Dream sequence…

I pulled my Tundra into one of the three open parking spaces in front of Cambridge Hall, careful not to tap the semi-circular wall where we use to spend inordinate amounts of time sitting around, smoking and joking. It was a good spot. In fair weather the wall was perfect height for lazing about. In foul weather it was low enough to jump so we could hunker down in the lee of the building with enough overhang to stay out of worst of the wind, rain, or snow. Sometimes we were avoiding all three. It’s Frostburg after all and that particular trifecta wasn’t exactly rare. That was the late 1990’s, of course. I’m sure there’s no one smoking or joking there now. Both of those things are probably verboten acts, practically crimes against higher education in the modern era. But it’s my dream, and my memory.

It was dark. I was stopping, sometime during winter, to pick up clean clothes and a dry pair of shoes. The building itself was fully lit, welcoming, but seemed deserted. The lobby was twice the size as the one I walked through every day for four semesters. It was “modernized,” glass and chrome, with six new elevator bays. There was even a first floor lounge helpfully labeled the “Strategy Bar.” I knew it must be a dream, not because of the reconstructed building, but because the university would surely have named it something more exotic even if it was just a bar – perhaps the Gretchen R. Fussbucket Memorial Lounge and Center for Intra-Gender Socio-Economic Cultural Studies and Glassblowing at Cambridge Hall.

*flash forward*

As I exited the elevator (dream me didn’t see the need for a walking tour of 5th floor south side), I noticed two people loitering near the oddly named lounge, not quite out of my eye-line. A guy and a girl. Youngish, probably college age.  They were trying to be discrete, but failing. 

“You’re Jeff,” the guy said. It was more a question than a statement.

I nodded.

“Kate… Kathryn… She said we might meet you here… that you stop by sometimes.” The girl spoke from behind a shield of hair falling over her eyes

“Kate Reilly sent you? To find me?” I was incredulous as they invoked that name from the distant past. They nodded in unison, but didn’t speak.

“It must be important, then. Let’s go.” I pulled my collar up, bracing against the inevitable cold wind outside… and then I was awake.

Some people create wild fantasy worlds in their dreams. Me? Even asleep, I craft my world from the comfortable history of the last century.

Three weeks or: Planner in the hands of an angry god…

Even if I didn’t have a calendar I’d know that we were inside the last three weeks of planning before our latest Big Event kicks off. I’d know it just based on the number of emails that are currently sitting in both my in and outboxes. I’d know it because my phone was ringing when I got to my desk this morning and was ringing when I walked away from my desk at the end of the day. 

The current Big Event is now close enough on the calendar that it’s starting to attract the attention of the gods on Olympus… and they’re asking questions and very much interested in making sure their thumb prints are present and undeniable. 

That’s fine, of course, none of this is a point of personal pride for me. I’ve long ago accepted that staff work is a land where blame piles up like cord wood and all credit is owed to the gods. As a poor simple planner in the hands of an angry god, though, it would be nice if time to time, the Olympians took a passing interest way the hell back in December when I started agitating about needing to kick off the planning process… and when grand sweeping changes are awfully easy to make. 

We all have our own twisted fantasies about how things are supposed to work. I don’t suppose there’s any real problem with that unless you start laboring under the delusion that there’s any chance they might accidentally work that way at some point. 

Explaining the Game…

Sunday I had the singular experience of trying to simultaneously watch the new episode and explain the back story of Game of Thrones. I don’t feel like I did either activity the kind of justice it deserves, summing up the nature of what is modern television’s greatest fantasy epic as 1500s Europe meets Harry Potter meets Dallas… with dragons.

While trying to fill in character elements and key overall plot points, I missed big swaths of story arcs moving forward – so much to the point of reading the recaps on Monday and wondering if I’d even watched the right episode. Turn your eyes away for a few seconds and you find yourself hopelessly lost in the progression. It’s even worse now that the show has started outpacing or diverging wildly from the source material. Even the things I knew to be “true” about the world of GoT aren’t necessarily so. Questions of “why did he do that,” are met with only a perplexed “I have no idea.”

I’m going to have to go back and rewatch last week’s episode before settling in Sunday night for the next installment. I should go back and rewatch the whole damned season at this point since you could probably fill another book with the details I missed while watching some other part of the screen. If I struggled to explain the Game after being a faithful viewer and being well versed in the books, I’m not sure I have a prayer of keeping things in order now that we’re heading off script.

The only thing for sure now is that when someone wants a primer on Game of Thrones I’ll just point them at A Wiki of Ice and Fire and wish them a good day. I no longer feel at all qualified to speak with even limited authority about what’s going on and why.

Retribution…

Retribution - CoverGod watched His creation evolve since long before the written word. He watched even as the first vertebrate flopped out of the sea. He watched long before that. He had great expectations for this new world. This was the one He hoped would finally get it right.

Even though Man was created in His image, they possessed a particularly irksome ability to veer wildly off script. It didn’t help that God’s one-time right hand spent every waking moment for eons finding new and exciting ways to tempt them away from their pre-ordained course.

Once upon a time, a bit of flooding, razing a few misbehaving cities, a smiting here and there, and the occasional miracle had been enough to keep the masses on the straight and narrow. In an age of endless entertainment and short attention spans, even an omniscient and almighty God was apt to have trouble getting His point across.

Retribution: Chasing Hearts and Minds is the story of what happens when the Old Testament God clashes head-to-head with the modern world.

My virgin effort at fiction in a short story format is available now from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords.

Thrones…

I had great expectations for last night’s premier of Game of Thrones. Aside from the minor distraction of trying to figure out why one of the supporting characters didn’t look at all like himself from last season, I can legitimately say I was beyond pleased with how the whole thing turned out… setting aside for purposes of this discussion that each week’s episode could easily be a 2 hour feature film in its own right. Everyone and their brother has already written a review so I’ll spare you those details here.

What I really want to comment on is the unique fandom of Westeros; where the people who read the book are constantly spoiling it for those who haven’t, the people who have only watched the TV show are inordinately annoyed by the book-reader’s enjoinders that something “wasn’t right,” the general consensus is that George R.R. Martin is possibly the most bloodthirsty author of all time, and the sheer volume of characters makes you wish you’d have printed out the Game of Thrones Illustrated Study Guide before settling in for a new episode. And then there are the people who don’t watch, don’t get the fuss, and are mostly overjoyed when the season ends and people around them find something else to talk about. Despite all that, my inner geek takes a serious amount of joy at seeing so many non-geeks drawn into Martin’s world of high fantasy. It’s good to know that real story telling might not be dead after all.

I can tell the season of the year as much from the program I watch on Sunday night as I can by what the calendar says. And just now I’m extraordinarily pleased that the winter of the Walking Dead has given way to the spring of Game of Thrones. I think I’m ready for it to be next Sunday now, please.