out laughing.

“I told you it was stupid,” Curt said tightening his brow.

“How the hell did you get kicked out of a Bible study?” Daryl snorted.

“I don’t know, they were talking about the crucifixion and somehow we started in on how the Church converted pagans during the Middle Ages. I compared the crucifixion of Jesus with an old Norse myth.”

“Was it the one where Odin hangs himself from the World Tree?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Curt confirmed. “Nothing happened right away but I got an e-mail from this girl I kind of liked in the same study…”

“Ha! Oh this is good. Every traumatic story has a girl.”

Curt’s jaw flexed. “Well, this girl tells me that I shouldn’t come back if I am going to try and disprove Christianity which is not what I was trying to do at all!”

“So what happened to this girl you fancied?”

“I don’t know, never talked to her again.”

“And this has somehow made you anti-religious?”

“Not really, I believe in stuff, but I’m not letting hypocrites tell me what to believe anymore.”

“Oh Curt, you are an odd one,” Daryl said returning to the microscope. “What was her name?”

“That I am defiantly not telling you,” Curt answered and began to turn. “I’m going to get another box, and when I come back we will be talking about SOMETHING ELSE!” He left while Daryl snickered inside the lab.

Curt rubbed the bridge of his nose as he passed through the corridors of the Department of Anglo-Saxon studies at the University of Cambridge focusing on the Viking Age. Their current project was a dull one consisting of tracking coins that were found amongst Norse burial sites to get a sense of their movements during the Viking Age.  

He returned to the store house in the basement and retrieved another box of ancient currency that had been recently found in an ancient warrior’s grave in what was once known as the Danelaw. The origins of the coins could help them determine where this man had traveled and who he had done business with. He carefully removed the box of specimens from the drawer and signed them out on the computer before making the trip back up to the lab.

The door to the lab was open when Curt returned. For a moment he hoped that Daryl had gone for a coffee, giving him a break from annoying questions. But as he entered, he saw Gwen, one of the department’s secretaries, standing next to Daryl with a fax in his hands.

Curt stepped inside and placed the box of coins on the workbench watching his friend pore over the paper. Daryl eventually noted Curt’s return and held up the sheet pointing to a series of markings photocopied on the page. “Take a look at this and tell me what you think it is.”

Curt tightened his brow. “They look similar to runes but… they look really archaic, I’ve never seen such form.”

“Neither have I,” Daryl agreed. “But you might still be able to make out their meaning, keep looking.”

“Well, I’m seeing vague similarities in one with a Wynn rune. Another could be a Naudor and that looks like an Oss rune that could be repeated here.” Curt paused rubbing the side of his neck. “This is very messy and archaic. Most letters look like they were composed by someone that didn’t have the full knowledge of the alphabet. My best guess though would be that it’s trying to spell Wōdanaz.” Curt looked up at Gwen. “Did this just get faxed in?”

Gwen nodded. “It’s a fax from an archeological team in Norway. They want to get the opinions of some other experts.”

“Where did they find the inscription?” Curt scanned the page looking for his answer but Daryl turned it away and placed it on the workbench.

“On a tomb,” Daryl said and began rubbing at his dark brown beard.

“Have they dated it?”

“Yes, and this is where it gets better. The site dates to roughly 1200BC.”

“That’s over a thousand years earlier than the first runic inscription we know of!” Curt exclaimed.

“I know. I’m wondering if they made a mistake,” Daryl replied.

“But what if they’re right? This could be quite the find! Maybe we have a source of runes depicting the worship of Odin that predate anything we’ve found.” Curt clapped his hands together. “There must have been more inscriptions found at this tomb…”

“No, just that,” Daryl said and patted the paper on the desk. “What the Oslo team is saying here is that they don’t think the inscription is made in honor of Odin, but signifying who lies in the crypt, like a name on a headstone.”

Curt blinked and looked between his colleague and the secretary. “But that would mean that the tomb…” he trailed off eyes darting up at the ceiling.

“It would mean,” Daryl said, “that the tomb belongs to Odin.”