RSS

Author Archives: Jakebe

About Jakebe

Jakebe is a cyber-rabbit who makes his burrow within the analog space of Silicon Valley, CA. He enjoys telling stories, talking about stories and exploring aspects of the human condition through stories.

(Organization) The Pomodoro Technique

Self Improvement 150One of the ‘features’ of ADHD is an impaired executive function, which is all kind of fun. Those of us who have a difficult time with our executive functions might have problems with self-motivation, self-awareness, self-restraint, working memory (our inner monologue and imagination), planning and problem solving. In other words, those of us with ADHD might have a devil of a time controlling our behavior — or even realizing it needs to be controlled — or developing the tools that would let us be better at it. This doesn’t mean it’s impossible, mind you! It just means that we have to put in a lot more effort to be organized than someone else who might be able to take things for granted.

Learning more about executive function was a particular revelation for me. Knowing that, for whatever reason, my brain simply wasn’t good at keeping itself organized allowed me to come up with ways to off-load that function elsewhere. Mondays this month, I’d like to talk about the various tools in my toolbox that have been helping me get more shit done. We’ll start with a relatively basic one that has turned out to be extraordinarily powerful for me, the Pomodoro Technique.

The Pomodoro Technique is a basic framework for managing time. The “pomodoro” (named for the once-ubiquitous kitchen timers shaped like a tomato) is an indivisible unit of time consisting of one 25-minute work or focus period and one 5-minute rest period. Each 30-minute pomodoro is generally tracked for review sometime later, so you can see how much work you actually got done during each pomodoro and adjust your expectations accordingly. Using this framework has helped me immensely with keeping focused, gaining a better sense of productive time, and ultimately learning how to properly plan my projects.

Most folks know that ADHD messes with your focus hard-core. Most people can drill down into the work they’re doing without too much trouble, but we have a tendency to get distracted very easily while also taking longer to refocus away from those distractions. The Pomodoro Technique offers a great way to push yourself towards focusing for longer periods of time; one of the major rules is that the 25-minute focus period is sacred. If something takes your attention away from your designated task for too long, you have to scrap the Pomodoro and start over again. This might not work too well for everyone, but I’ve found that holding myself accountable for 25 minutes of focus isn’t too hard. Sometimes, I have to fight to focus, but the period is just short enough that I find it relatively easy to commit to.

If you find you’re unable to focus for 25 minutes on a consistent basis, no worries! The pomodoro is an abstract concept, so we can bend it to our will on a temporary basis while we’re building our focus muscle. You could ‘shrink’ the pomodoro to a 15-minute focus/5-minute rest unit of time, giving yourself 3 pomodoros an hour instead of two, with an extra five minutes of downtime. You could even modify further if you’d like, to 7 min. on and 3 min. off. Find out what allows you to commit to focus consistently, and then work your way up to 25/5 as you’re ready.

Like everything, the Pomodoro Technique is a process that will require commitment, feedback and refining. But right up front it’s a great way to organize your to-do list! If you have 5 Pomodoros of ‘free time’ for a day, you could devote one of them to writing, one to reading, one to studying, and two to whatever you’d like. As you mark more time using the framework, you’ll begin to get a fairly solid idea of how much work you can do in 25 minutes of total focus — that’s where the fun starts.

I’ve been working with the Pomodoro Technique for a few years now, and I have a fairly solid idea of how much work I can do within each pomodoro. Generally speaking I can write around 600 words per pomodoro; I can read about 20 pages of text (I’m a slow reader); I can wash a sink full of dishes. Your mileage, of course, may vary, but the more you organize your projects through pomodoros the better you’ll be able to gauge how long something should take. For folks like me with a bad scale of time, that’s a minor miracle.

I’m so terrible at figuring out how long something should take, especially if it’s a more complex project or something I’ve never done before. This has gotten me into so much trouble trying to plan out my day; something I thought would take me only an hour or two ends up being the only thing I do that day, or I’ll grossly underestimate how much mental energy it’ll take to get something done, or almost every project with a deadline gets tremendously backloaded because I don’t have a good handle on how much I can do in the allotted time. It’s one thing to know that you have a 20-page term paper due in one month; it’s quite another to be able to look at your calendar and have a somewhat accurate gauge of how long it’ll take to write a good one.

So, now that I have a good idea of how much work I can do within a single pomodoro, it’s a bit easier for me to know how much time it will take to get something done. Take the Writing Desk for instance — I know that I can write around 600 words per Pomodoro, and entries here are anywhere from 1000 – 1500 words. That means, with an editing pass, it’ll generally take me 4 pomodoros to write an entry — or two hours of work. Sometimes it’s more, sometimes it’s less, but that’s my basic expectation. Three entries will take me six hours of work; a 5000-word first draft will take me around 10 pomodoros, or five hours; a 600-page novel will take me around 30 pomodoros to read.

With that foreknowledge, I can take a look at my free time in any given week to determine how much progress I can expect to make on any number of projects. If I want to keep The Writing Desk current, I need to devote at least 12 pomodoros to it every week. If I want to make sure that I have an entry prepared for the Jackalope Serial Company (which I try to keep under 2500 words), that’s another 6 pomodoros. If I take a look at my calendar and find out that I have less than 18 pomodoros available, then I’ll know ahead of time that something will have to give. Generally, though, I can bank on about 20 – 30 pomodoros per week for projects when I’m really dedicated.

This means that I can plan when and where I’ll have each Writing Desk entry done and posted, or just how much time I’ll need to spend on the next part of my Patreon serial. I can estimate how much time it will take to read someone’s novel or story. I can figure out how to divide an Udemy course or Rosetta Stone activity appropriately so it’ll fit within a single pomodoro, then use that to gauge how much time it will take to go through a course or chapter.

The best thing about the Pomodoro Technique, to me, is reshaping the way I look at my free time. If I have 30 minutes where I’m not doing anything, there are any number of things that I could slot into that space; I could write 600 words, or read 20 pages, or make a significant dent in some other project I had going. Of course I take some time (maybe too much!) goofing off, but I rarely say that I “don’t have enough time” to make progress on something I want to do. I know better, because I’ve done better.

If you’re interested in adopting the Pomodoro Technique, feel free to go to the official website for more information! If the whole “take a course” thing turns you off, Lifehacker has an excellent 101 for you complete with a small list of the best Pomodoro apps for download. If you’re a Windows user like me, I’d also like to recommend Pomodone — it’s a wonderful desktop app with integration for a number of different to-do apps (like Trello and Todoist).

Let me know if you try the Pomodoro Technique in the comments, or if you have any questions about it. If you’d like to drop a few tips or pointers, that would be lovely too!

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on November 6, 2017 in mental-health, Self-Reflection

 

Tags: , ,

(Fiction) Sergei & Bunkin #2: The Glade

Writing 150The Essex Freehold was on a large lot of land mostly covered by wild forest broken up by small clearing — some of which had buildings and some of which didn’t. The freehold itself was right at the front of the property behind locked gates; you either had to key in a five-digit combination or say a secret phrase to the chimerical gremlin sitting on top of the key pad. Bunkin had gotten them in with the phrase, then argued about whether or not Whitney or Beyonce was better for ten minutes before Sergei dragged him along.

Now they were definitely not lost in the young woods and bushy undergrowth a half-mile behind the huge brick mansion, according to the pooka squire. The clearing with the “problem” chimera should definitely be around here somewhere. However, Sergei was getting the feeling that they were going around in circles. The deer paths were starting to show the signs of their previous passings, and the lower branches along the trees bore familiar scrapes from where his horns brushed them the first time.

Bunkin was a little ways ahead of him, squinting at a map that had obviously been printed by his school library’s dying printer. In an effort to make it more legible, he traced the faint outlines in pen. This might have been a fatal error; if he had marked in landmarks that were mere flights of fancy to make the travel more interesting, neither one of them would have a clue. It was a hazard in having a pooka for a squire, he supposed.

The troll tapped Bunkin’s shoulder lightly to get his attention and then signed. What are we looking for?

The map says that we should have seen the unicorn trail by now, and that we can follow that to the glade. But I can’t tell if these tracks are unicorn or deer. And since the big trail splits off three ways over there… Bunkin pointed to the east, southeast, and due south, then shrugged.

The squire had a point. Sergei had never seen a unicorn before, but he knew that it was roughly the same size as a deer with split hooves more than likely. He would have guessed the unicorn to have a gait more like a horse, but that wasn’t a given. He stared at the three paths Bunkin had marked out and tried to figure which was which, but they were far too similar. Unless…

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and focused on the Glamour around him. There likely wouldn’t be much — this was mostly new growth on private land, and the natural magic of the place would be drawn to the balefire within the freehold’s mansion. But there should be enough for him to spot a basic trail.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Bunkin’s true fae visage more clearly — an upright six-foot rabbit with wood-brown fur, a basic tunic and trousers, and a hand-drawn map of the Duke’s lands. In addition to the oak, hickory, and sassafras trees there were others that shimmered with rainbow bioluminescence in the afternoon sun; squat bushes bearing, impossibly, mushrooms with red and white spotted caps and little button eyes; and tiny trails hugging roots and vanishing under the undergrowth. Sergei thought he saw something moving the grasses there, but looked away before he could find out what it was.

He peered at the three paths again. The first path, headed east, showed prints that seemed to dance along the dirt, with a crystalline glint catching the sun whenever the wind blew. Somehow, he knew this would be the way to go. He nodded in that direction and made his way forward, with Bunkin scrambling to catch up.

I’ve never seen a unicorn before, Bunkin signed to him. I don’t think I’m dressed right for the occasion. I hope she likes me.

When we get to the clearing, we’ll probably see Beyonce but not the unicorn. Of course, they might be surprised…but if they stuck to tradition, the mythical creature certainly wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him.

What? Why? We’re the good guys. Unicorns can be shy, but they know someone pure of heart when they see them. Bunkin puffed out his chest a little. His eyes, huge and black and liquid, were surprisingly effective at broadcasting a purity he didn’t have.

We might be pure of heart, but I’m pretty sure you’re not a virgin. Sergei grinned down at his squire, then ruffled his ears with a broad, heavy hand.

“Gross.” Bunkin frowned as he stopped to ‘fix’ his ears. “I’m still in high school, dude.”

Sergei blinked and turned to look at his squire. You mean you are?

“When would I have had sex? During exams? When I was working for you over summer vacation? There’s just no time.” Bunkin was exceptionally stone-faced, or maybe Sergei wasn’t good at reading the expressions of a rabbit after all this time.

Well…maybe we’d better let you lead the conversation, then, Pure of Heart. Sergei stepped aside on the unicorn path to give Bunkin the right of way. You learn something new every day, he thought to himself.

It only took them a few minutes of walking to reach the edge of the clearing. The trees parted suddenly to reveal a small meadow no more than a hundred feet across, impossibly bright with sunlight. There, in the center, was a tall, almost elfin woman whose skin seemed to absorb and reflect the golden glow. She was in a sheer white dress, ribbons of fabric floating off her arms and around her ankles. Prancing around her was the unicorn, its pelt as white as her silk, its horn as bright as her skin. It stopped as they approached, looking their way with a warning, nervous snort. The woman’s gaze followed. Both Sergei and Bunkin knew at once this was the chimera they were looking for.

“No way,” Bunkin whispered. “I will never understand why so many people get so lost in their head over Beyonce.”

“Hello?” the chimera’s voice rang through the clearing like a bell, though Sergei couldn’t see her lips moving. The unicorn pawed in agitation at the grass, lowering its horn towards them.

Well, Pure of Heart, you’re up. Sergei pointed to the clearing, and Bunkin nodded.

I’ve got this, he signed, then strode confidently out of his hiding spot.

“Yo, Bey-Bey, what’s up girl??”

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on November 3, 2017 in RPGs, Sleepwalkers, Writing

 

Tags: , ,

(Review) Twin Peaks, Season 3: Parts 1 and 2

Entertainment 150Grade: B

I was beyond excited about the news that Twin Peaks would be coming back for a third season this year. For those of you who have never seen it, you missed a hell of a ride back when television just wasn’t doing that kind of thing. David Lynch and Mark Frost told a winding, frustrating, weird story over thirty episodes that drew from small-town mystery, soap opera, supernatural horror and surrealist tropes to create a TV show unlike anything else on the air at the time or since. Thinking back on the sheer bizarreness of the arcs, I have to say it’s a minor miracle that it made it to air — or that it was a cultural phenomenon for two glorious seasons.

Twin Peaks is the town where FBI agent Dale Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan) is called to investigate the murder of hometown sweetheart Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee). His search for Laura’s killer draws him (and us) deeper into the town’s mysteries and the truly strange residents who inhabit this sleepy, Pacific Northwest town. Through dreams, visions, and odd connections Agent Cooper learns the horrible truth of Laura Palmer’s life as well as the terrible secrets that dwell deep within the forests surrounding her hometown.

The end of Twin Peaks was the first really frustrating TV finale I ever encountered; I hated the whole series for about a year after I finished watching it. But after that initial shock, I came to appreciate the show for what it was — and its influence has guided my storytelling sensibilities for over a decade since. Seeing Frost and Lynch return to the setting that turned the course of American serialized drama on its ear is a rare treat, especially knowing they’ve been given such creative freedom from Showtime, the cable network that aired season 3, otherwise known as “The Return”.

So, after 25 years, how was it coming back to this singular piece of television history?

SPOILERS BELOW…

twin peaks
Read the rest of this entry »

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on November 1, 2017 in Reviews, Television

 

Tags: ,

(Writing) I’m A NaNoWriMo Cheerleader

Writing 150National Novel Writing Month is almost here, and it’s one of the many reasons I love the end of the year! In just two days, beginning on November 1st, thousands of writers all around the world will band together to accomplish one insane goal: create a novel of at least 50,000 words by November 30th. This will require them to write at least 1,667 words per day — that’s around 90 minutes of work every day for the entire month, including days where you just don’t feel like it, or you have to cobble together those minutes between other tasks, or weekends, or Thanksgiving. In order to be successful at NaNoWriMo, it’s almost imperative that you WRITE. EVERY. DAY.

That’s a daunting prospect for anyone, even writers who have been at this for a little while. For most of us who aren’t professional, writing has to happen in the margins of our lives — when we can snatch a block of time from the world in which we feel motivated, relaxed and capable. The cultural shock of shifting from writing when you have the time to making time to write can be enough to get even the hardiest author to bow out over time, and that’s understandable. Writing isn’t easy, especially on a deadline. In order to make your word count, you have to turn off the inner critic that demands your narrative spills from your forehead, fully-formed and ready for print.

This is an incredibly useful skill to develop, especially for perfectionists like me. I’ve wasted so much time being overly-precious about my work, where I write and scrap the first chapter, scene, paragraph of a story over and over and over again until I’m just sick of it. So many saplings have been pruned back into the dirt from the needless hyper-criticism I subject to everything I write; I’ve spent so long never finishing anything that it’s taking significant time and effort to undo that impulse so I can be productive.

NaNoWriMo is a bootcamp that forces you to turn off your inner editor in the service of getting something done, and for a writer that’s one of the most important things you can do. No one expects a 50,000-word-story written over 30 days to be any good, but that’s OK. Your goal isn’t to produce the next great American novel; it’s to hit your word count, every day, for 30 days — rain or shine, feast or famine. The great thing about the goal is that it doesn’t tell you how to achieve it. You are empowered to build your own practice to get the words in however you can. But you have to build the practice. You have to get the words in.

You won’t be alone in this endeavor should you choose to accept it. A wonderful community has sprung up around NaNoWriMo over the years, and you can hit the official website or any number of forums, blogs and other resources for all kinds of writer groups for insight, tips and encouragement to keep you in the zone. That’s perhaps the best part of the whole affair — you forge and strengthen bonds with other writers all over, and the cheering circle you create begins a virtuous cycle. Writing leads to learning, editing, collaborating. Before you know it, you’ve got a novel to show for it and a number of new friendships.

This is a great thing, and to everyone participating in NaNoWriMo this year, I salute and whole-heartedly encourage you! In solidarity, every Monday this month I’ll talk about a different tool I use to keep myself organized and offer notes on how my personal journey to becoming a more consistent, productive and professional writer is going. Also, I’ll keep a running tally of my word count for my blog and Patreon stories over the month.

Good luck, you crazy writers! I wish you nothing but the best for the coming month!

 
1 Comment

Posted by on October 30, 2017 in Better Living Through Stories, Writing

 

Tags: ,

(Writing) Writing and the Anxious Rabbit

Writing 150Generalized Anxiety Disorder is a mental illness that can be difficult to talk about, mostly because it looks like one of those ‘special snowflake’ disorders that someone claims to have in order to justify certain behaviors. Even with an official diagnosis and some significant time in a group therapy class, it’s the aspect of my mental health that I understand the least but still has a huge effect on my ability to get things done from day to day. I’m not sure what to say about it, though, especially these days when it feels like everyone is on edge for very good reason. Still, I’m going to try to talk about my anxiety disorder — especially as it relates to my quest to develop a consistent and productive writing practice.

Generalized Anxiety Disorder is, for me, a constant tension that travels with me every day, all day. It most often settles around performance anxiety — making sure that I send an email just right so the person I’m speaking to doesn’t get offended, or trying to tackle a case at work in a manner that’s quick and thorough, or replaying conversations back through my head to pick out possible indications that it didn’t go at all how I thought, or thinking about all of the things I should be doing, or all of the things I forgot to do, or an undiscovered asteroid that could plow into the planet, or being stopped by the police, or suddenly being fired, or the possibility that I could just lapse into depression or insanity, or something might happen to my husband, or….and so on. No matter what I’m doing, or how happy I might be otherwise, there is always some part of my brain that is screaming with worry.

Now that I know what it is, I know that I’ve had this since I was a teenager. I could never relax when I was a kid, because there was no place that felt safe to me. Even when I was alone, I worried about a home invasion, or a fire, or being abducted by aliens, or… There’s always something that needs to be done, or always a way something can be handled better. The constant pressure regularly becomes too much for me to handle, and I end up doing something mindless for hours because I can’t think about anything without freaking out.

This all happens under the hood. It’s difficult to put across how relentless worry can fray you, especially when you’ve been dealing with it for so long you’ve learned how to function through it.

However, without chemical help (like alcohol), it’s…impossible to relax. I’ve developed coping mechanisms over time, like zazen, ashwaghanda supplements, cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), but the disorder is still there — I just have an expanded toolset that allows me to deconstruct the underlying thoughts behind the worry, cope with stress, and forge ahead with whatever triggers performance anxiety a bit more easily.

This month I’ve been working hard to build a more consistent meditation and writing practice; I would love to bring more readers to The Writing Desk, have more folks sign up for my Patreon, and submit short stories to various publications. Doing that requires me to confront my anxiety about writing in a very real way. Every day is a battle against that screaming part of my brain that tells me I’ll never be good enough to do what I want to do; that whatever I publish will be mocked as both pretentious and pathetically deviant; that what interests me is not even interesting enough for other people to hate it.

I created my Patreon, for example, as a means to hold myself accountable for producing content on a deadline. For the most part, that’s been a failure. The first serial I wrote was scrapped after 14 or so “weekly” installments over the course of six months, and it’s been really hard to build any kind of momentum with it. The folks who have stuck with me over the past two years are saints of the highest order, and I appreciate them every day. But anxiety clearly has won out here so far. Because of it, there is no way that I can possibly write something “just for fun” — I really wish I could, but everything I put to paper eventually gets stuck in the weight of that self-imposed pressure.

So with the stuff that matters to me, the pressure can quickly reach the point of being unbearable. Over the past few months, I’ve tried to focus on ‘making friends’ with that discomfort, knowing that anything worth doing, anything that would help me to change and grow, would be uncomfortable. It’s a sign that I’m pushing myself to do something difficult. And that has helped, honestly. It’s allowed me to progress — but that progress is still very slow.

The best thing I’ve found to combat my anxiety is to focus on the story I’m telling, the characters that I’m working with, the setting, or structure, or feeling that I’d like to evoke. The more I think about the work itself instead of how it’s going to be received, the easier it gets to push that screaming aside until it fades into the background. At some point, you have to realize just how much about a situation is outside of your control; all you can do is make sure what’s under your control is handled as best as you can. It’s a really difficult lesson to learn, and I’m still in the middle of that process, but it’s worth learning for sure.

I’m still not sure what to do about this anxiety. I think I need to go back into therapy to deal with it and a number of other issues that are increasingly difficult to fight against. But for now, the march of progress goes ever on.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on October 25, 2017 in mental-health, Self-Reflection, Writing

 

Tags: , , ,

(Fandom) Goodbye, DNA

Fandom 150Over the weekend, the macrophile artist known around the internet as DNA closed up his FurAffinity page. This all but completes his steady withdrawal from the furry fandom, which was announced a few months ago. The announcement came suddenly, and ever since then I’ve been trying to sort through my feelings on that. Now that the last link he had to the fandom is effectively gone, I wanted to write a few words about what he meant to me and how I’ll honor my time with him moving forward.

I considered myself a fairly close friend to DNA, even though we didn’t talk often. He was the kind of companion you could pick up with after months of radio silence without skipping a beat. No matter how long it had been since we last spoke or what had happened during that time, he always made sure that he was glad to see you. He is one of the most generous, positive, hard-working people I know, and I will genuinely miss him. I know he’s not dead, but the grief I feel is somewhat similar; my relationship with him as I know it is dead and gone, and that’s why I’ve had to bury over these last few months.

I don’t know why he felt the need to bow out of the fandom this way, and I won’t submit to speculation here. Doing so wouldn’t honor my time with him. I do know that I wish I could have been able to say goodbye to him knowing that it would be the last time we spoke. I don’t remember the last conversation we had, to be honest; I had taken it for granted that I would be able to pick up with him again sometime later, just like always.

The thing I’ll remember most about DNA isn’t the art he gave to the fandom, though his comics are wonderful, silly, exuberant stories that I’ll cherish. The thing that I’ll take with me is his natural and immediate good nature. I don’t think I’ve ever known someone who was so effortlessly nice and considerate; he was free with his affection, and if you knew him you were sure that you were loved by him. It wasn’t the desperate casting about for connection that can often come with folks who make easy friends, and it wasn’t some weird spell that was cast on you where you felt close while you had his attention, but ignored when you didn’t. He is an incredibly loving person, and he didn’t expect to be loved in return. It was just who he was, and almost everything he did was an expression of that.

That comes through in so much of his work. One of my favorite things about his particular “brand” of macrophilia was that most of his characters weren’t malicious, even the power-mad ones. Growth, for him, was almost always this incredibly positive experience, and when it ran away from his characters it wasn’t necessarily a selfish thing — it was a feedback loop of positive energy, a virtuous cycle that exploded again and again into this other order of magnitude. Most of his protagonists were humble, gentle souls who loved doing the right thing; protecting, helping, connecting with others in a way that spread joy. Somehow DNA managed to combine the best things about macro — that overwhelming power fantasy, incredible size difference, runaway growth — without including some of the most tiresome aspects of it, like small and brittle egos, actual carelessness, or violence and death. It’s really hard to thread that needle, and he was one of the best at it. He made it look easy.

I know that he was incredibly loved in the fandom, and there were a lot of times that love was expressed as more a demand for his time, his talent, or his attention. As a community we have a tendency to make our artists feel more like a commodity than an actual person; we crave what someone can do for us so much that we see them only as a means to that end. A drawing or comic from DNA was a measure of social validation, a sign that our characters and the stories featuring them were interesting, a symbol of our status in the little community we share. Because he was so generous with his time but guarded about his personal life, it was easy to overlook pressures or responsibilities that he might not have talked about.

There’s no way of knowing if I contributed to the decision of his leaving the fandom. I really hope not. But for me, honoring him means making sure that I remember that artists are people first and foremost and to always treat them as such — no matter how star-struck I might be by them. Even the most popular folks who share our interest in giants have full lives; day jobs, relationships, hopes, fears, responsibilities, worries, personalities, pet peeves, a limited ability to manage everything on their plate. It’s so easy to take things personally when someone who is being hounded for attention doesn’t pay attention to me; it’s important to remember that it might not be personal but even if it is it’s their right as people to choose who they befriend.

I don’t have the naturally positive temperament that DNA did, but even still I want to be as positive influence on the community as he was during his time here. I want to put that positivity into the stories I write and share here, and I want to help provide a balance to the spectrum of macrophilia on the Internet. It doesn’t all have to be violent, humiliating, or crude (though hey, if that’s what you’re into there’s nothing wrong with that — you do you!). It can be joyous, silly, loving, and fun, too.

DNA unquestionably made my life better by being a part of it, and I appreciate the love he showed to me while he was. I’m really sorry that I never got a final chance to tell him what he meant to me, and I sincerely hope I’ll get to one of these days. For now, it’s enough to know how he’s made me a better person and to act on the lessons I learned through him.

I know that a lot of us are going through a sort of grieving process for him as well. I think it’s important to recognize and honor that. It’s OK to be sad that a friend (or favorite artist, or community fixture) is gone, and it’s OK to admit being bewildered or lost about the way they left. But please don’t let that feeling curdle into anger or a sense of entitlement; he doesn’t owe us anything, especially after he’s given us so much. Let’s appreciate what an awesome person he was, and hope that someday we’ll get to tell him so properly.

 
 

Tags: , ,

(Fiction) Sergei & Bunkin #1: The Negotiation

Writing 150“I do know ASL, so it’s not necessary for you to be here.” The man sitting on the other side of the booth, tall and lithe and poured into a suit it would have taken Bunkin two months to afford, stared with a raised eyebrow. He brought his hands together, sleeves pulling back to show an obscenely-large gold watch. “I would feel more comfortable if I could discuss my problem in private with the man I’d like to solve it.”

Bunkin leaned forward to mimic the well-dressed man’s posture, though he had to lean around Sergei’s bulk to do it. “Sir Kolov appreciates that you prepared so well for this meeting, but he would like to remind you that I am his squire and assistant in all things. I am as much a part of your solution as he is.”

He stole a glance at Sergei, who looked down at him with a smile. After a pause, he nodded. Bunkin beamed, then remembered his composure. Still, he couldn’t help keeping a triumphant grin on his face as he turned back to their client. “So, Mr. Washington, what can we do for you?”

Mr. Washington frowned at Bunkin, looked pleadingly for some give on the part of Sergei, and sighed when he found none. “Very well. I need your word that what I’m about to tell you will be held in the strictest confidence. You cannot divulge any of this to anyone — not even to other members of any motley or freehold you belong to. Do I have your promise, Sergei Kolov and Bunkin Johnson?”

Sergei nodded immediately; Bunkin could feel it in the shift of that great arm jamming him into the wall. The pooka, on the other hand, closed his eyes and forced himself to swallow the multitude of interesting possibilities he could have offered as an answer. He took a deep breath, forced himself to look at the boring grey brick of truth, and coughed it up out of his throat. “I promise. You have my word.”

He slumped and looked down at the table. Suddenly, his burger was just a mess of processed beef and a slop of condiments. His shake tasted more like chemicals and less like strawberries. The sheen that made Mr. Washington’s skin glow wasn’t some fine grooming product, but nothing more than a two-dollar coat of cocoa butter. Bunkin resented this man for making him see things as they are. It left an awful taste in his mouth that lingered.

Mr. Washington, however, relaxed with a sigh. “Good,” he said.

He drew himself up, attracting Bunkin’s attention once more. Under his flawless brown skin and tailored suit was an even more supernaturally-perfect sidhe with robes of spider-silk and woven silver, spun rubies and emeralds. Mr. Washington allowed his disguise to fall, revealing himself as Count Akkin, ruler of the Freehold of Essex.

“I have a small problem with a…chimera…who seems to have become rather obsessed with me. It’s causing disruptions at my court, and I’m afraid it’s gotten to the point that I need it to be removed.”

“How do you mean, removed? Do you want us to destroy it?” Bunkin’s long ears perked and swung forward. The pooka relaxed his mortal seeming as well, revealing his large dark eyes, the suggestion of a muzzle on his face, the fine coating of fur on clawed hands. His green tunic, emblazoned with the crest he himself made for Sir Kolov, felt shabby and rough on his shoulders as he looked at Count Akkin’s fine dress.

“I would rather it not come to that, of course.” The Count spoke carefully, glancing to Bunkin before focusing on Sergei. “I believe that it could be persuaded to go elsewhere, if the right Kithain of noble intent were to intervene.”

Sergei shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Bunkin said, “Sir Kolov would like to know why you would like to be rid of this chimera. What sort of disruption is it causing?”

The Count coughed. “Well, you see…as you know, I have recently been engaged to Lady Tenithia and our wedding will be held in four weeks. This chimera did not take the news of my betrothal very well and it seeks to, er, persuade me to reconsider.”

The fur on the back of Bunkin’s neck bristled and a bolt of delight struck right down his spine. “You mean this chimera is jealous of your fiancee?”

If the Count were less composed, Bunkin was sure he would have seen the blush. He glanced at Sergei, and gave a short nod. “Yes.”

“Sir Kolov would like to know if you have any personal history with this chimera.” Bunkin pounced immediately, wiggling around Sergei’s elbow when it threatened to pin his chest.

“We might have…there is history, yes.”

“Could you elaborate?” Bunkin felt himself being compacted further into his corner of the booth by the Silent Knight, but he couldn’t let this go.

“I may have…created her.” The Count was not looking at either of them now. He was staring at his hands.

Bunkin’s chest felt tight and light at the same time. He had never seen a sidhe so uncomfortable. His ear flicked, and he felt his smile grow so big it stretched his entire face. “Her?”

Sergei’s elbow slammed into Bunkin’s chest. It was a short, almost subtle movement, but it was enough to knock the wind out of him and force him to leave off the chase. The pooka coughed and rubbed the point of impact. He was sure there would be a bruise.

I apologize for my squire, Sergei signed. He is still learning the etiquette of gentlemen. Of course I’ll help your chimera find a new freehold to call home.

Count Akkin took a moment while the troll signed, deciphering the movement of those massive hands. “Thank you,” he said, after he was sure he understood.

Think nothing of it. How will we recognize the chimera when we arrive?

The Count took another minute to translate the movements, and when he understood an indecipherable expression crossed his face. “She is…quite recognizable. You shouldn’t have any trouble spotting her.”

“Could you give us a description?” Bunkin recovered enough to resume his function, doing his best to keep his composure.

“She…uh…she looks like Beyonce.” The Count’s lanky frame slunk into its seat. His shoulders hunched further at the sound of Bunkin’s long, loud laughter as it echoed through the restaurant.

“Beyonce?!?” The pooka shouted giddily, and caught another elbow in the ribs. This time, the air left him with an audible whoosh; but he kept giggling around wheezes of breath.

Sergei arranged a time to arrive at the Freehold, and the Count offered an official title in exchange for his services. The troll, in the interest of shortening the meeting as much as possible, told him he’d think about it; Akkin left before Bunkin could get his breath back, darting out of the booth and walking out of the restaurant as quickly as his dignity would allow him.

Bunkin caught Sergei’s disapproving glare and folded his ears with appropriate abashedness. “Oh come on, though, you have to admit that is hilarious. Dude dreams up Beyonce to love on him and tries to kick her to the curb, and we’re supposed to think he’s the victim here? What a fucking idiot.”

Sergei’s glare melted into exasperation, then the slightest hint of amusement.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on October 20, 2017 in Sleepwalkers, Thursday Prompt, Writing

 

Tags: , ,