Archive for the Philosophical Musings Category

Slave to My Muse

Posted in Philosophical Musings, Writing on November 2, 2012 by Z. M. Wilmot

Before I got into the headlong flight of NaNo, I wanted to share my thoughts about my muse. I am currently not on speaking terms with her (or him; I don’t know which it is) at the moment, as when I most needed to catch up on schoolwork, my muse decided to, after having been absent for two months, come back with a vengeance, and force me not only to delay my catch-up work, but to force me to work on a completely new project unrelated to the things I wanted to do! I was forced to sit back and watch, in an almost out of body experience, as my muse grabbed my limbs and force me to create, of all things, a board game based on H. P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos, in which you play as a semi-Lovecraftian protagonist seeking to summon the Great Old Ones to rule the world!

The good news is, the first playtest went well, and was addictive and loads of fun. When I have a more final version, I might put it up here for download!

The point of my mini-rant, though, is that muses can be fickle. Mine is. I also am a slave to it; I cannot direct it. It goes where it wants and does what it wants, and I have no choice to follow, no matter my circumstances. It can be rather annoying.

That is all for now. Onward and forward!

Presidential Hair Fashion

Posted in Philosophical Musings on June 26, 2012 by Z. M. Wilmot

In my endless procrastination in order to avoid doing university work over the summer, I spend a fair bit of time perusing Wikipedia. For whatever reason, I somehow managed to get to reading about U.S. Presidents. By reading, of course, I mean looking at their Wikipedia portraits and noting how they have changed over time. Interestingly, the Presidential fashion sense has gone through some distinct phases with relatively clear boundaries. I encourage everyone to also go through the Wikipedia pages of the United States Presidents, and see what they think of my following Eras of Presidential Hair Fashion. For best reading results, please open up the Wikipedia page of George Washington, and look at the portraits as we go.

The Wigged Old Men: George Washington to James Madison

In the early days of the United States Presidency, the American heads of state took their cues from England, and retained their odd penchant for uncomfortable looking wigs and serious looks on their faces. These Presidents include George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson and James Madison – the first four. Or, perhaps we should call them the Fab Four?

The Slick Men With Prominent Foreheads: James Monroe to Andrew Jackson

These men used large amounts of hair gel, and likely combed their hair back not only to cover their bald spots, but also to proudly show off their large, well-developed, sometimes-shiny foreheads. Their hair was all nicely combed back, giving their hair a nice, slick look to complement their beautiful skulls. John Quincy Adams falls into this category not so much for the slicked-back hair, but because he was unafraid to lose his hair in order to flaunt his forehead. James Monroe, John Quincy Adams, and Andrew Jackson were all men with slicked back hair and really nice foreheads.

Van Buren, Mad Scientist: Martin van Buren

It is only fitting that the only President not born on American soil have his own category. To be fair, John Quincy Adams in many ways resembles Van Buren, but Van Buren takes Adams’ mad scientist look even further, leaving Adams with his cronies in the large forehead department while catapulting himself into a category all on his own, with crazy hair on either side of his head, and very little of it in the middle. He looks quite the mad scientist.

Men With Almost-Bangs: William Henry Harrison and John Tyler

In contrast to the slicked-back hair of their predecessors, both William H. Harrison and John Tyler let their hair grow forwards, and while that hair might not be quite long enough to hide their elegant foreheads, they certainly made an effort to grow those bands! William Henry Harrison and John Tyler are the only presidents in this category.

The Slicked-back Renaissance: James Polk

James Polk, for whatever reason, rejected the bang-growing ways of his predecessors and returned to the days of Monroe, Adams II, and Jackson, and represents the culmination of the look.

Crazy Hair Taylor and Slick Fillmore: Zachary Taylor to Millard Fillmore

His hair is crazy. No one liked it at the time, so he was replaced by another President with slicked-back hair, Millard Fillmore. Fillmore, unfortunately, was unable to effectively revive the slicked-back look, and lost his election, surprisingly, to another president with crazy hair.

The New Crazy Hair Party: Franklin Pierce and James Buchanan

It turned out that Zachary Taylor was ahead of his time, and when the young and dashing Franklin Pierce adopted his long, scraggly, wild hairstyle, everyone went wild for it, and he probably won the election in a landslide. The older generation picked up on the craze, and James Buchanan attempted to emulate him, but instead got a very strange, wild head of short hair. Nice try, though; A for effort!

The Bearded Generation and Slicked-back Interregnum: Abraham Lincoln to James A. Garfield

Abraham Lincoln began a new craze, but like President Taylor, he was ahead of his time. Lincoln was the first president to sport a beard while in office, but following his assassination, his successor was afraid to grow one. Andrew Johnson, instead, returned to more conservative fashions, fearing for his safety. His hair embodies the old “slicked-back forehead” style, and he ruled well during the Bearded Interregnum. The bearded Ulysses S. Grant revived the bearded style following Johnson’s removal from office on account of too much hair gel, and he began a generation of bearded presidents, with Rutherford B. Hayes representing the Golden Age of Presidential Beards. After Grant, Presidents of the bearded generation include Rutherford B. Hayes and James A. Garfield.

The Mustachioed Revolution: Chester A. Arthur and Grover Cleveland

Chester A. Arthur began to Mustachioed state, where all men addressed each other as “mustachioed comrade.” Arthur pioneered the look, and he was emulated by his lesser successor Grover Cleveland, much like Stalin pretended to emulate Lenin. Unfortunately, like the Soviet Union, the mustachioed men could not hold the nation together, and so lost the presidency.

The Facial Hair Wars: Benjamin Harrison to William McKinley

The more conservative Benjamin Harrison revived the bearded tradition, but a second mustachioed revolution overthrew his hegemony and Grover Cleveland’s mustache again took center stage as he became the only President to rule twice nonconsecutively. Unfortunately, like before, Cleveland was unable to hold onto power for a long time, and so he was overthrown in a coup by William McKinley, who had neither beard nor mustache, and for a brief time ended the dominance of facial hair.

The Mustachioed Resurgence

Following William McKinley’s death at the hand of an ardent (if slightly deranged) mustache-supporter, the mustachioed men again gained dominance, with Theodore “Teddy” Roosevelt leading the charge, in the process also making glasses look awesome. His successor, William Howard Taft, continued the mustachioed tradition, and even exceeded his predecessor’s mustachioed talents with the greatest Presidential Mustache of all time. Taft was the last President to wear facial hair.

The Decline of Facial Hair and the Dynasty of Presidents Without Facial Hair: Woodrow Wilson to Dwight D. Eisenhower

Unfortunately, the glorious mustache would not last long. Woodrow Wilson, in honor of McKinley, denounced mustachioed violence and went clean-shaven to show his support for the mustache-less underclass of America. As a result, facial hair declined in the United States, with his successors Warren G. Harding, Calvin Coolidge, Herbert Hoover, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Harry S. Truman, and Dwight D. Eisenhower also refusing to sport a mustache. The Dynasty of Presidents Without Facial Hair, founded by Wilson, was the longest-lasting American Presidential Dynasty. A second, less commonly-noted fact about this Dynasty is that they revived the slicked-back hair tradition of the Monroe area, many of them taking the style to new extremes. Their foreheads became shinier and their hair slicker during this area as fashions returned to more conservative values.

A Man With Slicked Bangs: John F. Kennedy

Not only did this man’s life end with a bang, but he also had bangs. Unfortunately for bang-lovers, he slicked his bangs back so that the beloved JFK did not look too liberal. However, his hairstyle also had the effect of making his forehead far less prominent than his hair, which represents the height of presidential hair fashion.

A Foreheaded Revival: Lyndon B. Johnson to Gerald Ford

Following Kennedy’s semi-daring almost-bangs – and then the bang that ended JFK’s life – his vice president Lyndon B. Johnson, who had always hated that hair style,returned once more to the traditional slicked-back hair, shining forehead that so many Americans were used to. Richard Nixon and Gerald Ford also kept this old tradition alive.

The Man With Bangs: Jimmy Carter

For the first time in the entire history of the Presidency, a man with bangs was elected, giving banged people across the country something to celebrate for once. Carter was unafraid to hide his forehead, and did so proudly, his hair falling over the upper part of his head, unencumbered by gel. Unfortunately for him, the American populace did not appreciate this look, and got rid of him for someone with more gel.

The Gel Duo: Ronald Reagan and George H. W. Bush

Unappreciative of Carter’s experimentation, the American public decided that Ronald Reagan, whose hair gel probably weighed more than he did, was better suited for the job. His successor, George H. W. Bushed, tried to emulate his master, but his neck was not strong enough to sustain the same weight of gel, so he had to make do with less, in a still-impressive attempt to look like Reagan. Both men also had prominent foreheads that their slick, gelled hair showed off.

A Man With a Lot of Hair: Bill Clinton

Like Franklin Pierce, Bill Clinton had a lot of hair. Unlike President Pierce, Clinton’s hair was not long and wild: it was thick and tamed. Weighed down with a considerable amount of gel, Bill Clinton’s hair rivaled and possibly exceeded Reagan’s. However, he did not use nearly as much gel, and that is where he fell short.

A Gelled Revolution: George W. Bush

Like father, like son. George W. Bush attempted to emulate his father’s (and Reagan’s) gelled style, but used even less gel than Clinton did with even more hair than his father. The result was a strange style never before seen in the history of the Presidency, where it almost seems as if George Bush’s forehead was framed by his hair. The style seemed popular, though, and it was eight years before he was overthrown.

That’s Hair? My, What Big Ears You Have!: Barack Obama

Barack Obama has very little hair. He also has large ears. His fashion sense is dangerous, as it is so unlike the Presidents preceding him. This upcoming election year, we will see if he has what it takes to survive on the 2012 Presidential Runway against Mitt Romney, whose hair seems to promise a return to the forehead-framing days of Bush and his ilk.

What fashion direction will the Presidential Hair take next? Comment and weigh in!

Hard and Soft Science Fiction

Posted in Philosophical Musings on June 12, 2012 by Z. M. Wilmot

I consider myself primarily a writer of science fiction, and most of what I read is science fiction as well. In the science fiction camp, there are many ways to categorize the genre – military, space opera, alien, humanist, social, and many others – but one polarized model frequently comes to the fore: hard and soft science fiction. Like any polarity, I believe that categorizing science fiction into one of these two categories is a disservice to the genre, but yet it still tends to be done. To be fair, most people will acknowledge that there is a “spectrum” of science fiction “hardness,” and that most science fiction plots, worlds, and characters are a mix of soft and hard. Yet, even so, this does mean that certain science fiction universes and plots are classified as “hard” or “soft” depending on which side they tend to fall on more often.

Still, despite the polarization doing the genre a disservice, the terms “hard” and “soft” are still useful in describing many works of science fiction. For those unfamiliar with the terms, “hard” science fiction is science fiction that tries to get its science right and present a realistic world based on solid scientific principles. Examples of hard science fiction authors include Iain Banks and Arthur C. Clarke. “Soft” science fiction is science fiction that does not necessarily adhere to the principles of scientific realism, and is not based upon proven science fiction principles. Both types of science fiction have their flaws and their benefits, and both add their own unique contribution to the collective science fiction consciousness.

Yet, I often see soft science fiction derided by hard science fiction authors as not “real” science fiction, or as “weak” science fiction, or as “fantasy” and not science fiction at all. I hate to break it to people like this, but science fiction is fantasy. It is speculative fantasy, and the key to defining science fiction, in my opinion, is the word “speculative.” Science fiction plots and worlds generally start with the question “what if?” and then go on from there. The biggest difference between hard and soft science fiction is how they approach the answer.

For example, say that a hard science fiction writer and a soft science fiction writer both ask the question “What if humanity was able to somehow travel faster than the speed of light?” (a common enough question in the science fiction world). A hard science fiction author would frame his answer in terms of how humanity would have managed to achieve this, and tends to focus on how that technology can be directly applied to situations, and how exactly it functions.

A soft science fiction writer would approach the question differently, and instead of asking “how,” would ask what effects will this technology have on society? Like I mentioned above, all science fiction mixes up both of these things, but what makes a story “hard” or “soft” is which answering style is focused on.

Let’s take another example. The question: “What if humanity found sentient extraterrestrial life?” A hard science fiction author might answer that question by describing the difficulties in opening communication with that alien species, technological differences, and the sheer improbability of finding another sentient lifeform. A soft science fiction author might answer that question by examining what would happen were the two societies to merge, how extraterrestrial intelligence would change life on home, and how the human race would change. Again, the two classifications are in no way mutually exclusive; it’s the focus that defines “hard” and “soft.”

So, in a nutshell, what do I think the difference between hard and soft science fiction is? Hard science fiction is science fiction that emphasizes the how (things would work), and soft science fiction is science fiction that emphasizes the what (things would happen). Hard science fiction plots tend to examine science, and soft science fiction tends to examine society. To draw another comparison, hard science fiction is like science, and soft science fiction is like the humanities. They both offer invaluable contributions to the picture of science fiction as a whole, and I don’t think either can be ignored, or one valued more than the other. They both have their place on the science fiction spectrum.

Of course, being a soft science fiction author myself, I know that soft science fiction is, naturally, better.

Any thoughts from other authors – hard, soft, or non science fiction – are more than welcome.

Feminine Pollution and Male Social Control

Posted in Philosophical Musings on April 3, 2012 by Z. M. Wilmot

Disclaimer: I am not here trying to express my own views about women and men. I am merely trying to explain my thoughts on how the American ideologies about the two sexes and genders work.

As many of you know, one of the subjects I study at university is Sociology (the other being History). As I was using the restroom today, something got me thinking about the gendered division of restrooms. In my personal experience, it has been acceptable for women to enter men’s bathrooms, but unacceptable for the opposite to occur. If a woman goes into a man’s bathroom, she is admired and her courage applauded. If a man goes into a woman’s bathroom, he is shamed by most of society, save for those with the attitudes of college frat brothers, and is considered a voyeur. Part of this difference, I think, has to do with the sexualization of women in Western society, but part of it also has to do with the nature of the social spheres of men and women, and their characteristics.

The sociologist Barrie Thorne studied gender socialization in children (her book Gender Play is fascinating, if you ever get the chance to read it). One of the things Thorne comments on in her book is the role of “pollution rituals” such as cooties in forming an image of women as the ultimate source of contamination. This narrative is evident in narratives such as the concept of original sin and the Garden of Eden, as well, with woman being responsible for humanity’s downfall. Pollution rituals in childhood, however, reinforce this social idea of women as contaminating, somehow, and with this comes the idea that those things associated with women – the feminine – are also contaminated.

It is, in many parts of Western society, more socially acceptable for girls to act like boys than the reverse. This is interesting, because Western society is patriarchal, and men have significantly more power than women, though they try to deny it. If society is patriarchal, one would think that it would be most logical to exclude women from the world of men, in order that men can maintain their hegemony. Yet, as mentioned above, when women break through into the world of men, they are often accepted and sometimes admired and applauded, especially where sports are concerned (one realm this is not true in is politics; look at the treatment of Hillary Clinton during the 2008 Democratic Primaries). When men enter the world of women, however, they are shamed and made into social outcasts.

One example of this is gay men. Conceptions of sexuality are very closely tied to conceptions of gender in this society, and males are expected to be extremely heterosexual. Gay men are subjected to more derision and scorn in society (think of all the “buttsex” jokes and the use of threatening one’s sexuality as a means of social control among men in schools) than lesbian women are. By being attracted to other men, gay men step into the world of Western women, leaving the male sphere, and are subjected to scorn because of it. When women are attracted to other women, they step into the man’s sphere, and are not subjected to as much scorn and derision (this is not to say that the experience of lesbians is insignificant at all; they are still subjected to a lot of bigotry and hatred). It is more socially acceptable to be lesbian than to be gay. Why? Part of this, I think, again comes back to the sexualization of women in society, and part of the limited acceptances of lesbianism is a voyeuristic one; men like to think about women having sex, because women’s bodies have become more sexualized than men’s. Additionally, power comes into it: women are not seen as a threat, and so their deviance is deemed as slightly more “acceptable.”

So, then, why is it more acceptable for women to step into men’s worlds than the opposite? Is it solely because women are not seen as threatening male hegemony due to cultural notions of their relative weakness? No. I think another major aspect of it is that male hegemony is more worried about keeping its own in line than being worried about women stepping their world. As I said, women are not considered a “threat” to male hegemony, but males becoming more “feminine” is. Feminine males break the illusion of heterogeneous masculinity, and threaten the integrity of the entire male establishment. As such, greater social control is put in place moderating men’s behavior when they step into the feminine world. They are called “sissies,” and being called a “girl” is a common form of social punishment and pressure for males, especially in competitive environments. Women – and those things associated with them – are a source of pollution from which men must be protected, and the only thing that can protect them is the shield of their own masculinity. Men must stay in groups to be protected, and be united against corruption; only by clearly dividing the lines of power and making sure that men appear to be “better” than women can male hegemony be maintained. Women who become more male-like, I would argue, lose some of the feminine miasma surrounding them, and are no longer sources of contamination. Interesting, to me this indicates that women themselves are not the source of contamination so much, but instead, femininity is.

As a disclaimer, I am also not claiming that there is no pressure for women to act feminine; their certainly is. However, “tomboys” are more common and accepted than “sissy boys” are, generally, especially in younger ages, when gender identity is still being formed (for research on this, I refer to Barrie Thorne’s book again).

Just my random thoughts for the day. If any women want to weigh in on this, please do! I am a guy, and so am not sure how the experience of the other gender matches with social norms/what I said above!

Social Relationships and the Internet

Posted in Philosophical Musings on March 29, 2012 by Z. M. Wilmot

I spend a lot of time on the computer. Many people would say it’s an unhealthy amount of time. However, I don’t spend this time playing games; I spend most of this time interacting with other people from across the world, mostly through various instant messaging programs, but also through Twitter, Facebook, and forums. There has been a lot of talk around me about how relationships that one has over the internet are somehow less meaningful than those one has in “real life.” As I have watched my online and “real life” relationships develop, I find that I have to disagree on many counts with this philosophy.

The internet has allowed us to pick our friends in a way we never have been able to do before. No longer is someone limited to picking out the best people from those who surround them, but instead one can pick people from around the world. This means that you can choose to interact with the people who you enjoy interacting with the most, no matter where they are. You never get sick of them, as you are never forced to be near them for long periods of time, and so I’ve found that I have significantly more positive relationships most of my online-only friends than I do with my real-life ones. This is not to say that I don’t have positive relationships with my real life friends; in fact, my most positive relationship is in the “real world,” with my significant other. Overall, however, I get along better with most of my online acquaintances than my “real life” ones.

However, there is a difference between positiveness and meaningfulness, and many people deride the internet for destroying meaningful relationships. However, I think that there is something particularly deep about interacting with someone only through (in my case) a written medium, like a pen pal. It reduces the other person to nothing more than pure consciousness, and aren’t we always taught that it’s what’s inside a person that counts most? What better way to get to know someone’s insides (puns intended) than to strip away the shell of their body and meet with their mind, away from the distractions of the “real world?” I believe that this level of contact can actually deepen relationships.

However, there is one very, very large “if” clause. As many are quick to point out, it is very easy to hide your identity over the internet. This allows for dangerous people to masquerade as something other than who they “really” are, and for internet users into fooling other people. I have a question for everyone with regards to this. What defines who you “really” are?

If someone is using the internet to their own sleazy ends, then their internet persona, in the end, is still sleazy. If someone used the internet to express themselves exactly as they would in “real life,” then they are exactly the same in both realms. The vast majority of people on the internet, however, are neither sleazy nor are their online selves the same as their “real life” selfs. They actively try to act differently, and many argue that they are being someone that they aren’t.

I challenge this assertion, and flip it upside down. I feel more at home on the internet, connecting with other minds only, than I do in person. In most cases (not all), I actually feel more like myself on the internet than I do in “real life.” In “real life,” we all wear masks, and are forced to hide things from other people, constantly performing, to use sociological terms, facework and impression management. On the internet, one does not need to keep up the masks anymore, as no one else can see them or reach them (unless they are interacting with a dedicated stalker, in which case there are problems to be dealt with). This dropping of the masks, I think, allows for someone’s “true” self to be revealed over the internet, as they are freed from social control; their inner thoughts and desires (Freud’s Id) can come out with the ego and superego of society keeping them down. This certainly often has a negative effect in many public venues (just look at YouTube), when people use the internet to try and become someone more than they were in real life. However, in small-scale or private interactions between people who only know each other through the internet, this does not generally occur, and I believe allows people to connect on a deeper level than they would otherwise be able to.

This is not to say that there is no merit in “real life” relationships; there certainly is, and they can definitely be enjoyed! I do not think it is necessarily accurate to judge these relationships as “inferior” to “real life” relationships, however; like “real life” relationships, each online relationship must be judged on a case-by-case basis. Is the perceived “erosion” of physical relationships really necessarily a bad thing?

Thoughts?

Ghostwriting

Posted in Philosophical Musings on March 14, 2012 by Z. M. Wilmot

Ghostwriting. The practice and trade of writing all, most, or some of a written work – nonfiction, fiction, novel, short story – for someone else, and having someone else put their name on the book to have it published. This practice is separate from the practice of “co-authoring” a book, when someone famous’ name gets put on a book written mostly by someone else, but the real author is credited relatively prominently.

I am not a fan of either practice. I think it’s dishonest, and needs to be stopped, especially pure ghostwriting.

I have nothing against the ghostwriters. They are doing what they love to do, and making money from it. Kudos to them. It’s the people who hire ghostwriters that I have the problems with. I honestly consider it plagiarism. I strongly believe that credit should be given where it’s due.

But, you may say, what if ghostwriting is just a way for the ghostwriter to reach a wider audience with their ideas? This is a valid point, but I don’t believe it stands on its own for two reasons: one, the ghostwriter is almost never in charge of the project’s direction and purpose (though without a doubt they can usually slip in their own messages and themes), and two, the reaction to the written material will likely be very different, as I believe a reader’s perception of a text is colored strongly by their knowledge of the author. Ghostwriting distorts the message of the ghostwriter to the point of unrecognizability, in many cases, especially when done by politicians. In fiction, the ghostwriter usually has more control, and often their style can come through and be easily recognizable. H. P. Lovecraft, for instance, made his living primarily as a ghostwriter, and his ghostwritten works stand on their own.

Not only is the author unfairly not getting their due, but I believe that the phenomena of ghostwriting is a reflection of larger social issues in the world. First, it’s sad that many writers have to turn to ghostwriting to make a living doing what they do. The publishing industry is extremely restrictive, and society as a whole is largely unappreciative of books, which means, directly, less people spend money buying books, and therefore it is harder to make money as an author. Writing has become more of a hobby for many (those of you who make it professionally writing, you have my respect and admiration, especially if you’re an independent author), which is fine; if you write for the money only, you shouldn’t be writing. However, by delegating writing to only a hobby, it not only devalues the author as a person and occupation, it also limits the frontiers of literature by not allowing good writers to develop their potential; they are instead forced to waste their time trying to earn the money needed to  write. This is the author’s burden, and I think it’s sad that truly talented writers often cannot make it just because of the way the publishing institution and literacy rates in the world are going.

The second major social issue I think ghostwriting reflects is the cult of the celebrity. Generally, stories are ghostwritten by talented authors for famous people. This adds to the cult of personality surrounding said famous person, as those without a keen eye or knowledge of the ghostwriting system ( a sadly high number of people) will think that on top of everything else this person does, they also are well-educated and smart because they can write a book! Yay! This adds to the prestige of the person taking the credit, and also, at the same time, makes the ghostwriter dependent on the celebrity for money. This further focuses society on the celebrity/famous person, and therefore reinforces our disturbingly celebrity-centric society.

I just wanted to get that off my chest. I am aware that many people will disagree with me. So, what do you think of ghostwriting? Does it serve a useful purpose? Is it awful? Is it good? A necessary evil? What does ghostwriting mean to you?

House of Leaves

Posted in Personal, Philosophical Musings, Readings on March 12, 2012 by Z. M. Wilmot

It is far too early in the morning as I am writing this, but I cannot sleep. I will try again after writing this.

I just read Mark D. Danielewski’s House of Leaves, and was profoundly affected by it, more so than any other thing I have read in my life. I don’t even want the book near me. It terrified the daylights out of me, and struck a nerve deep within my heart that I didn’t even know existed.

I must confess, I didn’t read the entire thing. I doubt anyone has. It is ergonic literature, meaning that part of the art form of the book is in its layout, with text spaced oddly, upside down, and sometimes illegible. I was forced to read this book for my Monster Theory class, and so did not feel compelled to read the entire thing, so I skipped most of the notes on Johnny Truant’s story, skipped the appendices entirely, and focused almost entirely on the focus of the piece, the Navidson Record. Maybe if I had read the other parts of the story, the impact of the book would have been mitigated (in some instances, the fear was definitely lessened by the odd manner of storytelling; in other cases, it greatly increased), but somehow I doubt it.

The book is about many things, and like the titular House, everyone probably sees it differently. To me, it was about the horror residing within the unknown within ourselves. The House was a very deep allegory to the subconscious and the hidden depths within us to me. I am writing a paper on the Theban Sphinx for that same class, so perhaps my interpretations of her as the guardian of forbidden Human knowledge about themselves is affecting my interpretation, but there seemed to me to be many parallels between the Sphinx and the House; the Sphinx asked a riddle about the nature of man, and the House itself was a riddle about the nature of self.

When confronted with the House – and therefore the question of who you really are and what you mean – there are different reactions. Most notably, Navidson himself perseveres and confronts himself, and his wife does the same, albeit less blatantly, and together they reach some form of closure. Holloway, the hired explorer, on the other hand, goes mad and runs away from himself after shooting (accidentally) his assistants, and takes his own life in the end, unable to deal with himself.

The yawning empty abyss of the house, its labyrinthine, ever-changing corridors, and the sense of being lost within one’s own self and one’s own world hit me on a level I cannot describe. Call me a wimp, a coward, or whatever you will, but that book did something profound to me, and I am terrified of the abyss that it opened before me.

If you want to, give it a try, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I don’t want to be near even the physical copy of that book because of what it recalls in me. It is sitting way outside my room right now. I don’t want to go near it.

I am just not ready to face myself.

The Purpose of Existence

Posted in Philosophical Musings on February 26, 2012 by Z. M. Wilmot

Existence is a funny thing. It’s both a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing in that it allows us to have consciousness, something what we couldn’t have without existence, and it allows us, through this consciousness to experience the reality of the world around us, tempered by our language, thoughts, emotions, and intuitive connections. On the other hand, reality traps us by the very things that set us free: we are restricted by the filtering screen of our language which structures out thoughts (thank Jacques Lacan for this one), and by our own physical bodies which currently provide out only way to experience existence. We are also trapped, by our existence, in the reality of our cosmos, and we are unable to escape from it. Who knows if Hell exists or not, and if it does, we are at the mercy of the universe. The universe can cause us great pain, and we can’t ever know while we are alive if there is any escape. The universe might not even be real, in the sense that we would conceive of it being real (and would it all be real if we couldn’t perceive it?).

So, existence is a blessing and a curse (being a pessimist, I generally view it as more of a curse, but I definitely see the upsides…). But no matter what we think of it, we are all stuck existing (for those of us who do exist, anyway), so we might as well make the best of it. But what exactly is making the best of existence? In essence, why are we here? Why do we exist?

Do we exist to be happy? Maybe, but would not many people be happier if they didn’t exist? More people on this planet are miserable than those who are happy. If happiness is the purpose of existence, we’re doing a miserable job at it.

So then, maybe we exist to bring happiness to others? This statement implies that, on some level, happiness is the purpose of existence. We have also done a really bad job as a species of fulfilling this, as well. And if happiness – whether giving or receiving – is the purpose of existence, what does the universe have to gain from it?

Is existence, then, an accident? Are we meant to exist at all? How long will we continue to exist? Does our existence matter?

I would argue that there is a purpose to existence. If you follow my EsoTarot blog, it may become clear to you that I am a pantheist (A Universalist Qabalistic Druidic Pantheist, to be more precise). I believe that the universe is itself at least semi-conscious, and so that it had some purpose – whether it knew it or not – that we were being created. And so it – or the subconscious forces driving the mind of the universe – created our existence and our consciousness.

And why? Perhaps my vocation biases me, but I believe that the purpose of our existence is to create. That is one thing we do well. We also destroy very well, but sometimes (not always, mind you, but sometimes) the very act of destruction  is what begots creation.

Humanity has created many, many things, and creation is the driving force behind society. We created civilization. We created the concept and practice of agriculture. We built cities. We built boats. We built empires. We (unfortunately) built nations. We built barriers to separate us from them. We painted pictures. We wrote works of literature. We built rockets. We created poetry. We sang songs, we played music, we performed and wrote plays. In factories, we have created cars, knick-knacks, appliances, and the other trappings of capitalist civilization. Even the factories are things that we built.

So then, what has the whole of human history been revolving around? The act of creation. What is the purpose of life other than to create? We create happiness. We create joy. We create sadness. Without creation, our lives are hollow. Even our children are creations, shaped as they are by those who raised them. We were meant to fill the universe – our creator, and the energy, will, and spirit that surrounds us all – with meaning by performing our own acts of creation.

And that is why I write.

A Brief Reflection on My Writing Thus Far

Posted in Philosophical Musings, Writing on February 14, 2012 by Z. M. Wilmot

As I am preparing for the release of The Libel of Blood in the near future, I have been thinking about how my writing has evolved over time to get me to the point I am at now. I believe that I have improved quite a bit since setting out on my journey.

I started out writing Fan Fiction in the Warhammer universe, and while on the forums I frequented it was lauded as good, it was contrived, formulaic, and serial, lacking any real substance and very limited continuity. However, the writing itself got better and better, until I think the year before I went to university it got rather good.

Then university came, and I decided to start writing in my own universes. I began with the first few chapters of Final Judgment, a book that will not be released for a long time. This book stars the shivvos, and marks the end of the Juxian Mythos universe. I shelved this project when I learned of NaNoWriMo, and decided to instead write a novel in a month.

And thus was born The Loneliness of Stars. It was written in a month, with another month of editing, and a second edition released a while after that. It was originally filled with typos (most of which – but not all of which – were cleared out in the second edition), and had very contrived plot sequences and caricatured characters. I went out of my way to create plot twists, and as my editor commented, you could practically hear me saying “and then suddenly surprise!” in my head. Many twists and turns seem contrived – at least to me – and most of the characters lack depth (main character aside). Many of the characters, despite being on a ship, don’t wear uniforms and instead wear ridiculous outfits reflecting their caricature. What was I thinking (fortunately, in subsequent books uniforms are more prevalent.)? It was also my first ever foray into the first-person, and I did it for an entire novel. It was an interesting experiment.

Still, despite these things – and the semi-directionless plot of the novel – the mechanics of the writing were good and I have been told it was an enjoyable read. Not bad for a first novel.

I originally had intended The Loneliness of Stars to be a one-off book, set in its own universe. Unfortunately, I found myself unable to tie up the plot-line effectively in one novel, and so in the middle of writing it decided not only to make it part of the universe of Final Judgment, but to extend it into multiple books. A trilogy, no less.

And so The Light of Civilization was born. This book was written over many months, and you can actually watch my writing improve as the book goes on. It picks up immediately where the first book leaves off, and serves as a grand introduction to the Juxian Mythos; it’s essentially a guided tour of the universe. It has a lot of infodumps in it, but the plot twists no longer seem contrived, the characters are much deeper, and the world much more developed. The Light of Civilization is much more well-written and executed, and I have heard it is more enjoyable than the first. I planned out more of the arc of The Light of Civilization than I had for The Loneliness of Stars, and I think it showed.

My horror short-story writing began while I was writing my second novel, and I believe that the writing skills I learned while writing these (characters, suspense, sentence structure awesomeness, and how to evoke feelings of horror) manifested themselves in The Light of Civilization (particularly in the scene with the Cult of the Final Apocalypse). I also was able to create a more effective monster in the form of Psy. The horror stories I also think are my best work; “The Winds of Madness” is my personal favorite of everything I’ve ever written.

The Libel of Blood is even better than the first two. It’s paced like a horror novel and is very back-heavy, but at this point I think I have managed to master the plot twist, so that it can come across without seeming contrived, and at the same time my character development skills have grown even greater (Roland van der Tyke, the villain of this book, is an example of a character who benefited from this improvement). I was able to find ways to avoid the infodumps in The Light of Civilization, and created an intricate and detailed world in this book. The pacing may seem a bit odd, and it is very back-heavy, but the structure is able to keep you reading until the huge climax at the end. This story was greatly influenced by my horror.

So, the point of this? I’ve gotten better. A lot better. If you read my three current novels, you will see the difference – and I hope you do consider picking them up and reading them.

The Kraken and Cthulhu?

Posted in Philosophical Musings, Readings on February 2, 2012 by Z. M. Wilmot

I know the comparison between the mythical Kraken and the insanity-inducing Cthulhu is an obvious one, but in the course of some casual research on Krakens (yes, when I am procrastinating I read up on my mythical beasts. At least I’ll be prepared when they come for me!), I came across the following poem by Lord Alfred Tennyson:

Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides; above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumber’d and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.

Of course, being a fan of H. P. Lovecraft, the similarities between Tennyson’s portrayal of the Kraken and Cthulhu immediately became apparent. He sleeps beneath the sea, waiting for ages to sleep until the time is right (in Lovecraft’s case, the stars, in Tennyson’s, the heat), and then he will rise up to the surface – and then die? For this, I shall just point you to Lovecraft’s quote from the Necronomicon: “And with strange aeons even death may die.” The poem even managed to get Polyps – though of the flying variety – in there.

Quite the coincidence, don’t you think? Perhaps Lovecraft read this poem, had a nightmare about it, and so Cthulhu was spawned. Or maybe, as a friend of mine suggested, Lovecraft used a time machine.

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