What if...?

[Disclaimer: My blog posts tend to prattle on a bit. You may not learn anything, but if you like randomness, read on.]

What if...?

Are you ever in a conversation that involves that question? I am. Quite often, actually. Maybe its down to the company I keep. My friends and I often ask these type of questions. Not because was are uneducated buffoons who can’t answer serious questions such as:

Who are you voting for?

What are your views on the current crisis in whatever country that is having a crisis at the moment?

What do you think of the budget report this year?

...but rather, because we enjoy the quirky things in life. Life can get very serious and tedious. Working long hours can be annoying. Parenting can be stressful. Remembering to have a shower once a month can be extremely time consuming. That last one was a joke. No, it really was a joke. I meant to say once a week... I mean daily.

Moving on. The “What if...” question can open up a world of possibilities. If you are with your friends, whether it be at a pub, café, or even at home having a few drinks and a takeaway, this question could take you on an adventure. It can bring out the humour in people, of which they’ve never seen before. Or, It could make you see the dark side in them. Either way, “What if...” is a fabulous ice breaker.

They range from full on questions that make you think, to hypothetical questions that make you say...

“Ahhhh!”

A What If... meme circulated the interweb not so long ago; still is.

 

 

Now those don’t ask you to answer the question, but rather makes you think. Quirky, aren’t it?

I was with my friends the other night... well, I say friends, I mean my wife and three cats. Again, I’m joking. It was actually a few weeks back. Anyway, we were chatting about the questions, and it got us thinking... The good thing about these questions are that they don’t have to conform to the rules of the norm. Not thinking too hard about it makes it more fun.

For instance, let's say this was said to you.

“What if the earths gravity was that of the moons?”

Now some people would overthink this, where as others would simply say something like...

“It would make traveling to work more fun, that’s for sure.”

Let me know in the comments which type you are. Would you explain the problems pertaining to decreased gravity on earth, or would you think of the fun things you could probably do? Either way is fine. That’s the fun. We can debate all night over such a simple and made up question.

Now on to a question that I was talking about the other day, with my friends... the ones in my head. I have so many conversation with myself. One would think that the best part of talking to yourself is always winning an argument. Ha! One would think!

Where was I? Oh yes! The question that got me thinking was this...

“What if we can fly?”

Like, I’m not saying... wouldn’t it be fun to fly, I'm saying... what if we can. Emphasis on CAN. So, this got me thinking. Maybe we can fly. Maybe the thing that is preventing us from flying is belief. We don’t believe we can fly, thus stopping us from flying. I know what you are thinking...

“I’ve tried to fly before, it didn’t work.”

We all have. But we didn’t (or don’t) truly believe that we can fly. And because of this, we can’t fly.

Can you think of any “What if...” questions?

What’s your favourite?

When was the last time you and your friends got together and talked utter nonsense?

Who are you voting for? Just kidding. This blog is serious enough without questions like that thrown into the fray.

Thank you for reading and enjoy the rest of your day.

The Hole

I wrote this for a friend. I hope this helps.

When faced with the loss of a loved one, it seems inevitable that you sink in to the deep hole known as despair. At first you accept that this is how it should be, but after a while you notice life around you goes on, but you can't help feeling trapped. Trying to leave the hole seems hard, and the more you try the deeper the hole gets. The longer you stay in the hole the harder it is to leave.
You plead for help, asking...

"How do I get out?"

Friends and family idly stand by, unknowingly giving you the incorrect answers such as;

"It's gonna be alright."

"Don't worry, you'll get there."

"I'm here for you." 

While you're still trapped in this deep dark hole, they stand by, not really doing anything to help you out. But instead ,make you as comfortable as you can be, in the hole you've sunk into. Not that it's their fault, we've been brought up to respect other people's emotions. We tip toe around them in fear of upsetting them more. The thing is, you are already at rock bottom when it comes to sadness and despair, and all you ask is...

"How do I get out?"

What you need is someone who is willing to push you when you are down. As harsh as this may seem, this is the only way out. This person comes along and pushes your friends to one side as they make you comfortable in this deep, dark, fetid, damp, infested hole. The longer you stay, the more poisoned you become. This person hears your call and reaches out their hand for you to grab. They say a few words that pierce your heart, but it's the only thing that you need to hear rather than what you want to hear. Hearing those word allows you to move forward and take their hand. It allows you to move on with your life. This person says to you...

"You must let go."

You look down to see yourself holding the hand of your loved one. That loved one is not going anywhere. That loved one is there to stay - in the past - and until you let go of that loved ones death, the death that has shrouded you in misery, you can't move on. Hearing those words out loud will allow you to grab hold of this persons hand ,and grant you the freedom from the hole. 
The thing that keeps you prisoner is yourself holding on to the death of the loved one. That person still lives on inside of you, in everything and everyone that person has ever touched. Your memories of them can live on, the happy one, the ones of love, of kindness. But the one that holds you back is the memory of their death. This is the one that has you trapped in this hole. Allow me to be that person that can give you strength. I'm not saying move on, that will take time. I'm simply saying...

"You need to let go."

Now you say it. Say "I need to let go." Out loud. Let go and leave that hole. The crevice of depression that is holding you back. It's what your loved one would want you to do. Again, I'm not saying to forget your loved one, I'm saying forget the death, the heartache. Remember the love and the happiness. From then on, it gets easier, believe me.


Thank you for reading. I hope that this helps you to the path of recovery, and if for whatever reason this has upset you, then please don't hesitate to let me know.

Research.

I wrote this several years ago. Please enjoy.

So a while back I decided to write a book, it’s going great, it’s only been about 5 years now. That’s not good is it? [My book is now available to read]

I have my story, my characters, and my settings. It’s finding the motivation to actually write it. My attention span isn't too grand, either. I often think about other stories, and begin writing the premise of those stories. One thing leads to another, and... Bam! I’m watching porn on the internet. Just kidding!

I keep a little note book in my pocket, to write down the countless ideas I get by observing the day to day activities of the animals that roam free in this land. Days where I have forgotten my note book, I often come home with mounds of toilet roll in my pocket, and no, that’s not a reference to my previous porn comment. The toilet roll is full of inky scribbles, which I consider writing.

Writing is a tricky business, even for a complete work of fiction that may be based on another planet, or even another universe. There is still a hell of a lot of research that needs to be done, such as the physics of your world. Now, I know we aren’t all physics experts, that’s why we need to research. There is nothing wrong with that. Something that seems so simple, like weather or even the language of your world - which is the trickiest - needs to be taken in to consideration too. Just like before, we aren’t all English wizzes. Wizziz? Wizzis? Wizzez?.

Creating a language from scratch is complicated stuff; you still need a base language to work off. Do you create the words using existing words, with the letters all muddled or changed, but still using the same amount of letters? For that you would have to create a cipher in order to remember the words easily. Where as creating words from scratch would take years to complete, and even longer to master. Just think, how long did it take for you to learn all the words in your primary language? It’s nigh on impossible as there are hundreds of thousands of words, and new ones are still being created today.

There is way more to talk about on creating a new language, but I can’t be bothered to write about it, I’m actually getting bored of this conversation. And that is what all writers face... The reader must be engaged with your subject. They must be excited, gripped. They must want to read on. You must captivate your audience with your story, and research helps. But, at the same time, over explaining certain aspects could ruin an entire chapter. We must all remember, writers and readers alike, that the story should always come first. I often find myself reading something and getting bored with the incessant descriptive passages that fill the chapter. We all know that we need to describe the surroundings in which the characters are experiencing, but we also need to remember that the reader themselves have amazing imaginations. They are able to envisage the world in which you speak. How often have you read the unrelenting description for a location in a book, only to find the location in the film adaptation of said book to be completely different to what was in your mind. Descriptions work to build our worlds, but can ultimately destroy those worlds when an abundance of descriptions are thrown at the reader, rendering them bored. several books in my (small) library have been closed, never to be opened again, because of this over describing malarkey. That's not to say those books aren't great books, and the authors aren't great writers.

Some consider a great writer to be a master wordsmith, describers of all things around them, portrayers of words, a walking thesaurus, someone with a proficient knowledge of the dictionary. Others, on the other hand, see great writers as storytellers, character creators, laugh inducers, tear makers, someone who can move a story forward quickly and precisely. Whichever one you see yourself as, we can all agree that we must still research. Whether it's a better word or phrase, locations and buildings, or even something not connected to your book, but rather a way of writing. Research can be a fabulous thing. We can discover things we never knew about the subject. Things that we never knew about ourselves.

Anyway, what I am trying to get at is, there are several avenues of research, and it helps to research random, quirky, and odd stuff too; such as blogs and articles. It can help you get ideas to expand your story, whether it's through an event or even just a casual dialogue between your characters.

This is one of the things I wrote, using a few things I researched.

A 17th century Frenchman, called François Gulliblais (pronounced france-wahh Gull-ee-blay), lived in a small town called Carnac. The king, King Louie XIV, visited often for one reason only, to mock François. François believed absolutely anything anyone had to say.
"Dragons once lived here!" The King claimed. "Do you see those Giant stones over there, the ones we call the Carnac stones? Well those are the teeth of the dead Dragons. Some say the ghost of those dragons haunt the outskirts of this land." Smirked the king. From then on, François never left the town, for fear of being eaten by the ghost Dragons.
Francois was also extremely competitive.
"I can hold my breath underwater, from breakfast to lunch." Laughed the king one day. Well, François believed him, and saw that as a challenge. So, he sought out to beat the king’s record, only to fail with the end of his life. Louie XIV was so upset by this, he left the town never to return.
As time passed, the king met many people that resembled François; with their stupidity of believing even the most impossible stories. To which the king replied...
"You're such a Gulliblais."
As time went by, the words of the king travelled far and wide. The translation shifted slightly, depending on the country. In England, that word is what we know as Gullible.

Well, what a great story. We've learnt the origin of the word gullible, thanks to the power of research. But that story is complete codswallop. One day I had to research the king of France in the 17^th century. Then of my own accord, and some time later, I researched a small town, Carnac, I was instantly fascinated with the Carnac stones. I wrote this story and chose that time period, because it seemed long enough for a word to shift slightly in pronunciation. With the use of real people and places it made it sound believable, the greatest stories are written with truths, even if they are fiction.

So, if you are writing a fictional story based on a fictional world, it doesn't harm you to do research of this world, to help with your own. Everything in this world could possibly exist in yours. I've heard of people researching words to see if they would exist in their world. The fact is, everything could exist in your world, it's your world. A word made up by a person in this world that does not exist in your world, could still exist in your world. You can create a character in your world with similar characteristics, this character could make up this word or even an invention. You don't even need to explain the origins of words or inventions. Why not leave a little mystery to your world? There is plenty in ours.

Research is the best thing you can do when writing. It doesn't hurt to learn new things, new words, new approaches. School does not end. But remember, too much information can be overkill, not just for you, but for the reader. Do not feel like you have to have mounds of text to describe something so simple. A single verdant stem, flourishing in an achromatic corolla, standing tall against its oppressors, amongst mounds of lifeless blood soaked cadavers, can easily be written as... A solitary white flower in a war-torn battlefield. Quality over quantity is what keeps readers reading. 

Thank you for reading.

Genie-ous!!

I'm often confronted with the notion that I am a bit eccentric, you know the type. My hands flail in all directions when telling a story. I rarely take a breath between sentences, when engaged in juicy gossip. I often find myself overthinking the tiniest of situations. A small lie must be thought of as a short story, all the pieces must be worked out. This lie can't be exposed, therefore my mind shifts into overdrive. The same can be said for the craziest of conversations, of which I often confront on a daily basis.

I was asked by a friend, some time ago, the question we all love. 

"You get to have one wish from a Genie, what would it be?"

Well, an abundance of counter questions begin to fly around my head, which only lead to more questions branching off in all directions. Firstly, where did the Genie come from, a lamp? If so, where did I acquire said lamp? I doubt I would find it in a cheap flee market in England. Maybe in a small town market in the Arabian Peninsula, now that seems more like it. But the problem with that is how did I get there, on holiday? How could I afford that? I doubt that I could find a family holiday to Jordan on my very tight budget. 

Once again more questions arose like - why was the market vendor selling this magical lamp? He must have known of its magical properties. A gentle rub would have released the Genie and he would have his wish, and I highly doubt being an antique dealer in a small, possibly secluded, town was his. Maybe he had his wish and it back-fired, then the Genie fled back to his lamp and couldn't be released from it via the market trader ever again. But that still leaves the question of how could I afford it? This magic lamp would surely fetch a great deal of money, none of which I could afford in my life time. I don't believe that he would have a sign saying "Magic lamp only 5 dinars." No one would believe him, thus no one would buy it.

Then my friend rolled his eyes, turned to me and said... 

"I found it, used my wish, now it’s your turn. What is your wish?"

Well, that brought up at least ten more questions, but I decided to move on.

So now I have the lamp and released the magical entity that once laid refuge inside, the rules started to flow. You know the ones.

• No wishing for more wishes in any form (I'm guessing someone once asked for a robot that grants wishes.)

• No resurrecting the dead.

• No messing with free will. 

There was only one thing to do now - the wish. What to wish for? I only get one, it has to be worth it. Now, we all know the obvious one is 'Riches'. So let’s say I wished to be a billionaire, my experience with Genies - or rather my knowledge based off of countless tv shows, films, and books - leads me to believe that he, or she - I can only surmise that the Genie community has an equal rights policy and won't discriminate against age, gender, disability, or race. Anyway I’m getting off topic here. I believe the Genie will be a bit tricky with wishes; they like to mess with you, so I’ve heard. So back to the wish, I want to be a billionaire, which leads me to think two things...

• Am I going be rich?

• Am I going to be turned into someone who is rich?

I know what you are thinking... 

"What's the difference?" 

The difference is: If I turn into someone who is rich, I become someone else, like Sir Richard Branson. Not that being the Bransonator would be a bad thing, just it creates more branched thoughts.

• I take over his life, everything including his family and business. But I have no knowledge of his business ventures, or his ethics, or anything to do with his personality. I am essentially me in his body, taking over his life. He no longer exists, I am him. Now that is a daunting prospect.

• I have his life and everything, including his personality and morals, but I basically cease to exist; I’m like an idea in the head of The Bransonator, more like a niggle, an itch. Nothing he can do about it, but I can’t do anything either, just observing the everyday life of The Bransonator. I would no longer be who I am.

• I turn into him, but have nothing of his; I just look like him. I still live where I live and have £13 in the bank to last me until pay-day.

So, no thank you! I have to rethink my 'riches' wish. Let’s ask for money. 

“I Wish for a Billion Pound.” 

We all know where this is going; I’m going to get screwed here. The money will appear in my living room rendering me unable to move as it will all be in notes... or worse - coins. I can’t have that. How will I get it to the bank? I can’t do it all in one transaction, the bank will get suspicious, most likely call the police. Even putting a thousand pound in each month will take five, seven, twelve, sixteen, erm!! Longer than my mathematical ability can be bothered to muster up, that’s a long time by the way. I guess I’ll have to ask for it in the bank... wait a minute, you realise what’s wrong with that, don’t you? Here we go again. So, according to the bank records, where did the money come from? It will have to have an account number in which it was transferred from, which leads me to think that someone is down one billion pound, AND they would instantly call the police, which will lead to me.

Let’s start again... 

“I wish to win the Lottery”

The next lottery draw I win. Yes! Get in! But it’s only two pound. I knew that would have happened, because I always think ahead. So instead I say... 

“I wish to win the Lottery Jackpot, The English Lottery jackpot” 

Oh yes! I have him now, or she, remember equal opportunities and all that. So the next lottery draw approaches and I wait impatiently for my numbers to come up, 3, 7, 14, 20, 21, 40, and the bonus ball is 17.

C**P!!

Those aren’t my numbers, what happened? I worked it all out. No body-swapping. No piles of money. No stealing. It was flawless, so what went wrong? Then it hit me, I didn’t say when, I got well and truly screwed, I would later put the Lottery on a Direct Debit, so as not to miss the Lottery once. Only to find out, at the age of 82 and on my death bed, that I had won the Lottery. I was a Billionaire for ten minutes, eight of which were spent having a heart attack.

I then looked up to find that my friend had gone. Sick of my eccentricity toward a simple question. I can't help myself.

Thank you for reading.