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Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa

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  1. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    And now that my reflections are over, how better for a writer to end a year than with a story? This is, in a way, a sequel to Polychromatic Frowns; it can be called such, at any rate, because it is of the same style. And so here it is, the last words I shall pen in 2012:
     
     

    Sanguine Goodbyes


     
    I lost the only girl I ever truly cared about today.
     
    I gave her everything. I gave her all the time I could spare and all the help I could offer and all the love I could give. But it wasn't enough for her. I don't know what would have been and I don't know what more I could have done. She told me she was breaking up with me and I guess that's what she did.
     
    But just look on the bright side of it all. Sure, I'll be upset for a while, but tears don't take up nearly as much time as phone calls at all hours to talk about so many things that by the time we were done I would have no idea what I was doing before she called, or than long walks that ache my legs and make my hand stiff from holding hers so long.
     
    Sure, I'll never forget her, but memories don't cost as much as expensive dinners where the lights are so low you can hardly see your food without spilling spaghetti sauce down your front which of course doesn't matter because nobody can so you anyway; or gifts for birthdays or Christmases because even though it's superficial and mercenary commercial corruption makes it incumbent, which is so much as to say its absolutely necessary and can't be avoided, which doesn't matter because everyone does it.
     
    I'm sure the pain--which feels like the anesthesia wore off in the middle of an operation and I woke up to find a surgeon with rough, cold hands and some very sharp, but very shiny and pretty in a way, object poking around my heart--will go away. And then I'll never be hurt again. At least not as much. I might fall down a staircase as I sometimes do or cut my finger while chopping vegetables or hit my thumb with a hammer, or I might even go skydiving and find my parachute was replaced with an anvil or I might get run over by a car whose driver is too busy texting to notice or I might get shot, but none of that hurts as much as this does, nor even does a paper cut.
     
    And I guess I'll be spared of the jealousy I might someday have felt toward her because of her general perfection in every way from kindness to wisdom to shrewdness to effervescence to temerity to veracity to liberality to patience to optimism to humility and back to kindness and all over again two or three times.
     
    And I'll never feel that sensation like there are a thousand monarch butterflies migrating south from my heart into my stomach again. At least not for her face, which was altogether too pretty, anyway. After all, she beauty was so peerless in all respects that staring at her would eventually have caused me to go blind, anyway, and I'm much better off seeing, I think.
     
    And besides that, being with her made me so happy that eventually I would probably just burst with the joy, and that would be very messy and very unpleasant for us both and would have left her very sad and lonely in the end.
     
    When you think about it, love is really a very impractical and very inconvenient thing and it should be far preferable to be all alone with nobody else to interfere between me myself and I. I'll be able to talk to myself all I want, because I do rather enjoy hearing myself talk. She always used to, too, but obviously she got tired of it, which I can't understand at all. But that's just another reason I'm better off now.
     
    So you see, it really doesn't matter than she stabbed me in the heart--metaphorically speaking, of course, because if she had really stabbed me in the heart I would be dead and she would be in prison, or else lying to police detectives who she could probably outwit anyway. It really doesn't matter, as I was saying, that she turned what I expected to be a lovely evening into the most unpleasant and anguishing time I have ever spent, even the night I spent in the hospital because I had mistaken a bear trap for a hula-hoop or the time I had gotten into an elevator so hurriedly I had only one sleeve on and forgot to pull the other through the doors before they closed.
     
    So you see, it really doesn't matter that she told me she thought we should see other people. She was probably right, because like I said before if we had stayed together I probably would have lost my vision with which to see anyone else or anything at all, which are mostly things I do like to see. It doesn't matter that she turned and walked away from me for what will probably turn out to be the last time. It's all for the better that I smiled and waved as she left, and called after her,
     
    "At least I won't ever have to look at your beautiful face again, which was far too distracting, or listen to your dulcet voice, which in its inimitability took all the fun out of hearing ocean waves or singing birds. And at least I won't go blind or burst with happiness!"


    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  2. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    That's Buddy, Sally and Mel from The Dick Van Dyke Show, not to mention a bit appearance by Alan Brady. Danny Thomas also appears, and later Granny from The Beverly Hillbillies.
     
    Okay, but how was the movie? Without giving anything away, it's about Charlie (Morey Amsterdam) and two female co-workers going into the book business, and getting mixed up in an espionage intrigue and a bank robbery.
     
    Basically, this is what they did before animated talking-animal movies came into vogue, only better than that makes it sound. It's replete with the brilliant humor of the time--in fact, I noticed three jokes from The Dick Van Dyke Show, probably all the Human Joke Machine's own--along with a not-so-brilliant humor that I think we can all agree should have stayed in the time. It's not going to change your life, but it's work a watch, by all means, and a must-see for any Dick Van Dyke fan.
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  4. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    The Book of the Dead


     
    The fading sunlight imbued the upper reaches of the bland gray stone with a gold tincture. The shadows stretched away from my window, as if running away from me.
     
    I felt like shooting the sun. But I knew even I couldn’t make that shot.
     
    Besides, it was behind me. I was peering across the crowded street to the rooftop garden where a young man lounged in his undergarments, reading a book. I hoped, for his sake, it was a good one, worthy of his final moments.
     
    As I took out my gear and began setting up, I asked myself the question. If I was about to die, what book would I want to read? To Kill a Mockingbird? I laughed at the thought. There was irony in that.
     
    Maybe a murder mystery. An Appointment with Death. One thing was certain, if I died, it would be with the grin of my last joke forever immortalized across my inert face.
     
    Until it rotted. But that was life. And this was death.
     
    I peered through the sight and lined up the cross-hairs. I had a perfect shot from here. Maybe I didn’t know my employer, but he sure knew what he was about. And all I needed to know was my job, the fact that my boss had money, and a few good jokes.
     
    I waited. Through my binoculars I could tell he was nearly through with the novel. I wasn’t busy that night; I would give him time. I’d let him finish reading, then I’d kill him.
     
    The sun disappeared and the shadows deepened. He moved only once, to turn on a light. Then he returned to his reading.
     
    I wondered what book it was. I couldn’t make out the title. But I guess that didn’t matter. I was less curious why I was hired to kill him, but that didn’t matter either. Even if I was just a toy, the instrument in a stronger arm, I didn’t care.
     
    I enjoyed what I did. That was all that mattered to me.
     
    Oh, and the money. Yeah, the money. That, too.
     
    Finally he turned the last page. His eyes roved down the page, though I couldn’t see them. Then he closed the book, closed his eyes, and leaned back, sated and smiling.
     
    One of those books that left you feeling there was nothing more to life than that brief escape to fiction, I hoped. Because, for this fellow, there was nothing more to life.
     
    I aimed. I pulled the trigger. And I packed up.
     
    Time to pick up a check and then head to the bookstore.
     
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  5. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    The detritus of an Ambage write-off isn't always pretty. The theme was "pathfinding," a forecast of the contest. I this day wrote my two entries and submitted them. Though by the rules of the contest I am permitted a third, I rejected this story due to a lack of love for it that, if you read it, will be understandable.
     
    That said, I did in a small way enjoy writing it; though it was a bittersweet feeling as would accompany any writing taking place in the constraints of fifteen minutes is wont to be.
     
    That all said, here is the refuse, the poorly executed forerunner of my The Extra Mile:
     
     

    The Hardest Path


     
    The stars were bright that night. I don’t think they’ve ever been brighter. It’s funny. The whole evening had been that way.
     
    The twilight had been more golden than I had ever seen it. It gilded everything it touched, glimmering on the drops from the afternoon’s rain. The humidity in the air was warm and caressing, nothing less.
     
    And the rays of the sun as they touched the skies, lending its tinctures to the clouds in varying shades, can only be described by one word: magical.
     
    Even her eyes that night glowed with a sheen that transcended her consuetudinary effervescence.
     
    Ironic. When I felt at my worst, the world is at its best.
     
    When I felt in the depths of despair, the world around me was in the heights of glory.
     
    Even when the tears hung on her lashes like the last raindrops hung from the leaves of the trees; even when her face was as moist as the sodden earth; even when she could hardly keep her voice level, she was smiling at me.
     
    That smile. She always smiled. Always. I’ll never forget it. That memory will be all that remains to keep me company.
     
    She told me it was over. She told me that friendship was no longer possible, the way she felt . . . and the way she knew I felt.
     
    But she told me she wasn’t ready for anything more. And in my heart I knew that I wasn’t, either.
     
    And now I’m lost. And alone. And waiting, and searching. Perusing the profundity of my broken heart and my wounded soul.
     
    Time. It can be an impasse as substantial as any other. Incorporeal or not, it’s more insuperable than most, for there is only one way to overcome it.
     
    Let it pass. Let it go by.
     
    It’s a mire. It’s daunting. But I have to trudge me way through. I have to wait.
     
    How could I do anything else? It’s all I can do for her, now. I always swore I would do everything; how could I turn back now?
     
    When I made the pledge with but God as my witness, I had no idea the task she would require of me would be as hard as this. But I’ll find my way through. I have to.
     
    I love her. How can I do anything else?
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  7. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    As the cover lifts off the precious pages, among the first things you see in any book are the various credits. It is only fair, therefore, as a first order of business to give credit where it is due. For my Premier Membership I owe my thanks entirely to GSR and his giveaway. The drawing ended, as GSR explained to me, with my name in the fourth slot, and there were only three prizes. However, after over two weeks of inactivity and failure to claim his prize, one of the winners was disqualified, and I found it my deferred fortune to be the recipient of one single-year Premier Membership.


     
     

    We can all, I think, bring our hands together to applaud GSR's munificence. Thank you, sir!


     
     
     

    Without, then, any further ado, allow me to introduce to you myself: Nuile, the Lunatic Wordsmith. First and foremost, I write. That's my passion, my life. The opportunity to breathe the worlds of my imagination onto paper, to venture to faraway places both real and fantastic, and to fraternize with the studies that inhabit them; that's what I live for. Though most people think of reading as an escape, I think of it as a window: a looking-glass that, by taking you through worlds non-existent, reveals the true world beneath the superficial one. For so many reasons, in so many ways, I love to write.


     
     

    That being of greatest import, I imagine you have read one or the other or both of my profiles, which leaves but little to be said. I can only hope that over the ensuing twelve months that you will stay with me, as it is my humble belief that you may just find yourself entertained by the ravings of this wordsmith.


     
     

    Until next time,


     
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  8. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    Is it January 12th yet?
     
    All right, well, there were formatting issues that delayed matters. Amazon recently altered their system without updating their guides, and that led to complications. But all is well now; and The Second Death is now for sale!
     
    It can be purchased here. It is for sale exclusively through Amazon right now, and for Kindle alone; which means that if you don't have a Kindle or an iDevice with a Kindle application, you won't be able to read it--yet. But it will be available in physical paper before long!
     
    Remember that the current price--.99 cents--is a temporary deal which ends on the 26th, from which date until the 30th it will be free to buy. Buy it free and it is yours to keep forever. After the 30th, the price will become $2.99, which will only apply to future purchases, of course. So tell all your mystery loving friends to get their hands on the eBook while it's free.
     
    And I hope that, after you've read it, you will share your elocution in an Amazon product review. =D But whether you do or not, just the reading part is appreciated. Enjoy!
     
    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith
  9. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    Last time I'll plug this, I promise.
     
    The Second Death, Kindle eBook, is free now through January 30th. Get your hands on it now and it's yours to keep forever, yours to read any time your Kindle is handy, and yours to review if you happen to feel munificent and eloquent. ;D Just be sure to let me know so I can give you proper thanks.
     
    All right, I'll say no more on the subject. At least not any time soon. Thanks again!
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith



  10. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    For the past few weeks, cradled gently in the center of a modest web, an arachnid has hung in my writing window. I have watched him, day after day, week after week, setting upon the prey that flies unwittingly into his net, or rocking in the breeze. I have seen the dew drops hang from each glistening strand in the growing sunlight. I have watched the great care with which he tends his home, strengthening and expanding it diurnally with fresh threads of silk, or carefully cutting loose fallen leaves that drifted to his front door.


     

    But I have also witnessed the hardships which he endures for his precious homestead. I have seen it torn apart by wind, only to be reconstructed and reinforced. I have seen him repairing the damages made by globules of rain. Perhaps most impressive was the rainstorm that hit us last night. The rain was torrential, and when I went to bed there was neither sign of silk nor spider, and I was afraid the poor fellow had finally given up the ghost. I did not expect to see him again.


     

    But when I looked late night morn, there he was, nestled with great pride at the center of his largest, strongest and most ornate web yet, each strand glimmering majestically in the sunlight. I think there's a lot to be said for this little crawly who might not, after all, be quite so creepy. And I think he says it all himself through his valor and perseverence.


     

    Though difficult his task be; yet he does it anyway. Though it will all have to be done again; yet he does it anyway. Though delicate his dwelling be, though perilous his life be; yet he never desponds and he never gives up. He just keeps on working with great personal esteem for what he does. And after each job well done, he revels in the simple glories of the sunrise and sunset, the simple joys of each meal when the wait for it is over. To him his web is not a bane, but a pleasure; a source of great happiness. It may be the life allotted to him, it may be the only life he knows; but does that not mean, consequentially, that it is the only life he loves and enjoys?


     

    I think from the conduct of this small creature there is a great lesson to be learned in many ways. And I think that, when next we roll up that newspaper or brandish that fly swatter, we might all do well to pause and reconsider the action we are about to take. How much more magnanimous it would be to fetch a glass and slip of paper, and to carefully relocate the creature to the outdoors, where he will be out of our hair, and we out of its. After all: if we cannot be kind in the small things . . . how can we be in the big?


     

    Postscript. The most ironic twist of fate has just been played on me to further ingrain in me this lesson. After writing this whole entry, with a few mistaken clicks I deleted in its entirety, along with quite a bit more work that I had done. At first I was very frustrated, but as soon as I realized the hypocrite I was being, I could not help but laugh at myself. And you know what? It was my pleasure to write it all the first time, and it was to do so again. That--that is the wisdom of the humble spider.


     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  11. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    And now, my friends, the time has come to ponder what this past year has been to my life.
     
    It has been one of the longest years of my life, and one of the most difficult, but I cannot call it the worst. Nor can I call it the best. It was not bad, and it was not great, but it was good. There are many things upon which I can look back with joy, and those which I can look back upon with remorse, as well. That's life, though.
     
    I've changed so much in the past year. I guess that's what happens in twelve months. But these twelve months especially. Probably I've learned more in the past year than I ever have in the space of a year. Likely I have undergone more alteration than I ever have in such a period. Possibly all this is true. But of one thing I am sure: in this past year more than ever, I have ameliorated.
     
    I look back at last January and I just feel like slamming my face into my desk. In fact, I think I will. Ouch. Okay, that's done.
     
    Reading over my journal (something all writers should keep) I wonder who that fool could have been who wrote some of the thoughts there placed, in all their obtuseness, where they will forever have posterity in my memory. Hard as I may try to forget that time, I will always keep my idiocy there to remember. Oh, not that I was an cool dude, at any rate not much more than I am now. I am, in many ways, the same person I was then. When I look back at writing style, for instance, little has changed there, bar maybe a few improvements and perhaps even a few degradations--and little, I positively believe, tells more about a person than what they write and how they write it. But in one way I was very much a fool; in one way I made a mistake I have not yet been able to live down.
     
    Now the subject is decidedly personal and I am sorry that I must be vague. I can but say that, some fifteen months ago, I wronged some one quite close to me. Be assured it's not nearly as serious as it sounds; only to me. Not even to they whom I have wronged, I think, does it matter as much as it does to me. I know this sounds illogical and probably does not make much sense; even if I elucidated the situation in minute detail you would still see it that way. Possibly you're right, but that can't change how I feel about what I've done, can it? Maybe I'm being irrational--no, I confess it, I am. But maybe this isn't the place for rationality.
     
    Dispensing with these recondite adumbrations, I think I will pursue the more tangible thread of thought I have extricated from the tangle. Rationality: Is it really so important?
     
    No, I don't think it is. What it comes down to, I think, is prudence. That seems to be the only ubiquitously foolproof answer to any question: prudence. Not reason exactly, not logic nor rationality, but the prudence to decide when and which of these to apply, or when to resort rather to one's faith, another's wisdom, or one's own heart.
     
    To put it succinctly I will quote myself, or rather my intelligent friend Reise: "Though knowledge and logic may not always steer you right, faith and wisdom will never fail."
     
    The greatest difficulty is in finding a complex solution to a simple problem. Maybe my difficulty is in looking for one. Maybe it is a simple solution I should be seeking!
     
    But, well, that's neither here nor there, is it? That's all in the past. And what I am to do now--that's probably been boring you, has it not? It is my philosophy not to allow myself to be absorbed in what is done and unchangeable. For to do so is to forsake the opportunity to actively carve the future. When I make a mistake, I learn from it and move on. When I fall, I pick myself and keep walking.
     
    I'll trip again, there's no doubt about that. It can't be helped! One of the most foolish things a person can do is to fear the future because it holds unpredictable hazards. These same people are usually the nostalgic types, too. To yearn what is lost and fear what is to come--this is absolute folly. Natural, perhaps, but folly. We must learn from the past; we must look to the future; but we must live in the moment!
     
    This is New Year's Eve; a time to look back. So I allow myself the time to do so. Tonight will be a time to enjoy the moment. And tomorrow will be a day to look to the future!
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  12. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    Another year of my life nearly written! And as this chapter draws to a close, it is time to review my own work, as any good writer should do.
     
     
    I'll begin in superficial ways. First, filmographically.
     
    I'd say it was a pretty good year. I've seen plenty of great films, new whether to the world or to me, or old by various definitions. Let's take a look at some of the highlights.
     
    Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace 3D. This remains my favorite of the Star Wars saga, and the three-dimensional enhancements were highly impressive. 3D has come a long way since those blue and red paper glasses. Add "Duel of the Fates" and Liam Neeson as some of the qualities, improve the experience with the company of my best friend, and mark it as all the more special for being my own visit to the cinema in the past year, and it is very well worthy of note.
     
    Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows. Best movie of all time. I knew that the instant I saw it, and until another movie steps up to replace it--possibly Sherlock Holmes 3--it will keep the title. And even then it will always live in my memory as one of the greatest films of cinematic history. Moreover, the sequence that begins from the words, "A five minute game?" will always preserve a place in my heart under the honorable title of the scene.
     
    The Dark Knight Rises. I actually saw this for the first time today. If you've seen it, there should be no question in your mind why I call it one of the better movies I've seen this year. Though I'm not particularly savvy nor interested in the area of politics, I admire this film series not only for its depth in that area but also in that of character. The morality and the realms of the human psyche explored in these movies, as exemplified by the pit sequence, fascinate me. Though I still prefer Batman Begins, Dark Knight Rises is an excellent film in its own right.
     
    Avengers. Not a lot of depth to this one, but boy, there was some good fighting. What I especially loved about the action was that we had a bit of everything; Iron Man's science fiction, Thor's midieval magic, Captain America's hand-to-hand, Hulk's smash. There was a little philosophy worth contemplating in Loki's monologues and there was an enjoyable depth to the dispute on the helicarrier, but on the whole the point of this movie was all the great fighting.
     
    It's Christmas, Carol! If you didn't label me as a heretic for visiting the cinema only once this year, you probably will for listing a Hallmark movie among the highlights of my year. It's a typical play on Charles Dickens's classic, in this case portraying Scrooge as a woman, the C.E.O. of a publishing house. The ghosts were all one, the revenant partner of the Scrooge, played by Carrie Fisher. Scrooge's estranged love was a writer. If you hadn't gathered, there was a strong literary theme throughout the film. It was very sweet, and the story held a personal meaning for me, not just in the many books that adorned its scenes.
     
    We Bought a Zoo. I include this because it was a cute story with realism, drama, and profound romance.
    　
     
     
    And now to take a look back at my regrets, what I hope to improve in future years. For one, I have sworn off modern animated comic films after wasting time with Batman/Superman: Apocalypse and Under the Red Hood.
     
    Moreover, I hope to more firmly uphold my past resolution never to waste as much as another hour of my life with the worthlessness that is the Pokemon film franchise, and to fight more fervently my siblings's supplications to join them in this gratuitous activity. From now on I listen to the full version of the theme song and then I'm gone.
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  13. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    In checking my notes I found, rather to my disappointment, that I have read little over twenty novels in the past year. Not a very significant number at all, and not a very satisfying one, but there you go. Nothing can be done about it now! The past cannot be changed. But that is the point of this reflection, is it not? Evaluating the past to better plan for the future.
     
    To Kill a Mockingbird is easily the best novel I've read this year. I believe I already reviewed it some months ago in early October. The vitality, realism and warmth of her characters and story are such as to be irrefragibly lauded, and to leave the reader wishing Harper Lee had not started and ended her career in the same novel, though it is certainly a more than respectable accomplishment for one writer.
     
    Free Air was one of the first books I read this year and I loved it. I saw some of myself and my life in the characters and the story, which is always one of the reasons any reader likes a book. Moreover, this is one of the sweetest, most charming romances I have ever read. Sinclair Lewis's style is engaging, his portrayals of the characters and emotions vivid and even poignant. I am not unemotional but I am stoic, and am not easily moved to laughter, nor to tears, and it is one of the greatest comments I can pay an author that he moved me to both.
     
    Now, this may sound strange to you, but Tarzan of the Apes was highly redolent of Free Air for me. The latter was was written in 1919 while Tarzan itself was written in 1914, and thus they share a not dissimilar era. But their real resemblance is in the romantic story. It was very touching, even heartbreaking. Otherwise this story has some of the most thrilling action that can be found in literature of more than a hundred years in antiquity, in the midst of beautiful descriptions of the jungle, its denizens, and its enchantments. The depths of the psyche it explores are fascinating, as well. The worst I can say is that Burroughs was no stedfast believer in the writing precept "show don't tell," which at times would have done him much good, while at others he embraced it, while at others still he defied it.
     
    I will more briefly recapsulate some of the other highlights of my literary sallies this year. The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux, was another romance that touched me; Warriors: Omen of the Stars: The Last Hope by Erin Hunter was the epic conclusion to a series I have been following for five, six, possibly seven years; The Bat by Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood is a brilliant mystery; The Nine Tailors by Dorothy L. Sayers, . Lastly, The Secret of Chimneys, written by the inestimable Agatha Christie, an authoress nonpareil in the mystery genre, was another brilliant work that stepped, not without keeping its roots firmly planted, out of the traditional detective fiction genre into adventure thriller territory.
     
     
    Regrets! Do I have regrets? Further, I should say; apart from the paltry number of works of fiction I have read in the past year. Are there books I wish I had not read? Yes. The Film Mystery by Arthur B. Reeve, and both A Taste for Death and The Black Tower by P.D. James are stains in my memory that will always remind me how not to write detective fiction. It is a genre of the highest standards and the most honorable traditions; and though in modern days it has been deeply tainted, the heart that lies in the Golden Age shall always continue to beat in my own chest and in those of mystery readers and writers like myself. The Golden Age glows with such a resplendent luminosity as will never be dulled or extinguished!
     
     
    And before I conclude this entry, here's a list of some of the best short stories I've read on BZP this year:
     

    Special


    The Son Becomes the Father


    Depression


    Clockwork


    Black Diamonds

     
    Thanks to these authors, and to all the authors of BZP who make it such a great writing community! Moreover, thanks to the BZPower staff, for your recent gift of Off Topic Culture. All of you make the BZP libraries a great place to write.
     
    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith
     
  14. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    I don't watch much television, and this year has held little broadcast significance for me. However, those ways in which television was meaningful to me were especially meaningful, so I will make note of them.
     
    This year I was introduced by my best friend to The Legend of Korra, with which I immediately fell in love. I began watching Avatar: The Last Airbender posthaste, and well before Korra had run its whole season I had beheld the grand spectacle that was the Last Airbender finale. This is a great television series that will always hold for me a meaning deeper in comparison to most shows for its connection with the aforementioned friend--the same friend, by the way, for whose birthday I wrote The Last Avatar. I advertise shamelessly.
     
    Sherlock was recommended to me by the same friend, as it happens, though everyone else I know advocates the same opinion in its favor, and I don't find it difficult to see why. When it comes to mystery television I doubt if I've ever seen better. These are not "whodunits," which are my preference, but which are not in the vein of Doyle, anyway. I don't believe I've ever seen a very good television "whodunit" anyway, and I feel that maybe if they are not literary they are best avoided. But I digress. Sherlock, while being quite unique in its own right, while breathing a fresh and modern breath into the classic characters, also adheres surprisingly well to Doyle's original vision of his characters and stories, and the writers are well to be commended.
     
    The Dick Van Dyke Show remains to be the best and greatest television show I have ever seen, not only for its transcendence in comedy, but for a simple love of the characters and the romantic relationship between Robert Petrie and his wife, Laura. This year has introduced me to a number of episodes I have never before seen, including "To Tell or Not to Tell," "Teacher's Petrie," and "Never Bathe on a Saturday," some of the best of the series.
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  15. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    The Year in Review: Writing
     
    In brief calculation I have written upwards of fourty short stories during 2012, most of which were flash fiction, some of which climbed above five thousand words.
     
    In the Jungle, which I assure you is not a songfic based off "Wim-o-weh," is my top choice for the best short story I wrote this year. As far as story, it has been compared to Beauty and the Beast and Hunchback of Notre-Dame, and I myself compare it to Tarzan of the Apes in an inverted way. As far as style, it's been complimented as containing some of my most beautiful prose, and I am much inclined to agree. But I'll stop patting myself on the back; you're welcome to judge for yourself, if you'd like. If not, I'll give you the brief synopsis: Hahli gets lost in the Le-Wahi jungle. But, oh, there's so much more to this BIONICLE romance, and it's sequel, I Am the Jungle. And I'm still patting myself on the back, aren't I? Heh, yeah, sorry.
     
    Polychromatic Frowns was not only metaphorical, philosophical, and encouraging--at least to me--but I had a darn good time writing it, too. It's little over 500 words, so if you're feeling down, I think you would enjoy it. You don't have to review it or even comment on it.
     
    What else did I write this year? Well, not much, I guess. Only a thirty thousand word novella--The Last Avatar--and two novels, one of eighty-five thousand words, the other of seventy thousand. These last are not available to read . . . yet. And lastly, I wrote twenty thousand wirds of a third novel this month.
     
    Any regrets? . . . Nah, I think I'm pretty happy. I'm a writer, and I feel like one; I'm not only content with that, not only happy with it, not only satisfied, but I should say I'm pretty ecstatic about my passion.
     
    "No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money." - Samuel Johnson
     
    I think the entire Ambage will join me in agreeing that this is probably true. Although I might paraphrase . . .
     
    "No creature but a lunatic ever wrote, except for lucrative remuneration."
     
    Indeed. That about sums it up.
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  16. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    A great misfortune has this day afflicted the world. I think we can all agree that there is nothing to do in the face of such woe as this but to lament affectionately and honor the deceased. On this day has taken leave of the mortal world one arachnid by the name of Theodore; that's right, that aforementioned spider, one of the insect kingdom's wisest of creatures, one of the most misunderstood forms of life, and one of the most tragic losses to befall this planet.
     
    But let us bow to his valiance. His death was not in vain. In a bitter battle to the death, wise, good, noble Theodore protected his homestead, his humble web, from a merciless intruder. The enemy spider's attempts were vanquished, as proved by the mangled, inert body ensnarled in the tattered strands of silk. Theodore managed in his last moments to inject a fatal venom into the fragile form of his combatant, but in the ensuing struggle he received a taste of the invader's own fangs. Our hero slipped and plunged to the end of his rope, where he hung helplessly until the virulent toxins overcame him, too.
     
    All that remains now is a damaged battlefield, two bodies. We can but pay our final respects to Theodore and honor his virtuous end. Let us have a moment of silence. . . .
     
    . . . . . . .
     
     

    R.I.P. Theodore



    2012-2012



    He strung the world together


     

    Sincerely, Nuile


  17. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    This is the result of my first Ambage Write-off. Just managed to finish in the fifteen minutes allotted.
     
    Theme: Passion
     
     

    Twinkle, Twinkle


     
    The fading sunlight shimmered on her dancing hair, turning her raven-black head to an aureole to frame her cordate, angelic face.
     
    I swung my short legs off the edge of the bench as we leaned back, laughing at the joke I had just told.
     
    “Patt,” she giggled, “you’re such a dork.”
     
    I grinned. “But I’m an amusing dork.”
     
    She tossed her head, and the hair danced even more. “So you say.”
     
    “You’re the one who laughed.”
     
    “I only giggled.”
     
    “You were amused.”
     
    “Oh, shut up.”
     
    We swung our legs in synchronization as the sun continued to sink. The gently blowing breeze was growing in strength and lessening in temperature, carrying night in on black wings.
     
    She raised a hand to point at the first star that appeared. “Look! I love it when the first star appears, don’t you?”
     
    I nodded. “It’s like—like a promise. Of the coming night.”
     
    Her head bobbed eagerly. “Most people wish on it, but my mom says that’s stupid. She says it doesn’t grant wishes; it keeps promises.”
     
    “How so?”
     
    “Like you were saying. It’s a promise of things to come.”
     
    I looked up. “So . . . it keeps promises?”
     
    “Yup! You make it a promise and it keeps it for you. So then you have to come through on it. So you can only make promises you truly believe in.”
     
    My head was on its side, regarding the star with a sudden interest. I had never heard it put that way before.
     
    “It’s magical,” she went on. “Stars have always been seen as magical.”
     
    “I’ve never heard it put like this, though,” I said. “But it’s a beautiful way.”
     
    “Do you want to make a promise on it?” she asked.
     
    “Yeah. Like—like—oh, I don’t know. I’ll promise that I’ll never give up on my dreams! I’ll always write! Someday, someday I’ll write a novel.”
     
    “Well, that’s a boring promise.”
     
    “I believe in it.”
     
    “But it needs to be something that you need it to believe in. It can’t be something easy.”
     
    “Well—like what?”
     
    “Something dramatic. Like you’ll—you’ll never tell a lie.”
     
    “But that’s impossible.”
     
    “Well . . .” She bit her lip, considering. “Okay. I’ve got it! Let’s make a promise together!”
     
    “Together?”
     
    “Yeah! We’ll promise each other that we’ll never be apart, and that we’ll always be friends!”
     
    “But what if--”
     
    “Promise!” she snapped.
     
    “Okay, I promise!” I conceded. Then I added, more slowly, “And let’s promise—that when we are apart—because we will be, someday—that we’ll always be thinking of each other.”
     
    “Yeah!”
     
    “I swear it.”
     
    “Me too. I promise.”
     
    And she smiled at me. And I smiled back. And we went back to our stargazing, as more heavenly luminaries began to show their faces. As enough began to appear, we started pointing out constellations.
     
    I watched her eyes light up at the sight of each one. I watched her lips curve at their shapes in that way that always made me happier than I could ever understand. And I promised, silently, I’ll always be with you; we’ll always be friends; and someday . . . when the time is right . . . we’ll be more.
     
    Opinions--positive, negative or optimistic--are welcome, and appreciated, as always.
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  18. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    . . . It's a little slice of heaven secluded in an unassuming pocket of the world I never before ventured to.
     
    I've lived in this town most of my life, and never been there. Now I'll never go to another bookstore.
     
    My pickings:
     
    By Agatha Christie:
    They Came to Baghdad
    The Blue Train Mystery
    The Labors of Hercules
    The Secret Adversary
    The Secret of Chimneys
    Murder at Hazelmoor
    The Witness for the Prosecution and other stories
    Cat Among the Pigeons
    Curtain
    And:
    To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (because I wanted a personal copy)
    Two-Minute Mystery Collection by Donald J. Sobol
     
    After trading in some old P.D. James I despised, the total came to $9. Not too shabby!
     
    On that note, I also owe you reviews of 100%, The Red House Mystery, and The Mysterious Benedict Society.
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  19. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    You make lemonade.
     
    Opportunities are funny things; they call them chances because, indeed, opportunity relies a little upon chance. At times they'll come when you least want them, at others they won't come when you do. And they always say when an opportunity presents itself, seize it; I say, present yourself to an opportunity and let it seize you.
     
    As an example, the other night I was toying with a dismembered Phantoka Makuta body and observed non-sequitur to my brother, "Has it ever happened to you that someone opened their chest to eat you?"
     
    "No, to be honest, I don't think it's an occurrence I have ever encountered."
     
    "Do you think you ever will?"
     
    "No, I don't."
     
    So then and there I seized each breast of my shirt, tore it open, and with the open chest consumed his head.
     
    Take this illustration under advisement, and glean what lessons you can. Opportunity is not to be overlooked, but one should never just wait around for chance to strike, either.
     
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  20. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    Tekulo, AZBlue and I will here be brainstorming ideas and discussing details for the upcoming epic we will be collaborating on. Therefore the comments included herein will contain spoilers. YE BE WARNED.
     
     
     




     
     

    Team logo. What do you think? Huh? Huh?


     
     



     
     
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


  21. Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa
    I compiled a list to keep me on track of all my projects that pertain to writing, and I thought I'd share it.
     
     
    On BZP:
    - Co-host the Ambage
    - Keep up with SSCC reviews
    - A long list of "to-reads"
    - Plan and write Nothing Destined with AZBlue and Tekulo
    - Post The Last Avatar
     
    Elsewhere:
    - Write a series of mystery puzzles
    - Script a comic series for an artist
    - Collaborate on a tongue-in-cheek article on gaming
    - Write an article on detective fiction
    - Coordinate a writing club
     
    In Life:
    - Revise my recently finished mystery novel
    - Maintain an 800-words-a-day minimum writing the sequel to the aforementioned
    - Convince a friend to let me read her creative writing class works
    - Critique same
    - Otherwise continue convincing said friend to embrace the gift I have noticed previously in her writings
     
     
    And by the way, Tekulo, sorry for the delay in my brainstorming response. But here you have my list of excuses. XD I'll reply soon, I prom--well, hope.
     
     
     

    Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith


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