A Taste Of Luxury

Friday night and I'm back where I'm safe; in front of the screen, fingers on the keyboard. I'm starting to understand why some writers live like recluses and show strange eremitical behavior. At least if they feel anything like I do sometimes. I can get to a stage where the written word almost feels more veridical than real life. Reality is too fantastic too be real, or too painful. A dream illusion which you can't have, or a nightmare you wish to wake up from. And sometimes both at the same time... When writing I'm in control, and nothing can hurt me. With words I can do anything, as long as I don't have to step outside for a reality check. OK, "Earth's calling" - enough of this high-flying! Yesterday I went to a happening with my dear Toril, and what a nice evening that turned out to be!

Tom Marthinsen is a well known writer, wine connoisseur and author of wine books, and in conjunction with the launch of his guide to wine tasting he's doing a lecture/wine tasting tour. I'll try to be short here and go straight to the important stuff - the wine. First we were offered a chardonnay from Australia, and reminiscing days gone by I said "Mmmm, just like home". I had no problems picturing myself on a patio Down Under, sipping a glass of white wine at lunch. A chardonnay from the New World is often fresh and laden with tropical flavors of peaches and citrus fruits, and for me it's often been a preferred style. Of course I'd never say no to a nice Chablis but as they're more expensive, I rarely buy them. And then we're only talking about the Petite Chablis, which also was the second wine we got for tasting.

After those two I still thought the Penfolds Koonunga Hill was quite a nice acquaintance, but then came the masterpiece - a Grand Cru Chablis which blew us away. Delicious. Thick-textured yet very refined. Full-bodied and layered with pleasurable flavors, and long on the finish. An open, elegant style, with a juicy structure. Balanced and fine, with depth. And absolutely nothing a student like me can afford. But I just thought it was nice to have tried it, and wasn't thinking I'd have any problems drinking "cheap" wine again. Until Tom told us to have one more sip of the Aussie... We could hear people laugh a little around the tables, 'cause we could all see where he was going; and my sudden vision of having a glass filled with sweet and sticky juice from a can of fruit cocktail was confirmed, as I poured some of it into my mouth... Need I say more?

I just came across this wonderful quote from Franz Werfel, and I thought I'd find a way to intertwine it to the story. I couldn't but I'd like to share it with you anyway, and standing on its own the impression might be even better, leaving it all up to you for interpretation. I'm not saying anything.

"Between too early and too late, there is never more than a moment."

I think it sounds even better in its original language German, so here it is:

"Zwischen zu früh und zu spät liegt immer nur ein Augenblick." (Thanks my friend, for sending it to me.)

But you know me, it's real hard not to say anything, and I do have a few questions as well that could fit in here... ;)

Mirage

Deb said in a comment here the other day that "it all works out in the end!", and presume she's right, it still rises a few questions. (For returning readers it's kind of obvious I keep coming back to the same model - to follow any statement by questions, but please let me know if this is starting to be too repetetive and boring.)

• How far away is the end really?
• And which end are we talking about here? (Not the end, I hope. I'd actually like it to work out in good time before I draw my last breath, having time to enjoy it.)
• Why does this end always seem like a mirage? As soon as I think I'm getting there, it disappears or moves further away.

In my answer I also pointed out that I'm still the same old cynic, but I know that isn't how I actually feel. That is my writing persona. Even though I've mentioned before, the possibility that I might give a misleading portay of myself, it has now dawned on me how true that is. But not from what I write, more from how I write, I think. I've got a very honest opinion from my oldest friend (hope she won't mind me sharing this), which might explain:

When I first started to write this blog, she read it more or less as frequently as I posted. In the beginning she enjoyed it, and gave me compliments on how "well written" it was. But she also expressed a certain uneasyness; she couldn't really fathom that it was me writing it! It was like she stumbled upon the words of a total stranger, if it hadn't been for references to actual events we'd shared there was nothing telling it was me behind those words. Now she hardly ever visits this place, 'cause when doing so the real person she's known for 18 years seem more like an illusion.

All this made me thinking - what about people who get to know me trough my writing first? Not that I should be a disappointment, but I'm sure I appear very differently. (If they ever get to meet me, apparently my words can lure some people to think I'm too advanced for them. Now that one really is a joke...) And again - which is the true me then? Of course the living, breathing, loving part is the true one, but my writing is a necessity as well. I might just have to find another outlet for that steam. Somewhere I could disregard the lines in between, 'cause sometimes words are just that. Words.

Imagination & Expectations

The content and form of my scribblings varies a lot. A good thing I hope, but why depends on several factors. Sometimes I use the blog as some kind of online diary, telling about everyday trivia such as haircuts and perfumes, and it's just that. Shorter hair and nice smell. Other times I have an urge to convey something really important to me, but instead of blurting it out I might disguise it inside a seemingly nonessential topic. Like haircuts and perfumes. So you never know, in fact I'm not sure if I always know myself! Sometimes I can read through a post later and realize I've revealed more of my inner thoughts than intended. The subconscious is playing tricks all the time... The point is it has to be up to the reader to make whatever they want out of what I write.

I feel I haven't been "together" for a long time now, and I guess my writing to some extent reflects that. In danger of appearing conceited I must admit that I'm occasionally get a little rush when I feel I've written something scintillating. And I must also say I haven't felt that rush in while. Feel most writing has been a little forced, but I'm sure it'll come back. I think it might have something to do with concentration and letting myself into the flow. Until my concentration span stretches beyond that of a Dobermann's I'll just send out (incoherent?) fragments of my scattered thoughts and reflections. Here's one:

I can only speak for myself, but this probably applies to more, if not everybody. The way we learn is through experience, we learn through our mistakes and successes. If something works we're bound to try to repeat it, but if it isn't what do we do then? We imagine what we want, we build an idea of how things should or could be. A machine or a piece of equipment is fine in that respect that it has no feelings, no life on its own. And we most of the time know what to expect out of it. People on the other hand are a totally different matter.

One thing is to imagine how things could be, another to actually believe a better outcome is possible. I think our expectations are based on what we have experienced so far, and those expectations might have a stronger impact on us than the images of what we really want have, and in that way our (subconscious) expectations are preventing us from progress.

Well, talk about being fragmentary! I'm not sure I manged to carry through even this little thought, it's like it's hanging mid air. I know I had some wonderful insights I wanted to share, but now they seem to be hiding somewhere again. It can't be helped, I'll press the publish post button anyway...

Free Writing

This week my supervisor exposed me to an experiment, and she just said: "We're going to try something out today, and you're are to do exactly what you're told." That's not my favorite thing, being told what to do, I mean. But who am I to argue with my superiors? So she told me to use whichever tools I felt most comfortable with when writing (PC, pen & paper, clay tablets...), and then do that for 15 minutes. I should write continuously for 15 minutes without "thinking", without doing any editing, without judging or censoring. And if nothing would come to my mind I'd still continue writing even if it was "I don't know what to write."

This technique is an applied form of free writing, and here it's used with a specific method. The idea is to first write, take a look at the gibberish, try to find one thread that makes sense, express that into one proper sentence, and then repeat the whole process with that sentence as starting point. And you might as well do that for an hour or so. (In this case, in an academic setting, you're not totally "free" - you start off with a keyword related to your work.)

When she came back after those first 15 minutes she asked expectantly: "So, how many pages have you done?" Are you crazy?, I thought, and realized I wasn't doing this very well. I do have a serious issue with censoring and correcting myself, and she'd spotted that dead on. She gave me an extra few minutes and I manged to double the result. I then proceeded as described, and a little smile emerged when at the second round a very sensible thought appeared on the screen. Which I'm going to use in my paper.

Her suggestion was for me to try this out once in a while on my own, and I just might do that. Very liberating I must say, and I do need to loosen up a bit. Letting go of control can lead to the discovery of the unexpected and prove to be very fruitful.

For God's Sake - Keep It Simple!

That's what I'm telling myself, in retrospect after the most resent posts. I'm thinking poetry again, 'cause well written poetry is just that - an essence of life, where only a few words can express the most complex matters. Come to think of it, that's probably why it can be so hard to read poetry, especially if you're trying to read whole book from cover to cover, when every poem in itself is a novel.

I wouldn't say I can write poetry, but that too is something that needs practicing. And a lot of work; the image of the complete poem running through the fingers of the writer down on paper is probably not true that very often.

Poems are also good for reuse; due to its ambiguity a poem can be interpreted in many ways, each and every right just at that moment. I'm even tempted to do a rerun of my own poetry attempts here, there are one or two that still express what I feel, although not the same as when I first wrote them. And it's so much easier then to find new words.

Epiphany...

... is one of my favorite words, and which the dictionary explains as "a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience." I had one yesterday evening, but it was too late to put it in writing. It's about writing too.

For you who read this blog it's quite obvious I like to write, something I even need to do. This isn't something new, way back when I was a kid it was my absolute favorite subject. I didn't have much problem with any subjects really, but as soon as our teacher handed out blank papers I was thrilled. And gone. While I was writing I was in another world, a world where everything was possible. For some reason though that stopped, sometimes during my teenage years. For some reason? In fact I remember a very specific episode that changed the way I felt about writing, and it happened at such a vulnerable period as well. I was 17.

I can't remember what the topic was, but I do remember the feeling I tried to create. It was a story set in a different time, maybe the 19th century? If the story was any good is not the point, but that uninspired teacher I had criticized me for something I knew wasn't wrong. A syntax "error". In a way she was right, the most common way to write that sentence was her way, but in order to set that scenery right I felt my way was better. The problem was she wouldn't think of the possibility that we both could be right. Anyway, a small thing like that shouldn't be significant for me writing or not, but I think it contributed to make me aware of the fact that writing can be criticized at all. I wasn't prepared for that. Suddenly I was conscious about being understood; if she didn't "get" my meaning maybe no one would? Of course there are many other reasons as well for not writing any longer, but I think something changed there.

It's hard to recollect what you actually thought at some point in your life, after 20 or so years you can't be sure if that thought really occurred or if you just construct it afterwards to make fit into your explanations. I mean, I couldn't swear I thought that much about writing when I was younger. Sometimes I feel I didn't have any dreams at all of my future life, like I never had a plan. But if I once did think I'd like to be writer, I soon rejected that idea as impossible. Maybe I was caught up in that 150 year old romantic idea that the Artist's inspiration is divine and nothing that could be taught. Either you got or you don't, and if you do got it you simply live it out. Me not doing anything out of my creative skills was for me a proof it wasn't meant to be.

My perspective is a little different now, and I have over the last years been thinking a lot about "the Creative Artist" in general, how he works, why, when , if, and so on. I'm lucky enough to know a few specimen in person so I can study them closely. And they are as different, as people in general are. And they all have very different stories of how they came to their profession. One I know, has always known, there was simply no other option for her but the Academy of Arts, and she's been doing her thing for all her life. Nothing else, and no buts. Another walked various paths first, tried to fit in to the expectations, and he also holds a university degree in something very different. But to me I think that actually is what makes this artist so brilliant, his experience and knowledge from other areas clearly has an imprint on his art now.

I don't know if you noticed, but so far I haven't told you anything about my epiphany. Sorry. I'm so tedious I even exhaust myself! Let's go.

It's about imagination. And that's something a writer needs. I don't know if you have the same feeling I do about that word, but for me has so far been closely connected to fantasy - things that don't happen. Until now I haven't thought I could write anything without some sort of personal experience. But something a friend said to me yesterday on the phone changed that. The day before I had given her a piece of advice, a sudden thought that struck my mind regarding something she's involved with at the moment. Well, on the phone yesterday she said she was so glad for those words, it had really helped seeing herself. And I guess that's imagination. Seeing something that's possible in any world, something that could happen, even if it won't apply to me right then. I have until now been very conscious about everything being true when I write, but I think everything you can imagine is true. On an universal level.

Making Money

Don't we all dream of being financially independent? It's said that you can't buy happiness, and I agree, but research has also shown that people who don't worry about money are more content. I try not to wind myself too much up about things I can't change at the moment, but obviously I know I at some point have to start to earn a living. Scary, and as I'll enter the world of grownups quite late on top of it all, a jump start would be fine.

We just need that one brilliant idea, and then of course realize that idea as well, put it into action. Invent Post-it, or something as simple as that. So what can I do, that'll make me rich in a jiffy?

Well, a very dear friend of mine actually suggested something a while ago, that at least could give me some extra cash to add to my student loan, while I wait for that ingenious thought to emerge. I do write, but posting to this blog won't help my economy. And then I do have some nice stories that not necessarily are suitable for this blog anyway, so why not try to cash in on that?

Perspective

Everything runs in cycles, and so does my blog. I'm very aware of it, so often when I get an idea or something triggered me to write a certain post, I use the search function up in the left corner to see previous postings about the subject. I don't wanna repeat myself too much, although it's a natural thing. I'd like to think of it as growth and evolvement, rather than replication. Like the Sunflower coming up year after year is not the same, although the offspring is carrying the DNA from its parents. Weather conditions and fertilizers will effect the outcome, as will the quality of the seed itself.

So while reading through old and withered posts, I actually find myself a little surprised. "Did I actually write this?" I'm also almost ashamed to admit that some of it strikes me as not too bad actually. Another perspective is also that while I know what's behind a story, a reader might not. I'll give you an example.

I searched for "fix" and this post came up. (Funny enough it was exactly from a year ago, almost to the day. Talk about cycles.) Had I read something like this, I think I'd assume that the writer actually had some knowledge. Does this mean then that I know more than I realize, or that I shouldn't assume that other people know what they're talking about, even if it appears so? It might be good therapy then to read through my own posts and rediscover my own abilities.

As always I'm split between my own beliefs. Is it hope in seeing that it wasn't the end a year ago, as I felt it was, or does it simply prove that nothing lasts either it's good or bad? But maybe we just should accept that there's a natural rythm to life we neither can or should fight against? We can only learn from it, evaluate and select the best seeds, so that the next crop gets richer and more nutritious.

Some things are worth repeating, as having lunch with wonderful friends. In a couple of hours I'm off to meet Toril, since she's a working girl now we had to make it a dinner appointment instead. I don't mind at all. Still the same place, but maybe we'll can allow ourselves more than just the one glass since we're doing it later...

Blog Backup

I thought I'd like to do a backup of my blog. Partly for reasons unknown even to me, but for one I was curious about how much I've written in the blog since its "birth" two and a half years ago. So I started the tedious task of viewing each post and then select, copy & paste into a Word-document, and so far I've covered 72 posts and have still 250 to go. The result is approximately 50 pages including comments, and if this meets the average for the rest it means I've produced enough bull to fill a whole book! Even a quite substantial one, reaching 450 pages. Impressive or scary, I don't know...

Slightly Optimistisc

I feel it would be downright stupid, to jinx this by saying I'm confident my assignment will be finished in time and to my satisfactory. But I do feel a little bit more optimistic today, having written nearly half of the acquired amount. Almost there then, aren't I? I might even have time for a little break; I'm planning a little date on Friday after my meeting with my tutor. Just what I need, someone telling me I'll be fine, and maybe a little kissing...

But no, I didn't mean I'd kiss my tutor. That too would be downright stupid.

For The Umpteenth Time - On Blogging

Am I here or not?

When I first started out this blog quite a few people who knew me (or thought they did) were rather surprised by me, and what I was writing about, not to mention my style of writing. I "chose" to be very open, and I have been warned more than once that it might not be such a good idea to reveal so much of myself. Well, to me, this blog has been very self centered and often served merely as a safety valve to let out steam. And it has worked too, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be standing so "upright" as I am now if it hadn't been for my writing here. Some have asked me if I really have to publish my thoughts to web, why not just write and save it on the hard disk? I think, writing publicly keeps me on my toes, it makes me concentrate more. And to be honest, I do feel good when someone recognize what I'm doing...

Anyhow, one of my "guardians" used to call me (at least in the beginning of my blogging career), every time I shared a little too much of my sadness and frustrations here in the blog. I told her than that she needn't to worry until I "went missing", that as long as I was writing I was fine. It's when I'm not writing I'm really depressed. Again I feel I have to correct myself, you see, judging by my poor attendance on the blog I should be locked up in a secure environment! This time though, it hasn't so much to do with being busy writing my assignment (although that is exactly what I should be doing...), but more with me being busy living. And how wonderful isn't that!

I'm pretty sure I'll write more, either here or somewhere else, but right now? Too much going on, don't have time to sit down. And when I do I rather play around with PhotoShop, I'm confident that I'll someday have use for knowing how to turn pictures into a preset brush!!!

Disclosure

If things go well, I'll reveal "the secret" on Friday...

Lemon Cake

It was getting very late, and at least one of us had to be at work early in the morning. It wasn't me, but I tried to be a nice girl (maybe that was a tad too late?), and when I suddenly realized the little hand was reaching towards the first digit on the display, I thought I'd better put myself in the car and drive back home.

One of the last things he said to me before I left, half an hour later, was that I should be a clever girl and study hard the next day. "And write in your blog." That was a new one! I don't think anyone has ever told me to write before, and I usually don't need it either. Now I did actually; been having a little difficulty (again) with the form and content of the blog. Same questions, not necessarily the same answers. Why do I write? For whom? About what? What is a blog anyway?

It all started two years ago at a web design class with Dr. Jill Walker, and there we had to start a blog. Jill is one of the leading authorities on blogs (if not the leading authority) and what she doesn't know about the subject probably isn't worth mentioning. A couple of weeks ago she wrote an interesting post about it in her own blog, which triggered a lively discussion in the comments. She asked if the "novelty of blogs is wearing of", after having some trouble motivating her students to catch on to the blogging concept. I guess we're all asking ourselves the same questions about why, for whom and about what, and the problem might be that by answering those questions and defining the purpose it takes away much of the spontaneity of the writing. And writing for an audience is hard. Perhaps not if that audience is large and "invisible", in that case you'll just know that some will like it and some won't. But if you know who's reading your blog, be it your lecturer and tutor, your classmates, your mother, your friend or your lover, or "worse" - all of them, that makes it extremely challenging.

If I was smart I should probably go back to writing more academically, it's very good for the learning process to recapitulate a lecture and a chapter or two of your required reading by writing about it. In that case I should write about the lecture I went to yesterday, which by the way was absolutely wonderful. We had a guest lecturer, Sverre H. Holbye, who's an expert in universal design and "electronic accessibility", especially for the blind and visually impaired. I laughed a lot, and that is to me a good lecture. I usually remember those better, and also - they're a lot more inspiring. One thing that stood out what was he said about disability. We used to (and a lot of people still do) think about disability as a static condition of physical or mental abnormality. It's not. It's context dependent, and here's his example:

A young healthy woman is about to board the bus. With her baby in a pram. The stairs are not made for wheels, and she needs help to carry the pram on board. And therefore she is by definition disabled. Really makes you think, doesn't it?

Designing computer programs and user interfaces, in general usually is about making things more efficient, while designing them for the disabled are more about making things possible.

So what about the title then? Lemon Cake? What does that have to do with anything? Well, there's someone who might have an idea, but I'll just want to add something. When I grew up we didn't have all these rich and gooey, American style, chocolate cakes like we get now. Back than it was more traditional, lighter cakes, and one of my favorites my mum used to make was this Ambrosia Cake. The name implies it's divine, and Googling it leaves you with a zillion links to different kind of scrumptious recipes, but the Swedish one is a quite simple, light, orange flavored cake, and an icing sprinkled with dried orange peels. That kind of cake I haven't baked for years, it has been more of these already mentioned American kinds. But only a few days ago, I suddenly had an urge for something lighter, fresher. I didn't act on it though, my kids still crave their Brownies, but guess what someone had bought last night? Yummy Lemon Cake, and coffee with that. I'm almost starting to feel like the princess I'm treated as, it must be true what they say about "officers and gentlemen"...

This is what I'm doing now. I'm going back to the basics. Back to the things that work, and makes me smile. Life is quite simple, if you don't fight it all the time. And it's even possible to dance right through it...

To sum up this post:

• It's personal, but not too personal. Suitable for all types of readers.
• It reflected upon yesterdays lecture, and touched upon some academic issues.
• It was fun to write...
• It justifies this blog, then?
  

Ego Boosting

Gorgeous, intelligent and funny. All at once. That's me, if you didn't know it...

Went to a party last night, a very different one from the one on Thursday. That day we were just a few people; everyone know each other and we for the most part sat down and drank and talked a lot. Yesterday we were about sixty or seventy, from which I knew only two before I got there. This was the kind of party where a small group of colleagues invite their friends who in their turn invite other friends. So actually no one knew that many.

There were a few people that had a little bit too much to drink, but not me, only had two or three glasses of wine for the whole evening. And I didn't sit still either. I don't think I have danced that much for years, but how fun it is! (My ex husband always thought of dancing as a way of getting hooked up, so while married to me he didn't see the point in it.) So I danced all night, with both men and women, and everyone seemed to have a good time.

Getting attention is always nice, and when someone tells you that they find you, well, attractive, obviously that effects you somehow. But let's not get too carried away here (as I also said to one of my admirers, when getting a little too close), for me it was more than enough to hear their compliments. And when I sat down once in a while I also got this strange feeling that I wanted to go home and write about it all. It was like I was only collecting experiences for later writing. Is that weird, or what?

So here I am next day, on my own, soberly tapping away on my laptop.

Beautiful, smart, and funny...

External Censor

I'm so lucky to have friends that carefully point out the possibilities of mistakes I might do. Or just ask me the questions I need to hear. This time it's about the blog.

I know I'm very open and revealing here, and believe me, I have given it a lot of thought. Is it wise or not? For the most part I actually know who's reading, simply because it's mostly my friends who know about the blog in the first place. And they know me well enough to read between the lines when that's necessary, and when to know I'm exaggerating only to make a point. And they also know when it's pure fiction, and not from my real life. And most important, if they get confused they just ask me next time they'll see me.

Other people who stumble upon the blog who don't know me; I actually don't care that much what they think. Strangers who reach me via links in lets say Toril's blog, probably won't read the posts anyway if they get the impression I'm a lunatic. 'Cause this is what it's about. A friend of mine, after reading a few of the most recent posts, made me aware of how it might appear. Crying on the bus? The roller coaster metaphor? Shitty days? And party the next?

I agree with her, actually. If I didn't know myself, I too would have thought I was heading for a mental institution, diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

Human Usability

I've been looking for an opening for my writing quite a while now, somehow it seemed like I had more on my mind that needed to be aired when I was "lower". Although, I hadn't completely gone off writing, it just hasn't been visible here, as most words came out in private letters and mails. (And as any with an interest in literature knows, the genre of The Letter is a rather complex and fascinating one, but also problematic. An illustrating example is the correspondence between Héloïse and Abélard which took place in the Middle Ages. In a rhetorically highly embellished style the love letters also refers to historical events, but they were presumably not meant for the public. However in the years to come they have undoubtedly been regarded as literature, and have been read as such by many people.)

Back to the subject. If there ever was one, I'm not sure.

One of the courses I'm attending this semester is about "User Interface", and that involves a vast amount of disciplines. To understand how people behave, and to know how to design well functioning interfaces we have to study a little bit of both psychology and learning theories among other things. (I might consult you on that later, Toril) This is a very interesting field; practically everything we do is about communication, and in this case with computers or computer based technology. Needless to say perhaps, but this course is mainly about Human Computer Interaction Design, but to explain the concepts of it our lecturer used some metaphors. She's a dog lover and therefor she referred to the dog as an example of a reliable user interface. Sure, there are some seriously messed up dogs around the world, but basically they sound the same, and give the dog a biscuit and he wags his tail. Wagging tail = happy dog. Comforting to know some things are persistent.

What we have to do now for this course is to come up with a prototype for a design, either something new or an improvement for something poorly designed already existent. You'll probably see by now where I'm heading, 'cause with the dog in mind I came to think of something similar, but yet so frustratingly different in its inconsistent behavior. Yes, that's right. The Human. Very much in need of an update in its user interface. Just think about it.

I could go on for pages and fill volumes with this subject, so I'll just leave it up to you to ponder upon it and fill in the blanks. But for starters: Why is a simple hug so difficult to handle for some, while others respond immediately? (Luckily I've found one who is quite good at that...) And a well designed interface would never answer YES when it meant NO. And where's the bloody OK button?

Aiming For Perfection - Or Am I Just Plain Manic?

Perhaps I don't want to hear the answer, so if you're worried - just fetch the straight jacket.

Sometimes I "amuse" myself with reading my own old blogposts, and just as often I get this strange feeling that it wasn't me who wrote it in the first place. Probably 'cause when I write I'm so immersed I'm hardly aware of what I'm doing. I'm almost ashamed to say that I even think some of it is quite good, but there's always room for improvement. So what do I do? I edit! I can open up stuff from last year and swap an "insecure" for "anxious" just 'cause I think it works better. (Honestly?!?) How insane isn't that? I mean, no one will ever notice.

It's too bad I can't go back in those real life moments, and alter conversations I've had there.

I'm Not Lonely

I have a friend here. Golden brown, and smells like a horse. But yet sweet and with a full body. He inspires me and keeps me company while I'm hammering away on the keyboard...

Write Or Not Write?

I was just about to start this post with the sentence "I'm sitting here trying to write the analysis about Whom the Telling Changed...", but that would have been a lie. I'm not even trying. The only thing I'm doing, is doing nothing. Waiting for time to pass so I can get really stressed and anxious. Best motivator there is.

I realize this isn't the best strategy, and at some point I really have to change the way I work. Or rather not work. But as I'm writing a post anyway to loosen up my thoughts and fingers, why not at least try to relate it to my assignment?

Whom the Telling Changed is a piece of Interactive Fiction created by Aaron A. Reed, and it's written in Inform 6.3. Curious as I am, and also needy of substantial information I visited Inform's homepage. There's now a Inform 7 which I have just downloaded, but the question is - what on earth am I going to do with it? I would love to try it out, but when? And I also think a course would be helpful. And fun. But I strongly suspect there aren't that many on this side of the pond. Maybe Jill knows something.

Do I really need any more toys that I don't have time to play with? (Read in the paper the other day that Norwegian kids have like 500 toys in their rooms, now that's absolutely insane!) Or maybe this is the tool I've been searching for? The the perfect medium for exploring and expressing myself? Very well could be, considering what they say on their site:

With a small number of exceptions, though, the most important works of interactive fiction have never been "published" in the sense of being issued for sale by a for-profit company. [...] For the most part, IF has not been commercially valuable since about 1988.

That would be so typical me, finding something really fun and interesting, and not getting any money out of it...

In All Fairness

One of the essays I'm writing is an analysis of Aaron A. Reed's "Whom the Telling Changed", an Interactive fiction loosely based on the epic of Gilgamesh. In connection with that, trawling around the net for relevant information, I also came across Hammurabi and his code of laws, probably the oldest laws written down. Almost 4000 years ago they already know how to deal with thieves, adulterers and other low-lives. What applies to slaves I guess is not relevant today, but just hear what he had to say about marital life (just a few, random points; and bear in mind that the wife pretty much had to do what the man told her to):

128

• If a man take a woman to wife, but have no intercourse with her, this woman is no wife to him.

131

• If a man bring a charge against one's wife, but she is not surprised with another man, she must take an oath and then may return to her house.

133

• If a man is taken prisoner in war, and there is a sustenance in his house, but his wife leave house and court, and go to another house: because this wife did not keep her court, and went to another house, she shall be judicially condemned and thrown into the water.

134

• If any one be captured in war and there is not sustenance in his house, if then his wife go to another house this woman shall be held blameless.

135

• If a man be taken prisoner in war and there be no sustenance in his house and his wife go to another house and bear children; and if later her husband return and come to his home: then this wife shall return to her husband, but the children follow their father.

136

• If any one leave his house, run away, and then his wife go to another house, if then he return, and wishes to take his wife back: because he fled from his home and ran away, the wife of this runaway shall not return to her husband.

137

• If a man wish to separate from a woman who has borne him children, or from his wife who has borne him children: then he shall give that wife her dowry, and a part of the usufruct of field, garden, and property, so that she can rear her children. When she has brought up her children, a portion of all that is given to the children, equal as that of one son, shall be given to her. She may then marry the man of her heart.

This sounds pretty good, but 139 sets me back again:

• If there was no purchase price he shall give her one mina of gold as a gift of release.

And 141 makes it clear you have no chance of making your mans life so miserable he'd take the first step and rather run away:

• If a man's wife, who lives in his house, wishes to leave it, plunges into debt, tries to ruin her house, neglects her husband, and is judicially convicted: if her husband offer her release, she may go on her way, and he gives her nothing as a gift of release. If her husband does not wish to release her, and if he take another wife, she shall remain as servant in her husband's house.

But you had to be pretty careful with accusations, just listen to 141 and 142:

• If a woman quarrel with her husband, and say: "You are not congenial to me," the reasons for her prejudice must be presented. If she is guiltless, and there is no fault on her part, but he leaves and neglects her, then no guilt attaches to this woman, she shall take her dowry and go back to her father's house.
  

• If she is not innocent, but leaves her husband, and ruins her house, neglecting her husband, this woman shall be cast into the water.

And 235, one about ships, is pure genius:

• If a shipbuilder build a boat for some one, and do not make it tight, if during that same year that boat is sent away and suffers injury, the shipbuilder shall take the boat apart and put it together tight at his own expense. The tight boat he shall give to the boat owner.

They sure know how to protect what was valuable to them; property, wifes, slaves, crop and ships. Or we could just say property to make it simple.