Entry Nine

Dear reader(s) of this blog( if you exist)

I just wanted to give a little bit of an update on Spero since it's been so long. I have been thinking about the origins of some of the characters and Entry Four came to mind. I really don't much care for the way that I introduced Crash. So if there is anyone out there reading this, disregard that entry. Not in it's entirety because there is still some important stuff there. I will probably re-post a revised version at some point. I am also (hopefully if I have time) going to do a post that exclusively explains the Rats and a little more of Them. I am still trying to work all this out in my head. Time has not permitted much of this. As always, I love comments. I know that with all the blogs out there that there is very little time to visit them all. My only request is that if you do find yourself here you will not simply be an innocent bystander. If I have any readers at all out there I want them to be an active part of my creative process. Not to beat a dead horse, but please comment!

-Sincerely,

The "busy failing classes" sometimes creative Writer

Entry Eight

Okay, just to see how this goes and if it's something want to pursue. A continuation of the last entry.

I'm not sure I understand whats going on. No restraints. He found me in the computer room. He opened the door. Looked right at me. Then turned around and left. What is this guy playing at? He captured me. Took me here. What does he want? I made my way back the the room I started in and found a glass of what looked like water and a couple of cubes of something I cant identify. I still haven't touched either. But it's only a matter of time before hunger and thirst drive me to consume whatever they are. I'd have already eaten them if I trusted him. Like I said earlier. I don't think that he wants me dead yet. He seems to think I know something and he wont kill me till he gets it.

So I have done a little exploring since he doesn't seem to care. Most of the doors are locked. I am definitely in the future or something like it. The only way to get in and out of a room is to walk through it. It feels like walking through Jello or something and then your on the other side. Some of the unlocked doors are transparent. Locked doors are just like regular doors. They don't budge.

I'm pretty sure I'm in the future. I know time travel is possible, just not achieved yet in the year I was taken from. One of my Extracurricular activities at the University is (was?) participating in a research group studying the physics of time and space. Sounds like a load of SciFi bunkum, I know. But I believe it's real. And now I'm experiencing it first hand. If I ever get back...

I don't know how far ahead I am. I don't know if any of my descendants are still alive, let alone the family I know and love.

It's all a bit surreal. I'm not sure I even believe that I am awake. I may not be. Maybe this is some weird government experiment and they are keeping me under to study the effects of extensive dreaming. Pretty stupid experiment if you ask me. I wonder if my mystery captor can read all of this.

I wonder if this computer has something resembling internet

Entry Seven

This was something that I did completely on accident on my regular blog. I figured that it deserved a place on my creative blog. Maybe I will make something out of it. Maybe not. Like I have time for another project. We'll wee...I mean see. Darn fingers not hitting the right letter keys.


I don't have a lot of time. I must make this brief. I am in the clutches of an evil technological genius that stole me and took me to the future. At least I think thats where I am. I pretty sure he has me mistaken for someone else because he keeps calling me Princess. Strange. And he keeps asking me where I hid my time melting device. Whatever that is.

I have tried to find a way out of this place, but it is huge and judging by what I saw out one of the windows it's located on an island. That probably explains why I have not been confined to a cage or prison cell. Thats why I found this old computer. I went through one of the only doors unlocked and discovered this room with all these Macs and Dells. They are all dusty and look like they have been here for years, except they are all way more advanced than anything I have ever seen. It took me forever to figure this one out. I'm not even typing! I just put my hand on a metal plate and think the words and they appear.

I'm a little scared, but I don't have time to panic. I need to figure out what this guy wants, who he thinks I am and how I can convince him that I can't help him on either of these aspects.

I want to let my family know, if they are still alive, that I am okay and safe for the time being. I don't think this guy wants me dead and thats all I got going for me...

Entry Six

Continuing the story of Alae and her struggling family in the tale Spero. I would still like comments on this work in progress. It's nowhere near perfect and I like constructive criticism. Bring it on. This is a short one. I haven't posted in a while and I wanted to get something out. I hope that you enjoy this installment of Spero more than the last one which was a little rough around the edges.

Alae stirred fitfully all night on her cot in the main room. Sleep came only in the pitch black hours of the early morning and all too soon a gray haze of light was breaking through the one tiny curtained window above where she slept. The rats were beginning to stir above. Loud clunks sounded as they stumbled around, their hangovers getting the best of them. The door to the basement opened and a sleepy Crash made his way down the stairs. Alae did not raise her head, but pretended to still be asleep, hoping that he might leave her be this time. her hopes were, as usual, baseless.
"Alae," he whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder and shaking gently. She heard him stifle a yawn and then resume his jostling.
"Alae, c'mon. Time to get the rats their remedies."
Alae grumbled something unintelligible in protest and shook his hand off.
"Don't give me this today, " Crash groaned. "Last night was not good."
She rolled over reluctantly and glared at the tall man crouching over her.
"When is life ever good?" she growled.
"Are you going to shout the house down like you almost did last night?"
"No..."
"Good. Let's get moving."
He took her arm and pulled until she tumbled hard onto the dirt floor. Coughing in the dust that flew up, she pushed herself to her knees and rose to her feet. She went to the small room that served as their changing area, She looked at her reflection in the dull, cracked mirror. Staring back at her was a girl that she barely knew.
Her complexion was pale from lack of sunlight. Her deep brown eyes were dull and without any feeling or emotion, the skin around them swollen from last nighs tears. Her golden brown hair hung in cropped locks around her ears, kept short in order to maker her appearance less conspicuous to Them should They ever venture to this part of town. She was unhealthily thin. Nourishment was so hard to some by everyday. The had enough to get by, but never enough to satisfy. Below the mirror was a metal basin filled each morning and emptied each night of water. They acquired it from a network of piping that extended up to the bar. Crash had already filled the basin for the day and Alae splashed her face with the cold liquid. She cupped her hands and poured the gathered liquid over her head rubbing vigorously to get as much of the smoke smell from last night out.
"Alae, C'mon!" Crash called down.
"Coming," Alae muttered under her breath. She made her way to her parents room that was directly adjacent to the changing area. Her father and older brother had long since left for their shift at one of the weapons production facilities. Her mother was no longer asleep. She was on her knees next the the floor mat that was their bed. Her mouth moved fervently in a silent prayer. Alae's heart filled with bitterness as she thought of how that prayer would not be answered. She backed silently out of the room and continued on her morning routine. At the north end of the basement was a room that had been built by excess plywood that Crash has managed to acquire for some minor renovations years ago. It was just large enough for the two boys to live in. Christian slept alone on one of the mats. In his hand was clutched one of the flyer's from last night. Under his pillow Alae could see a section of paper on which was written a coded version of the flyer's words. As angry as she had been last night, Alae admired her brother for keeping up such a strong sense of hope. It was all that kept him going. She could see from the redness around his eyes that he had cried last night as well. She crouched down beside his sleeping form and gently rested her hand on his head. He stirred ever so slightly. Alae sighed.
"I love you little brother," she whispered in the fading dark, then rose and tiptoed out of the room. Crash was wasting for her at the foot of the stairs directly across the room. On his face was a strange look. A mix between pity and admiration. Alae took several long strides and was at the stairs passing him to ascend.
"I don't know how you go on every day like this." He murmured.
"The same way you and everyone else does. Survival."
Crash shook his head sadly.
"Someday this will all be better."
"Yeah," Alae spat with as much sarcasm as she could muster, grasping the door handle to the bar hard. "Someday..."

Entry Five

A small taste of what I will probably have to do a lot of in my coming career. The first draft of this paper was not pretty and about an almost completely different topic. I actually found that I had fun researching this new topic. I never thought I would find birds interesting. The next entry will be another installment of Spero for all you avid readers out there. Psh...yeah

Bringing the Family Together: A look at Conspecific Brood Parasitism and Relatedness

Conspecific brood parasitism(CBP) is a custom practiced by many avian species. In this form of brood parasitism, a female will lay her eggs in the nest of a female of the same species and often in the nest of a host related to her. Extensive research has been done concerning this habit and it’s effect on the fitness of the species that practice it. CPB is often described as a “game” in that often, the parasitic individual will find that she has in turn been the victim of parasitism. All this in the name of increasing reproductive success. CBP has a more important role in the evolution of nest size than was previously believed (Lyon, 1998). In some cases, this practice has a positive effect on fitness (Andersson, 2001). The success and evolution of conspecific brood parasitism is closely related to the kinship of the host and parasite. It is also important to realize that CBP my not be a form of parasitism at all, but cooperation between related individuals (Dickinson, 2007).

CBP is most commonly found practiced in the order Anseriformes due to the nature of their precocial young and the decreased cost of parenting (Dugger, 2001). There are many costs to be taken into account when looking into parasitic species. Most of the time the addition of eggs to a nest has a negative effect on the success of the host female. In these precocial species this is not always true. Several species have shown that an increase in nest size has no negative effect on offspring survival and in some cases has actually aided it (Lopez, 2002). If a female is able to incubate more eggs with a somewhat minimal cost to her own health, then increased clutch size increases the chances for survival. Predators may take one or two eggs, but there are still 2-3 more that survive. In some species the host will strategically place the parasite eggs on the outside of the nest so that they are more easily accessed by predators. The parasite eggs act as a kind of buffer, keeping the hosts own eggs safe. This is a cost to the parasite and a risk that it takes in laying its eggs in another nest.

Because many water-fowl return to the place of their birth to nest, many of the individuals in the nesting site may be related. Relatedness is an important factor when considering CBP in these species. Host females are more likely to accept young from a parasitic individual closely related to them. An intricate cost-benefit analysis between the host parasite must be followed for there to be any positive effect on either ones fitness (Lyon, 1998). While a host female appears able to support parasitic young, a related parasite would do better to lay her eggs in that nest. That way there is a better chance for both to benefit. The host has that added padding of young that are not her own to soften the blow if she were to lose one. The parasite benefits if all the young are successfully reared. This cooperation of related individuals is what makes CBP a beneficial practice. There is a potential for increased fitness for both parasite and host. This is observed more in precocial species not only because the need for parental care decreases after hatching but because offspring competition also decreases. This increases the probability that a host will be able to take on more eggs than just her own.

Another important factor in evaluating this kin-based parasitic relationship is the individuals ability to detect a relation. This ability decreases as the distance between the relatedness increases. If a parasite will gain no benefit from laying an egg in the nest of a relative if that relative is not going to recognize the egg as kin. A parasite will suffer a direct cost if she lays her egg in the nest of a relative and the relative is unable to recognize the egg. The host will more than likely eject the egg even if there is some amount of gain received from accepting it (Lopez, 2002).

In evaluating conspecific brood parasitism and its relationship to kin-based cooperation, the word “parasitism” seems to be somewhat false. For the parasitic individual to gain the most benefit, there should be cooperation from both sides. In typical parasitism, one individual gains a benefit at the cost of the host. In many cases, whether eggs were intentionally kept by the host or not, the host gains at least some benefit to fitness in indirect ways. Evidence supporting the benefits of CBP is not altogether convincing. In some species there is no cost suffered or benefit gained. The individuals accept the parasitic eggs and their success does not increase or decrease (Dugger, 2001). Further research may support the idea that CBP is in fact be a twisted for of symbiosis with the two individuals working only for their own benefit but helping the other in their attempts at success.

Research and References

Andersson, Malte and Peter Waldeck. 2007. Host-parasite kinship in a female-philopatric bird population: evidence from relatedness trend analysis. Molecular Ecology 16.13. 2797-2806.

Andersson, Malte. 2001. Relatedness and the Evolution of Conspecific Brood Parasitism. American Naturalist 158.6. 599-615.

Dickinson, Janis L. 2007. Decoding dumping ducks. Molecular Ecology 16.13. 2621-2612.

Dugger, Bruce and Peter Blums. 2001. Effect of Conspecific Brood Parasitism on Host Fitness for Tufted Duck and Common Pochard. Auk 118.3. 717-727.

Lopez-Sepulcre, Andres and Hanna Kokko. 2002. The Role of Kin Recognition in the Evolution of Conspecific Brood Parasitism. Animal Behavior 64.2. 215-223.

Lyon, B.E., W.M. Hochachka and J.M. Eadie. 2002. Paternity-Parasitism Trade-Offs: A Model and Tedt of Host-Parasite Cooperation in an Avian Conspecific Brood Parasite. Evolution 56.6. 1253-1266.

Lyon, B.E. 1998. Optimal Clutch Size and Conspecific Brood Parasitism. Nature 392.6674. 380-383.

Entry Four

The continuing story. Sorry it took so long for this entry. It's been busy and I only have a little time each day to be creative. Entry 3 has been edited somewhat (for example, Crash is no longer muscular...I think that anyone strong looking would pose a threat to the rats and THEM and would be disposed of immediatly. He'll do better being slender. Plus it matches his background better) Feel free to go back and read it again, though it was nothing drastic.
I'm toying with the title "Spero". But I'm not sure yet. Let's call it that for the time being.

They lived in the cellar of The Razor. A run-down bar and inn for such seedy customers as rats, stoners, leeches and other waste of the "new world". All of the hotels in the city had been leveled and many of the bars were too likely to have one of Them downing a pint. So, scattered around were places like The Razor. Havens for those who were tolerated by Them but would rather not be in Their company. And many of these facilities were hideouts for families who were had been lucky enough to evade Them this long. The Atkins were one of the lucky few who had made it this far without being re-educated.

A week after it happened, Matthew Atkins and family had taken residence in the basement of a leveled apartment building several blocks from their home. Towing a 10-year-old son, a 5-year-old daughter and Rachel Atkins carrying number three and hoping that They would let alone buildings already demolished and scoured. Luck pervaded. For them, at least. Forces were sent into the attacked cities to aid in defense against Them. Most people had flocked to hospitals for safety and medical assistance. All troops had set up base camps at these locations. Days after, Columbia paid dearly with the death of thousands, the complete distruction of it's major hospitals and medical supplies and lost nearly all it's troop support. They knew exactly where to strike.
Everyone who was still alive and had minds of their own learned quick that in order to keep it that way, you had to keep moving. Never stay in the same place for more than a few days. And if you were really lucky, They never made it to the place you were hiding. There was no communication anywhere. Not even within the city. No one knew exactly where things stood after the fall of the hospitals. How many were alive, where allies were, if the world had stopped turning. Many swore that it had. The air was filled with never ending smoke from all the smoldering masses that were what remained of the central city. It was starting to snow. Finding food wasn't even an option. The stores that sill stood were crawling with Them. If you managed to make your way to the more rural parts of the city without freezing to death, you may find a house still standing that had minimal food and water. They soon put a stop to that. The Atkins were barely making it by. Praying constantly to God that He would spare their family long enough at least to see Christian born and their children sent somewhere, anywhere, safe. Their answer came in the form of young man trapped underneath the remains of a handsome farmhouse.

Columbia, Missouri : December 3, 2030.

"Do you think it's worth checking out?"
"The place looks pretty ruined"
"Yeah, but we may be able to make it to the cellar and find some food and shelter."
"I don't know. It doesn't look stable."
"Mommy, I feel sick..."
Rachel looked down at her youngest clinging to her left arm. Her face was as white as the snow on the ground. She massaged her swollen stomach with her free hand. They hadn't eaten anything for three days straight. They used snow to get their water supply. It was almost night, when it would be coldest. They desperately needed a change in luck. And this might be it. Rachel looked uncertainly at her husband, then nodded her head.
"Okay, lets try it."
They made their way alongside the footprints leading to the remains. Some were smaller, made by people like them, with barely functional tennis shoes. These prints were soon met with large deep ones. Made by Their boots. The fires from this wreck had long since gone out. It was just a collapsed pile of useless wood and glass. They walked to what used to be the south side of what used to be a cozy farmhouse and found the doors to the root cellar. They had caved in and the entrance was thick with snow. But below, if they were lucky, would be dry and sheltered and maybe have some potatos or canned food. Matthew went first. He put a cautious foot onto where the snowy steps should have been, and tested his weight. For a split second, he looked assured and moved to take another step. Then there was an angry groan of protesting wood and he was gone, leaving behind a crash that reverberated through the empty land surrounding. Rachel screamed. Their son Phinneas called out. Alae began to cry. All three hurried through the snow to the base of the gaping hole which was the remains of the stairs. Rachel fell to her knees and stared desperatly into the aperture, trying to see anything in the failing light. She called out to her husband, praying that he was alive. After several moments of unbrearable tension, somethig stirred below.
"Rachel?" called a voice, weakly.
"Matthew!" Relief was thick in her voice. Tears were streaming down her face and freezing there.
"I'm okay!" he called. "Just got the wind knocked out of me. I guess you were right babe. Those staris weren't very stable. Throw me down a candel and matches son!"
As Phinneas fumbled with his backpack, Rachel shook her head.
"Honey, shouldn't we get you out of there? We don't know if the whole place will come down.."
"If I'm already down here I might as well see what we can get out of it."
Phinneas dropped a candel and a small box of matches down to his father backed away from the hole. A small whisp of light shone out of the hole and then faded as Matthew made his way deeped into the cellar. Moments later his muffeled voice could be heard.
"It's okay!"
And in seconds, the light from his candel was back. Rachel and the children stood around the rim of the hole. Matthew looked up at them with a smile that had been absent from his face since the day it had all happened.
"The snow only made it as far as the stairs. It's not a whole lot warmer but its protection. We could build a fire, and there's food! Not much, but it will hold us for a few days. Here, Finn, hand me down Lae." He held out his arms to recieve his daughter. Rachel grabbed her sons arm to stop him.
"Are you sure that it's safe down there?"
"Rachel, if we dont take advantage of this place, it may not matter. A few more days and were not going to make it anyway. I'm sure the floor above will hold."
"Well, how are we going to get back out once were down there?"
"I'm sure theres a ladder around here somewhere and if it comes to it, we can stack rubble."
After several moments hesitation, Rachel released the boys arm and he went to his little sister. She held up her arms and he took her in them. She clung tightly to his neck. He went up to the edge of the hole and placed Alae in front of him. Then, he grasped each of her arms by the wrist. She wimpered and tears began to shine in her eyes.
"It's okay Lae," he wispered. "I wont let you fall."
He lifted her feet off the ground and began to lower her down to Matthews waiting arms. He grasped his daughter around the waist and pulled her close to him.
"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" He mummered to her. She shook her head, a small watery smile forming on her lips. Next, Finn got to his hands and knees and went backwards to the hole. He grased the snowy edge with his hands and the pushed himself back. He fell quickly downward and was caught by the straightening of his arms. Matthew put Alae down and grasped Phinneas by the waist, lowering the bow to the ground.
"Rachel, it's your turn." He called. "Just sit on the edge of the hole and let yourself drop. It's not a very long way down. I'll catch you."
Rachel disn't much like the idea of sitting in the snow, nor letting her self fall down the hole. But she trusted her hsband and the prospect of food overcame her misgivings. She did as she was told and like he promised, Matthew caught her in his arms she fell the short distance. Down in the cellar, the wind no longer blew. The air was slightly warmer. The small candle Matther had was stuck into a large snow drift a few feet away. In it's dim light It was just distinguishable that most of the floor above had already fallen in and the majority of the rather large cellar was covered in piles of rubble. There were remains of a handsome china cabinate with shattered dishes bursting from it's ruined frame. Also, there was a table, split in half and sporting only two of it's four legs. The rest of the debris was indistinguishable wood, glass, dry wall. In the midst of it all there was a boot, attached to part of a leg, lifeless fingers reaching from underneath the crushing rubble. Evidence of at least 5 different dead bodies. Rachel gasped.
"We'll just try not to look at it," Matthew murmured. "Finn, take your sister over to that corner, away from the rubble."
Phineas was looking at the piles of ruined building, seeing what his parents hoped his 10-year-old eyes would not catch. His face became ashen and his eyes welled up with silent tears. Matthew went and knelt before him, taking his shoulders in his large trembling hands.
"Listen Finn. I need you to taker your sister over there so that she can't see them. I need you to protect her while your mom and I look for food. Can you do that for me son?"
Phineas was still gazing horrified at the fingers reaching from the fallen house, as if trying to escape. Matthew placed a hand gently on his oldest child's face and directed his eyes to meet his own with a gentle push. Phineas looked deep into his fathers eyes for several moments, then squaring his young shoulders, he nodded. He went to Alae and took her into his arms again, carrying her to the corner of the room farthest from all of the wreckage. Matthew went the the pack Finn had been carrying. He got out another candle and lit it. Together he and Rachel gathered what food remained and made a large pile of firewood and kindling out of the remains of the upper floor. The food that was salvageable consisted of about a dozen cans of creamed corn, 3 jars of homemade canned peaches, two sacks of potatoes and a box of macaroni noodles. If they rationed it all they could stay here for about three days and then move on to a new place with leftovers. Matthew began to work on the fire. Rachel scoured the floor near all the debris and managed to find a chunk of cement the size of her hand. She used this to break into one of the cans of creamed corn. In about 10 minutes, there was a fire going and a large coffee can they had found and kept was heating the corn, a badly hacked up potato and some of the snow to make it thinner. Finn and Alae were by the fire now, but Finn kept Alae wrapped safe in his arms. They all sat in silence watching the smoke rise out of the room through the entrance to the cellar. But then the silence wasn't silence anymore. There was a muffled shout coming from a corner of the room layered in the ruins of the house.
"What was...,"Rachel began, but Matthew cut her off with a shush. They listened in silence. Moments later there was another sound that resembled the desperate cry of a human being. Matthew was up in a flash and moving to the corner of the room where the cry originated from.
"Hello? Can you hear me?" he called. As he got closer to the corner, words became distinguishable.
"I'm here! Please help!"
There was a trickle of dirt and dust as the fingertips of a hand wiggled their way between the rubble.
"Finn, come over and help me!" Matthew shouted desperately to his son as he began digging through the large pieces floor and wall that were covering the living being. They uncovered a hand and then an arm. But that was where they had to stop. For covering most of the person was a large piece of wall about the size of a large table. Matthew hesitated.
"Are you able to move?" If this person was crushed beneath this piece of house, he probably wasn't going to make it anyway, and he wasn't going to risk himself or his son hurting themselves to save this person who had no chance. I sounded heartless in his mind, but he had to think of his family first.
"My arm is pinned beneath a large support beam and I can't get it off alone," a male voice shouted. "Theres this large section of wall above me...I can't see anything. I don't know how deep I am."
"But your not seriously injured?"
"Other than my arm and my head a bit, I seem to be whole."
"Okay, were going to try to lift this piece of wall off of you and get you out of there. Are you able to push it at all?"
There were sounds of muffled movement for several moments. Then, "I have my feet against it, I'll see what I can do."
"Alright, on the count of three." Matthew turned to Phineas. "Are you ready?" The boy nodded, determined. Suddenly, Rachel was there beside them.
"Rachel, no. Theres no way I'm letting you help with that baby only a month away from being born."
"I'm not giving you a choice Matthew."
Their wills crashed for a several moments then the voice called "hello?". Matthew sighed and began counting.
"One...Two..Three!"
The three Atkins lifted with all their might and the person below it all pushed with his feet. Matthew didn't know how they did it but somehow, the section of wall was lifted. Veins standing out in his neck, Matthew turned his head to his son.
"Finn, let go and help that man out of there," he gasped.
The boys release didn't change much of the weight. But after some time, he was dragging the man out from under the rubble and the loss of his feet support the heavy wall began to slip out of Matthews grip.
"Hurry son!"
Phineas pulled and the man was clear. Rachel and Matthew let the wall fall gain with a thundering crash. Panting, Matthew scrambled to the mans side and waited for the dust to clear. Phineas still held the man under his arms and Rachel had gone to put her arms around Alae. Finally all the dust and grit cleared the air. Matthew looked down at the man before him. He was tall, and thin with a wave of dark hair reaching past his ears. The parts of his face that weren't splotched in grime were pale. His arm caked in blood. His eyes looked somewhere between grateful and uncertain.
"How long have you been down here?" Matthew murmured, kneeling and inspecting the mans injury.
"As far as I can tell, it's been about 24 hours...ouch!" Matthew had moved his arm to take in the extent of the damage.
"It's broken, obviously. And you don't have any other injuries?"
"I hit my head, but other than that, I don't believe so."
Matthew heard now that his accent was distinctly British. He had a proud face, with and intelligent gaze. He seemed about 20 years old, which was surprising. In the months following October 31, no one had seen anyone between the ages of 18 and 25. They had all been the first ones to be assimilated by Them.
"What happened to you?"
He took a deep breath.
"I work in the city. At a local bar. One of the only places left after all this massacre. Before They came, I was studying to be a doctor. I'm not even sure how I was successful in evading Them when so many have failed. I've managed to stay useful and They leave me be for supplying Them with alcohol. I guess learning to mix drinks did come in handy...anyway. At night I've been coming to places like this one to look for survivors and do what I can for them. I suppose this place wasn't as stable as I had hoped. I was down here checking the vitals of the dead here and the ceiling caved in. I was trapped. Now thanks to you, I'm not."
Matthew took this all in then asked, "Whats your name?"
"Paul Felson...but for good measure, I've got Them calling me Crash."

Whew! That took a while. I just wanted to get it posted...I know it needs work, but I'll get to that later. Once again, your comments are much appreciated and welcome, even if it's to tell me that this story is the worst thing you've ever read.

Entry Three

I have been rolling this idea around my brain for the past few weeks. An attempt at a post apocalyptic setting. I havn't done a lot of research so I find it easier to set it somewhere I know very well...home.

"When They came, They came swift and without any ounce of warning," it was known to hear the reporters say shortlty after it happened. There was no way of knowing what would happen when the clocks struck midnight on October the 31 2030. This was, of course, a lie. Governments around the world had been tracking the movements of rogue terrorist groups for decades. The fact that They were not at all singular and divided, but a leigon of intricately guided fanatics was not a new theory. But most had frowned upon the negative postulations of those who debated that these groups where planning to unite and reign terror on the world. In our gleaming and flourshing new societies, such a catistrophic event could ever occur. Or so our governments wanted us to think. They knew all along that this was more than just an implosible idea and could indeed occur. So as secretly as possible preparations were made to protect the larger cities of the world. Little did they know that this was exactly what They expected.

It wasn't New York, Paris or Bejing that They went after first.

Columbia, Missouri: 2045

"15 years ago this palce was thriving. So were many of the towns just like it. Homes to Major Universities. Thats where they struck first. Their whole regime based on the idea that western eduction was taking over the world, and to be honest, it was. But this was something that They could not allow. Within the first hour, reports of were coming in of no less than 35 schools being hit. We were one of the first. We all remember that day. Explosions ripping through every classroom and residence hall. The ones who died instantly and from the resulting fires were lucky. In the hours following the initial devistation, They came out of nowhere. Stole away any survivors for "Re-education". And in the desolation left behind there are those of us who struggle to rebuild what was lost. The United States Government is overrun. All intercontinent communication has been lost for years. We are alone with no way to know what goes on in the world...if they fare better than us or if there is even a world to communicate with. They are in control. But we must not lose hope! God watches from above and will not abandon us..."

From here Alae threw the gray non-descript flyer into the white coals of the smouldering fire, making a sound of disgust. The second it hit, the words were enveloped in orange flame. Consumed by the relentless tongues of heat. She watched as they dissappeared. Becoming nothing but black ash. Meaningless words. She turned her eyes to the smoke that rose from the charred paper, following it's path through the hole in the ceiling that led directly under the fireplace in the building above.
"You shouldn't have done that," a voice murmedred from behind her. "The less smoke the better. And you know that your father likes to read those when he comes home." Alaeh shrugged and took up a long stick. Used it to poke at the coals.
"Not like there's anything in there worth reading. Just a pointless reminder of what happened and then a bit about God and how He will come and redeem us someday soon. There hasn't been anything worthy of news in there for over 4 months now."
"Thats your opinion," chimed another voice. Younger, more deffiant. Alaeh turned around and faced the two people behind her. Her mother sat at a large rusted tub scrubbing the last remains of supper off of dishes. Beside her was a young boy who was carefully scrawling something onto a sheet of dirty paper at a small round table.
"Why don't you just let dad read yours Chris, if it means so much to you," Alaeh asked in a sweet patronizing tone. Her younger brother glared at her with all the malice that his 14-year-old face could muster. "Oh thats right," she scoffed, "It's copied in you 'secret code' so that They cant read it. No one can read it but you."
"So what," he spat at her.
"Why don't you just grow up? When are you going to understand that the people who write these flyers are nothing more than a bunch of Optimist freaks that are going to get us all killed. They don't know anything and only turn to God because they need something to make them feel better."
"Alae...," her mothers eyes widened warningly
"They're no better than those Nirvana sniffers who lose themselves in an illusion to let go of the pain of real life."
"Shut-Up!" There were tears standing in the boys eyes now.
"Alae, stop it!" Both boy and woman had risen. The former snatched up his papers and bolted from the room. The latter glared at Alaeh with a look that said, 'you should know better'. She felt guilt rush into her, causing her eyes to sting. She wouldn't look at her mother who spoke in a hushed but berating tone.
"He is entitled to his opinion. So are you, but must you crush what little hopes he has? It's not fair to do that to him."
A sudden anger rose unbidden into Alae's throat and made her shout her next words.
"Fair?! Ha! Since when has life for us ever been fair? It's not fair that we have to live here and dad and Finn have to risk their lives every single day! It's not fair that the only reason I can work and help keep this family safe is because I'm a 20-year-old woman who serves as eye candy for those disgusting rats that keep us hidden from Them! It's only a matter of time until Crash can't protect me anymore and the rats take me for their own! Life is not fair and it's time that Chris learned that!"
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Alae felt ashamed. She went back to poking at the coals as her mother gaped at her silently. There was a sound of feet on stairs and the door burst open. A tall, slender man in a white apron and jeans stood in the light that spilled out of the entry, casting a long shadow that stretched across the room. His gray eyes bore into the back of Alaeh's head as he sopke in furious wisper.
"What in the name of all that is holy is going on down here? Are you mental? What makes you think that it's okay to shout the house down? I've got rat customers up there and you're lucky that they're all too wasted to register anything or there would be major hell to pay!"
No one spoke for several moments.
"Well?" the man demanded
"Sorry Crash. It won't happen again,"Alae mumbled to the floor.
"It bloody well had better not!" He sighed and ran grimy fingers through his dark hair. Shaking his head, he turned and shut the door. They could hear him stomping up the stairs. There was quite, interrupted only by the muted music and scuffel of feet above. Then Alaeh heard her mother walk up behind her and begin to stroke her head gently.
"Sweetheart, I know that it's not fair. But for some there is this little ray of hope and we cling to it as hard as we can. It's what gets us through. Don't be so hasty to take that away from us." Alae didn't answer, but continued to stab at the dying coals while tears fell silently to the floor, making tiny craters in the dirt.

I still don't have a title for this. Who knows if it will be something I want to continue. It is rather depressing at this point and will continue to be so for a while I think. Feel free to comment with what you think so far.

Entry Two

This is my first attempt at thinking since this summer. It's not fantastic and it is a little disjointed. Thats why I want comments.

The main reason I decided to post that paper in my first entry was because thoughts similar to it's central thesis have been running through my brain for a the last week. Not that I spend all my free time thinking about things like this. It was actually viewing "Becoming Jane" with a friend last weekend that brought back this interest in peoples reactions to movies, television and what the media feeds them.

Throughout the movie several comments were made concerning how we all predicted the film was going to end. I whispered to my friend, "This is going to end bad. He's going to break her heart." My friend set her face stubbornly and insisted that this could not happen. Jane would end up with her true love and they would live happily ever after. Of course, Jane Austen never married so obviously the movie doesn't end with the couple riding off into the sunset. But not being sure of the fact that Austen remained unmarried while I was watching, in my heart I truly wanted a happy ending and thought that it may be possible up to the last second, making fantastic conclusions. I'm sure this was a thought process observed by most of the romantics in the theater. So when it ended with Tom marrying some other woman and having a daughter, I was crushed and disappointed.

I have a tendency to write off movies before I see them if someone tells me that they have a bad ending. That way I only watch movies that end the how I think they should: Joyous. This is a flaw that I have recently tried to remedy. There are so many good movies out there that end in a less than positive way. (WARNING:SPOILER FOR THE MOVIE "PREMONITION") After watching the movie "Premonition" and it ended with her husband still dying, I was very upset. She went through all that complicated mess of seeing the future then being thrust into the past only to have it make no difference. I had a very "that was all-for-nothing" attitude. But after a little time to reflect, I saw the movie in a different light. s The whole point wanot to save her husband, but to save their relationship, which had been struggling. The point was love, not life. And that is infinitely more meaningful. The fact that the last night they spend together in love, they create a child. The ultimate evidence of unconditional devotion. And that ends to film with hope.Although "Becoming Jane" ended with her unmarried, she was happy in her writing. It was bittersweet but meaningful.

What do we, as viewers, expect from television and films? It's certainly not reality (don't get me started on that word). Real life rarely happens the way it does in the movies. We all know this. We go to be entertained. And part of an enjoying experience means that we want things to be the opposite of the unhappy lives that we endure through. But if were expecting something that is not reality, why do I constantly hear the words "I didn't like that movie because it was so unrealistic." How realistic is it that you happend to meet this random person and through a series of mihaps realize that person is your destiny and you both walk away happy? Wow, this makes me sound really cynical. Of course that can happen. I suppose that my point is we tend to go into certain movies with a certain mindset. We have specific expectations and when those are not met, we get upset. I think that it speaks more for a director if they are able to take a movie in a genre and do something different with it.

People go into a horror movie to be scared, a romantic movie feel good about love and an action movie to get their explosion fix. That makes sense. But why should it always be that you have to have blood and gore in a horror film? Why does the heroin have to follow that path that we as the audience see is obvious? Films are becoming more and more predictable. You can see which characters are going to be eaten 5 minutes in and which hot guy will end up being the jerk. To me that takes some of the enjoyment out of movies. As much as I was sad at the end of "Becoming Jane" it was wonderful not knowing whether or not she would be with Tom. Let me put in a good word for one of my favorite directors. M. Night Shyamalan is an expert in taking a genre and making it something new. And I love that about him. I never know what t expect when it comes to his movies except greatness...okay, I'm done.

Give me a horror film where the only thing to fear is the way the camera follows the main character, or the eriness of the music. Give me a romance where the fate of the characters is left uncertain. I would much rather see a movie that left me thinking than one that I could tell the ending of without knowing anything about it. If you want a film nade for your entertainment, you know where to go. But it becomes harder to find one that challanges you to look deep into yourself to understand the element of humanity being explored.

Okay, so this didn't go where I thought it was going to. But since this is casual writing I feel no need to do any major fixing of my theme and structure just yet. Call it a first draft if you will.

Entry One

A paper written the fall semester
of my Sophomore year in
English 1000

Social Experience: The Comfort of Control

“…The chief effect of television is passivity and dependence.”

-Dr. Eugene David Glynn (Seldes 48)

Media has an overwhelming effect on today’s society. The choices we make about what we wear, how we act and what we feel are all made with some regard to current trends in television shows, newspaper articles, and other forms of communication. But to what extent do we as individuals in a world dependent on its technological advances allow the media to control our actions and emotions? In a time where pain and suffering has become such a widespread experience, where does our desire to know the truth end and our need to nullify pain take over? To answer these questions the definition of “control” in the media must be established. How exactly does what we watch and read and experience control our lives? And what advantage does that pose to those feeding us this information?

In an example given by writer Gilbert Seldes, October 30, 1938 was a day where thousands simultaneously experienced a very real but unwarranted panic. The broadcast of H.G. Wells’ fiction “War of the Worlds” on the radio is a prime example of how the media can influence the reactions of the world in astonishing ways. Even though it was stated several times that the broadcast was speaking of fictional events, people all over the world were terrified at the thought of being invaded by a hostile species from another world (Seldes 47). Had society not been so dependant of the veracity of radio broadcasts, there may not have been such a dramatic reaction. This is evidence that although the ones responsible for the broadcast may not have intended for it to be taken seriously, the combination of people’s dependence on the radio and the events of the current time created a very real reaction. In a similar instance, actor Clark Gable took off his shirt in a film. His chest was bare which was surprising to the viewers of the time period. Undershirt sales dropped drastically since it seemed more appealing to only wear one layer of clothing on your upper body (Seldes 47). Consumers responded to this actor’s actions because of his fame. We see evidence of control even today. There is a commercial that plays on television supporting the efforts being made in stopping terrorism. It makes several good points about the dangers of the fanatic minds that want America destroyed. But to strengthen their position, they bring into their equation the fact that the religion of the citizens of the Middle East degrade and oppress their women. This is an invalid addition to the commercial. The religious beliefs of people in the Middle East have nothing to do with acts of terrorism. The people who made this commercial perhaps wanted to create a greater sense of injustice by mentioning the fact that women in the middle east are treated unjustly. The control the media has over today’s society is a combination of presentation and the willingness of people to accept.

Presentation is key when it comes to creating something that the world will consume. Whether it is a food product or a film or even an event in the news. With current news it becomes difficult to define the line between portraying actual truth and edited truth. In many cases, the event being covered is presented in a truthful way. In Seldes book, Mass Media: The New Challenge to a Free Society, He discusses how in news coverage there are certain rules to be followed. There are several including that the truth be told, that it not be distorted by opinion and that human judgment will inevitably enter the equation but can be countered by ones experience (Seldes 33). But Seldes goes on to discuss how even these rules can be worked around. This is especially true for newspaper and magazine articles. “…An introduction like ‘There’s good news tonight’ has a different effect from ‘This is the news’” (Seldes 34). Despite the truthfulness of the news, there is always an omission of fact. Unfortunately, news time is limited there has to be judgment towards what qualifies as news and what does not. The result it that there seems to be a lot more violent and negative events presented than anything else. Someone is more likely to pick up a paper that reads, “Death of young child leaves authorities baffled” rather than one that says, “Price of corn increases.”

Then there are television shows. They too have a certain way they are exhibited to the public. “A capitalist society…needs to furnish vast amounts of entertainment in order to stimulate buying and anesthetize the injuries of class, race and sex” (Sontag 178). Even more so than films, these works of fiction have a tendency to help us escape from the truth of our own lives. Selde says this about films: “…The core of the fiction have a truth, an ideal, a thought which is relevant to human experience…of the movies we never say [this is lifelike] because we feel ‘this is what life is’” (Seldes 22). This comment applies more to television than it does to movies in today’s society now that movies aspire to be more real and shocking. When we sit down to watch our favorite show, we are always looking for an escape from the events we have to deal with every day. This is especially true for comedies and “feel good” family shows. When we watch the events of fictional characters we can forget our own problems. In comedies we seek humor to stifle bad emotions. In feel good family programs we want to see the event of the characters unfold and eventually resolve the way we wish our lives could. Even with drama’s we look to excite our minds and senses so that we can forget the events of the day. In short, we go to television programs to dull the pain and frustration of everyday life. We wouldn’t watch a show if it showed how life never goes right and never resolves.

The film The Truman Show presents an excellent example of how acceptance plays an important role in this idea of control. The character of Christof says about Truman, “He can leave anytime. If it was more than just a vague ambition, if he was absolutely determined to discover the truth, there’s no way we could prevent him from leaving…Truman prefers his ‘cell’…” The idea that people enjoy control and being restricted by what the media presents may be a poor way of putting it. The better word for this complacency is “comfort”. People in the world today would much rather be told what is going on outside their homes than discover it for themselves. The truth of the events going on around the globe may be made more real through technological advances, but they still hold a certain detachment for us. Rather than be in the thick of things we feel more comfortable being passive observers allowing the impact of events to register but not let the truth of them seep into our life’s purpose. Another quote by Christof about the fictional world of Sea Haven and the world outside it illustrates this. “There’s no more truth out there than there is in the world I created for you. Same lies. The same deceit. But in my world, you have nothing to fear.” Christof believes that the world he has kept Truman from is a “sick” place full of corruption and lies. In a way that is what the media is trying to express to us. Out there in the real world there is war and pain and anguish and death. But here in the world we create for you have nothing to fear. It’s terrible, the goings on out there, but they cant reach you where you live. So take comfort in you T.V. where the trouble is miles away from your life.

To be fair, there is another side to all this. There are those in the world who devote their lives to seeking the truth. In our day, documentaries have become more and more popular and Bill Nichols addresses this in Epistephilia. He states that documentaries stimulate a kind of “social engagement”. “The engagement stems from the rhetorical force of an argument about the very world we inhabit. We are moved to confront a topic, issue, situation or event that bears the mark of historically ‘real’”. And there are now T.V. shows like The Colbert Report and The daily Show that insert opinion into the events of the world and all truths are explored. We are not always content to be complacent and comfortable. We can be stirred into action especially when the events hit so close to home. A prime example is September 11^th. An attack on U.S. soil caused an uproar and an increase in security and fear. People started taking more interest in the events going on around the world because they directly affected our daily lives. Here the control takes another turn. We are shown terrible events that go on in our own country more so than other countries. This of course makes sense being that we are mostly worried about problems that are occurring on American soil. But because of this the media separates us from the world and creates a gap in our awareness. This all goes back to comfort. We allow this and accept because we don’t like to have terrible events thrust into our faces and our busy lives. They make us feel just guilty enough to be uncomfortable but not enough to push us into action.

As technology increases, our perceptions of the world change. There is no helping that. McLuhan says, “The medium, or process, of our time-electric technology-is reshaping and restructuring patterns of social interdependence and every aspect of our personal life. It is forcing us to reconsider and reevaluate practically every thought, every action, and every institution formally taken for granted” (McLuhan 8). We can become more connected with the world as a whole through advances in the Internet. The “control” is lessening and our desire to break from our “cell” and discover the truth is becoming stronger. “Whenever we consider the effect of the mass media on the citizen and on the individual who wishes to exercise independence of mind, we should consider this question: Is an un- or semi-informed, an intellectually and/or emotionally retarded public ultimately a danger to the independent individual?” (Seldes 4). Seldes’ discussion of the possible danger of the media to the individual mind creates an interesting argument. Through our want of comfort from the world the darkness it falls deeper into, the individual mind is in danger of becoming just like those that are complacent. Conformity is the easiest path and our minds are so impressionable. With the progression of technology it becomes so easy to access information that it is often hard to determine what is fact and what is fiction. And the individual mind is put under pressure to be able to determine what it believes and not what the world believes. There comes a time when we must realize that we cannot enclose ourselves in our own safe, comfortable and controlled worlds. When we must see beyond what is fed to us and look into ourselves to find that which is true instead of that which makes us feel good.

This was probably the best of the papers I wrote for that class. By best, I mean most interesting and most supported.
This class was immensly interesting and made me explore media and our relationship to it in a whole new light.