The old priest hesitated. Optimism? He drew back his hood and adjusted his round, thin wired spectacles. The small boy’s eyes were white against his dirty face, looking up and waiting like a starving buzzard for nourishment. The priest leaned against his staff and bent down, his knees cracked and popped. The child, face void of emotion, just watched, and the crowd murmured. Surely the Sage was offended.

Wisdom and innocence locked eyes, and the Priest spoke. “What did you say was your desire?”

“Optimism,” the boy said, the word fell from his lips like a heavy yoke, burdening all whose ears it touched. It caused the priest to wobble and he gripped his staff.

Now he understood. Despite his protests, they had continually begged him to see the child. He is possessed by demons, they cried. You must bless him. He’d refused many times because no child needed his blessing. Now, unfortunately, he understood. He sighed but did not avert his gaze, even as the eyes of the child drained happiness from him like smoke drifting from the alter. So this was the one that would destroy their world. This was the one that would expose the lies.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the child. “But I cannot help you.”

The child blinked, but showed no emotion. No disappointment, no sadness, no longing. “Then I will leave our village forever.”

The Priest slumped against his staff. He old eyes sagged and his warm smile vanished into lethargy. “No, it won’t help. The prophecy is upon us,” he said.

The child turned his head, his eyes begged for tears but instead remained dry and hollow. He looked back to the Priest. “I am sorry,” he said.

The weary priest reached out and embraced him and the boy’s head rested on his shoulder.

“We created you boy, do not be sorry. Your burden is greater than they can ever know,” he whispered.

The boy straightened, knowing the old man was near his limit. Several others nearby had already fallen to their knees. He pointed to them. “That is my burden.”

The boy departed and the Priest fell to the ground breathing heavily, pained in his heart yet thankful for respite. The crowd pointed in condemnation at the departing child, certain now of their erroneous conclusions. “It is our burden,” he tried to tell the boy. But it was too late.

The marriage stayed in tact four more years after writing this entry. The aftermath and confusion of my divorce twisted my body, mind, and soul in ways that changed me forever. My life now, with a woman that is truly an ideal match for me, is like a calm peaceful morning following a night of thunder and lightning so close you can smell the burnt air. That storm ripped my house apart and I thought my life was destroyed. Now five years later, a new home stands testament to the healing power of Father Time.

My Crucible (November of 2000)

I look for a reason. Unsuccessful, I fall back asleep, wake up an hour later, and try again. Getting out of bed is the toughest part of my day. My job starts in the afternoon, kids are at school, and I only work three hours a day. I could sleep almost all day if I wanted.

I’m not tired, I’m empty. Crack open my chest you’ll find an empty hole. My belly button to my throat is an empty cavity where my spine dangles like the root of a tree searching for nourishment. There is nothing to feed it.

As a lifeless drone, I do the bare minimum required to survive. It’s not a good place to be. I don’t complain or try to change, I just tolerate life. It’s what I’ve done for over thirty years but it’s starting to bug me now.

It’s not that I don’t have plenty of opportunities to fill my soul. Nourishment is plentiful; my kids, a job I almost enjoy, music, writing, photography, rock climbing…plenty of passion. Well, there could be at least. So why am I so empty?

By the time I was 13 and without even knowing what happened, I embraced a belief that a woman contained the key to my happiness. She would fill my chest with happiness, passion, and pleasure. It wasn’t a conscious choice, but rather a gradual dependence formed by years of social programming.

I watched TV and saw movies where women made men happy. I saw how men gave anything for the pleasures offered by beautiful women. Large breasts, a slim figure, beautiful hair, and inviting eyes were the secret formula for happiness. The media sold it and my hormones bought it.

In addition, my religion taught that marriage would give additional meaning and purpose to my life. Women were a one stop solution to the meaning of life. But there was a catch with religion: sexual desires are good only in the confines as marriage. Not a bad thing in itself, but the guilt from my lusting poisoned my youth.

By eighth grade this programming controlled my life. I would only find happiness when a girl accepted and loved me. But, I was such evil person because of my carnal desires and constant disappointments to God, my parents, and myself. My self-esteem was a mess. I spent my pathetic teenage years dreaming and wishing for a girlfriend yet lacking the confidence to barely even talk to girls. I had moments of elation and some fun relationships, but for the most part, my dependence on them got in the way and messed things up.

Acquiring a girlfriend and managing my sexual desires became a juggling act: a cycle of passion, masturbation, guilt, self-flagellation, depression, and back to passion. It was a thorny complex cycle. My soul screamed for happiness, my body screamed for pleasure, and the two blurred together offering women as the solution. But to form the pure and wholesome relationship required for true happiness component, I had to bury my evil sexual desires. I worked hard on this one (see the above cycle/juggling act) and held on because I believed the nightmare condition would all end once I was married. At that point it would all come together; happiness, meaning, and pleasure. I tried to be a perfect little Mormon boy and later considered careers based on money rather than something I enjoyed.

Marriage and the introduction of sex medicated me for a time. It kept me numb to the fact that I wasn’t living my own life or following my own dreams. As long as I had my fix, I kept going. When the sex frequency took a nose dive after the first year, my world spun. Start juggling again, this time on a spinning merry-go-round. Now, after ten years of marriage we teeter on the brink of divorce. I’ve spent my whole life leaning on admiration and sexual gratification from women, a rickety old crutch to begin with, and it is being taken away. Now I’m empty. I don’t have the love and admiration of the women I married, I am sexually frustrated, and I’ve realized my life-long scripts are bullshit.

I’m in a tough spot. I don’t like relying on women for validation, meaning, and pleasure. Thirty years of programming doesn’t just flush down the toilet. It takes work to clean up a mess like this. I’m so used to relying on women I don’t know how to take responsibility for my own happiness. The thought scares the hell out of me. Somehow, though, I’ll have to learn to fill my own tank. It’s the way it should be because I know happiness can only come from within; through self-love, service, creativity, honesty, spirituality, intimacy…I know where I need to be but don’t know how to get there.

I’m not alone with this. Sex sells because people like me buy in to the fact that it’ll bring happiness. I can understand why even the president of the United States would risk everything for a blowjob. Sex, money, drugs, and power are where men look, typically. We all have our periods of vainly searching for happiness in places where it can’t be found. The lessons we learn from media, religion, social influence, and even parents aren’t always the most effective ways to live.

So what now? I can’t say. There is no easy answer. For me, it’s one day at a time and courage to look in a new places for happiness. It’s scary, but I’ll get rid of my addiction to women. I’m determined to be happy independent of my sexual and emotional issues with women.

His hands shot to his face just in time to conceal the wide grin that parted his cheeks. Everything had worked out perfect. Since her fall, two weeks ago, he’d prayed every day that she would hold on long enough. When the phone would ring, his heart would stop. Mom would talk low and quiet and the thought of grandma dying too soon made tears trickle down his cheek. But she hadn’t. His eighth birthday was yesterday and since then, he’d been ready to explode with excitement. Masking it with sadness had been like trying to hide a bucket of exploding firecrackers.

A hand touched his shoulder and he looked up to see his mother and his blood ran cold. He breathed heavy and sweat beads appeared on his forehead as he stared back at her in wide-eyed fear. Could she see the happiness? Would she be angry?

She picked him up and buried his head in her shoulder.

“Poor Blake,” she told somebody. “He has been dreading this day.”

He pressed his grin into her fluffy dress and almost laughed. She didn’t know. Nobody knew. He held her tight and didn’t let her put him down until she asked if he wanted to take a nap. He nodded and she carried him off into one of grandma’s cold, dark bedrooms and plopped him onto the bed.

She stayed with him for a few minutes, stroking his hair, but he kept his face buried in the pillow and pretended he was asleep until she left. Then he spun over and let his mouth go free. It stretched from ear to ear as his eyes danced with excitement. It was now only two days away.

Last year they had all gone without him. Mother, Grandma, and everyone had rode off leaving him alone with an older girl he didn’t even know. It wasn’t fair to leave him like that, to exclude him from father’s mourning just because he wasn’t eight. He’d cried all afternoon…so hard even the girl started crying, saying she was so sorry but not to worry because his father was watching from heaven. Of course father was in heaven. He never told her why he had really been crying…or told anyone why he’d cried every day since. At least every day until yesterday. Now he could go and partake like everyone else.

Waiting the next two days was torture, worse than Christmas. Mother was gone most of the time, helping with all the work. Grandma had to be prepared for the ceremony and everything had to be blessed by the elders. The church had to be set up, talks had to be prepared, friends and family notified. It was a lot of work and he was glad they were all busy. It was too hard to look sad all the time when they were around.

On the big day, he woke up before Mother, put on his church clothes, and clipped his tie into place. He climbed onto the sink and drizzled water onto his comb and ran it through his hair until it was straight like mother liked it. Then he sat on the big chair in the front room and waited.

He heard the water running when she started the shower. A short time later, the hum of the blow dryer made him think of her hair bouncing around as she fixed it up. When she came walking down the hall she stopped when she saw him.

“You look very handsome…how long have you been awake?”

“Not very,” he said.

“Did you already eat something?” she asked.

“We aren’t supposed to, remember?”

“Well, adults aren’t, but kids can if they want to. You don’t have to fast like me,” she said.

“I want to,” he answered.

She nodded, walked into the room, and sat on the couch. “Do you have any questions about what happens today?”

He shook his head, no.

“Today we honor Grandma by accepting her into our own hearts and lives forever. We take all the good in her and make it part of us.”

“I know,” he nodded. “Just like you did last year with father. And Grandma was there, so part of father is in her. And now, he will be in me, too.”

Her eyes flooded and several drops escaped down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak but no words escaped. She nodded and wiped her tears.

She pulled him onto her lap and squeezed. For some reason, now he knew she wouldn’t mind that he was happy. She understood.

The chapel was dark and empty when he pushed through the large double doors. He was the first to sit and he took the front row on the edge so he would be the first to partake. The lights flickered and the shadows vanished. Hushed whispers chased the silence as others entered and sat on the long wooden benches. Old lady Jergins walked up onto the stand and sat at the organ. Moments later, the pipes hummed and soft music drowned the whispers.

He didn’t have to hide his smile anymore, it was gone. This was important and even though his body shivered with excitement, he sat still with his arms folded. This was serious; he was with the adults and was expected to act like one. And it was almost time.

Mother sat next to him and put an arm around him. He felt a soft kiss on his forehead. Then the preacher walked up to the pulpit and motioned for all to stand.

Blake heard the back doors open and watched the isle anxiously as they brought her forward. The elders appeared, carrying the large, covered silver platter. It wouldn’t be long now; Father would be a part of him forever.

He sat still, arms folded, and looking ahead as if he was listening to the stories and talks. But his eyes were glazed and his mind filled with images of his father as he waited. When it was time and the preacher again asked the front row to stand, his eyes filled with tears. Mother squeezed his hand and he looked up at her. She smiled at him, through streaks of tears on her cheeks. She was the prettiest woman alive and he hugged her. His chest was tingling and more tears fell down his face. This was the happiest day of his life.

He walked up the steps, first in line, and the row followed. The elders lifted the cover and he stepped up to them. He opened his mouth and one of the elders leaned forward and put a small piece of meat in his mouth. Now, father would always be a part of him. Forever.

Cover art copyrighted by Judy Schmidt and used with permission.

Summary
In a world created by evil, rebellion is inevitable.

For the first sixteen years of his life, Prince Jasper has revered the stranger who saved them from destruction thirty years prior, a man known only as the Guide. But he’s afraid of his buried thoughts and burning questions. Have his parents and the Guide lied to him? When his first love is sacrificed under the guise of honor and tradition, his eyes start opening to the horrible truth. He voices his concerns and is instantly shunned by everyone he loves.

Jasper’s fall from grace is swift. His life is threatened and he is rescued by a small group of outlaws who introduce him to swords, sorcery, and dark secrets about the Guide. His parents, friends, and the entire kingdom have been beguiled by cunning lies. Now, hunted and despised by the people he struggles to save, Jasper joins the Resistance to fight an underground war against the dark powers that shroud his nation in ignorance.

Prologue

Is that her? ZieZee’s thoughts passed to her partner as she pointed down the rocky slope through branches of naked trees that reached into the sky like giant spider legs.

Dorg looked at the large mound of snow in the ravine below, nodded, and answered with his mind. Yes, she’s under there, protecting the egg.

Cloudy vapor froze in frigid air as it left their bodies, marking time in steady puffs. Only two creatures could survive this icy tundra: their kind and the massive beast nesting in the gorge below. They watched and waited, camouflaged by thick white fur on the snow covered ridge. To the keen eye they looked awkward; standing knee deep in the snow made them look unnaturally short, even for snow apes.

Let’s get it over with; I want to get out of this cursed animal. Her thoughts again filled his mind.

Not until dark, we need that advantage. Besides, these apes are one of your best creations…fast, nimble, and strong. Enjoy it; you’ll be ataiki again soon.

Better than human, she answered.

The corner of his lip curled in satisfaction. Swine was better than ataiki but ZieZee was too stupid to know. Her ignorance worked to his benefit, it let him manipulate her. He reached up and wrapped his four fingers around a thick branch, jumped, and sailed through the air. He swung branch to branch until he had weaved high to a perch that hung precariously over the cliff and he sat in a forked limb, letting his legs dangle. But ZieZee hadn’t followed him. He looked down and saw her still standing in the snow below.

Her voice again filled his mind. I’m not going up there.

He didn’t answer. It was her own fault she was miserable. He turned and looked at the mound of snow directly below him. It was like a large knot on a tree, an unnatural blemish that called attention to its abnormality. It didn’t belong…it had to be Nix, the dragon. For two years they had searched, tapping deep into the spiritual realm, but dragons were fortified against their detection. This was common with magical creatures. But this had to be her, everything pointed here. Moving close enough to verify would be foolish because if she was awake, she was watching and waiting. If she was sleeping, the pulse of the ground and the heat of his body would wake her. Either way she wouldn’t pass an opportunity to feed since for six years she’d been unable to leave her egg. He would assume it was her and they would proceed as planned.

He clutched the vial that hung from a leather strap around his neck and lifted it to his bulgy, pink eyes. The silver container hid the contents and he considered opening the lid to look inside, but it wasn’t a serious consideration. He’d never take a chance like that with victory so close when he understood little about the green, luminescent fluid. Whatever it was had evolved when the demigod Vitaneous was destroyed, five hundred years prior. For hundreds of years he had been afraid of it, in fact everything he knew about it had come in the past year after he forced ZieZee to swallow several drops. Drinking it somehow magnified their connection to the spiritual realm; hopefully it would be enough to subdue the dragon.

It’s dusk, can we start? ZieZee’s voice spoke alongside his thoughts, startling him. Sometimes he didn’t like how she could speak right to his mind, invading his solitude. He growled, one of the few sounds he could make as an ape, and it quickly escalated to a loud rhythmic chant. He beat his chest.

What are you doing? You are going to wake her!

He ignored ZieZee and filled the canyon with his howl, which echoed off icy granite walls towering around them. When he finished, the mountains replayed his screams in an eerie chant that slowly faded back to silence.

He focused on ZieZee and sent his thoughts, we need to move fast…there is lot to do. Ready?

Why did you do that? Now she knows we’re here.

He didn’t answer until his disgust at her thick brain faded. It wouldn’t help if she sensed his indignation. He cleared his mind. Because now she’s looking for a meal, it will weaken the protections around her mind. I’m taking the vitane now; see you on the other side.

He opened the vial, cocked his head, and poured the liquid down his throat. It lacked the burning he was used to in human form and for the first time, he noticed the bitter taste and slimy texture. His chest warmed. He licked the sides of his mouth and his head twitched at the tartness. His chest burned with heat. He looked down, making sure he was directly above the mound of snow covering Nix but his vision doubled, tripled, and then faded into a single bright haze as death snuffed the life from his body. His perceptions changed with the shift to the spiritual realm. All physical sensations ceased, replaced by intuition, thought, and emotion. Now he existed like a cloud of warm air: a pulsing aura of energy unseen by the creatures of his world below.

The dead body of the ape he left behind slumped and, for a moment, remained frozen in the forked branch. Then it teetered, rolled sideways out of the tree, and tumbled like a puppet towards the ground. Dorg could see none of this. Nor could he hear the snap of jaws as the dragon’s neck shot out from under the white blanket in a barrage of fangs and flying snow to catch the ape in its maw of long white daggers. But even without physical senses, he experienced it in vivid detail through mental perception, including the sudden crimson stains that spattered the pristine snow. He was keenly aware of bones shattering and crunching as the dragon devoured the ape. He perceived her hunger. She hadn’t eaten in months and was starving.

Images of the world below flashed through his mind like a dream. He sensed ZieZee, in the body of the other snow ape, descending into the gully. In the next valley, five wild apes slept huddled in a small cave. Beyond the stars he felt the shunning force of the great light, the power that seduced nearly every detached soul to abandon this world. It beckoned to all, save three: ZieZee, himself, and what was left of Vitaneous. It rejected them, pinning them forever to this forsaken world. It certainly had never expected them to fill a barren wasteland with life, as they had done. And now that they were learning to harvest energy, it wouldn’t hold them forever.

Dorg!

He jolted at ZieZee’s cry for help. She had left the ape and was with him in the spirit realm, fighting Nixun. She was straining, pulling, screaming…how long had it been? Was it too late? Once he had lost himself for hundreds of years in such rumination. He sensed the dead body of the ape, left behind where she had taken her own flask of vitane. It was still warm and able to sustain life. Relieved, he focused on the dragon and felt himself immersed in its essence and ZieZee’s struggle. He pulled with her, expecting the dragon’s soul to break free as happened with other creatures. But instead, a bolt of energy lashed through him, burning like acid. He raged, shooting back in full concentration and crashed into the dragon, splitting the dusk sky with lighting. Thunder cracked and rolled and the dragon’s body fell limp.

A new essence joined them, Nix, floating like spider silk on a breeze. She was like a baby in this new world, unable to maneuver or even comprehend her surroundings. They encircled her, guiding her to ZieZee’s ape lying dead in the snow. Both body and essence still craved life and the two latched quickly. The ape’s chest expanded thrice, and then an eye cracked open. Nix was inside.

ZieZee drifted to the empty, motionless corpse of the dragon. Dorg sensed life returning to the giant beast; a talon twitched, a wing opened, and red eyes glowed. ZieZee had again become mortal. She tried to stand but collapsed in a cloud of snowy dust; it would take her a moment to learn how to control this new body. Practicing on the summit eagles helped, but nothing could have completely prepared her for this.

The ape rolled in the snow.

He sent ZieZee his thoughts. Hurry, before she gets control. She’ll fight to the death to protect the egg and we need her alive…to put her back when we are finished.

Nix could live for at least a month in the fattened body of the ape, even if all she did was lie motionless in the snow. Eventually, they needed her soul returned to the dragon body. If she was injured or killed their plans would be worthless. After nearly a thousand years of work, Dorg wasn’t about to let that happen. ZieZee thrust her legs and fell forward, grunting as flames shot from her nose and melted a long stretch of snow.

The nest, ZieZee told him. We’re too late.

Dorg sensed warm radiant energy below, the infant was alive. They were not too late. ZieZee stumbled again, raking claw marks in the snow as she failed in her awkward attempts to stand. Finally, she lunged and rolled sideways, sliding on her back halfway down the slope to the ape, which was also struggling for control. Then something moved in the nest.

As an the image of the scene formed in Dorg’s mind, the ape made a gurgling sound which was surely meant to be a booming roar from a dragon’s body. Nix grunted and pawed in confusion as she slipped and inched back towards the nest. ZieZee, meanwhile, rose and stretched her new wings.

What should I do? ZieZee asked.

The image clarified and Dorg pulsed in fury. The egg lie in pieces, hatched. Plans destroyed. His rage culminated in volatile energy that radiated a faint red glow above the nest that even mortals could see. An infant dragon lay curled and quivering below. ZieZee was right, they were too late. An egg would have survived the flight over the mountains but this newborn would not even survive the next few moments. Death was imminent. There would be no dragon child to ransom cooperation from Nix.

I told you we shouldn’t have killed the father, ZieZee said. You’ve ruined everything…

That pricked his rage and the red glow exploded, spawning a storm of fury that rained shards of burning energy on ZieZee. She shrieked and roared. Dorg shut her out, for two reasons; he didn’t want to expose her to more damage, but moreover, he didn’t want to hear her foul response. What did it matter? All was for naught…

The ape, now ably walking on all fours, reached the nest and threw herself on the tiny dragon to warm the freezing child. Even a dragon, with its size and heat, had little chance of saving the newborn after such an extreme sting of chill. The young spirit soon detached and its essence dwelled briefly while accustoming to the spirit realm. Dorg made no attempt to shield it from the call of the great light; he had no use for this soul. A wave of love passed from child to mother before it pulled away, leaving Nix howling and caressing the dead body with pudgy ape fingers. The child’s essence hesitated and then streaked through the sky.

A dark ambiance touched Dorg’s mind; ZieZee was cursing furiously and trying to attack him. But it was pointless. In mortal form she could neither see nor sense him and without vitane, she would have to take her life to free her soul. Even she wasn’t stupid enough to kill the only living dragon. He would deal with her eventually but he could not help her until after returning to the lair where he would take a new body, cultivate more vitane, and then come for her. It would take weeks.

A shift in the mood of Nix caught his attention. She now emanated panic rather than sorrow, and even ZieZee’s anger had been replaced with curiosity. An image filled his mind of Nix pushing the tiny dragon body aside and frantically digging through the feathered lining of the nest. Then he sensed another life form. Faint and obscure, it had gone unnoticed. Twins! And the second child hadn’t hatched.

Nix pulled the egg from its refuge and sprinted away, hobbling through the snow like a three legged wolf as she held the egg against her furry belly with one arm. Even with the egg, she was faster than expected and before ZieZee could react, fresh tracks stretched halfway down the canyon. The dark thicket across the clearing was like a quagmire for a large dragon; there was no chance ZieZee could follow a nimble creature flying from tree to tree, and, apparently, all of them realized it. ZieZee beat her wings twice, shot into the air, flipped over, and dove for the ground. She pulled up at the last moment and shot forward in a silent glide just above the snow.

Don’t hurt her…we need her alive. Dorg said, re-opening his mind to her.

ZieZee closed the gap, gaining rapidly, but the lead was too great. As Nix leaped and reached for a dangling branch, a mere swing from safety, ZieZee rolled and slashed with an outstretched talon and clipped Nix’s back leg. Nix spun to the ground well short of the forest and ZieZee sailed past, barreling into the white covered evergreens as branches snapped, cracked, and chunks of snow fell to the ground in deep thuds.

Nix rolled and flipped onto her feet but ZieZee had already recovered and blocked her escape into the forest. ZieZee lowered her head, growling as she bent down on all four legs ready to pounce on the tiny ape. Nix seemed transfixed staring into the giant slit, blood-red eyes that used to be her own. She turned and shuffled the egg to her side, away from ZieZee, but cocked her head to keep her gaze. Then she opened her mouth and hissed, fangs bared in an apparent attempt to fill the air with fire, but only warm cloudy air came from her throat, fading even as it appeared. ZieZee jumped forward, knocking Nix to the ground and pinned her between talons built to shred snow apes. Nix thrashed and ZieZee pushed her deeper into the snow. Then ZieZee leaned forward and with her other front claw, pried loose the egg and then placed it into her fang-laced mouth. With a stiff beat of wings, ZieZee rose into the air with Nix clinging to her talons, refusing to let go. But with a quick shake, she was jolted free and fell back into the snow as ZieZee climbed higher and beat a steady course west, towards the caverns.

Dorg followed as Nix chased the departing fluttering spec in the sky. He told ZieZee he would join her in the caverns when Nix stopped, so they could find her again. But ZieZee didn’t answer. Time apart would be good and help her cool off to refocus on their purpose. He followed Nix for two nights until she finally collapsed broken-hearted and exhausted in a snowless clearing at the base of the mountains. Despondence and exhaustion would keep her in this area until they returned. Satisfied, he set his mind on the lair and sensed himself rushing over mountain peaks and thick forests.

He plunged through volcanic rock into the heart of the caverns that he and ZieZee called home. She was waiting, pretending to be asleep in a distant corner with one giant talon curled around the newly acquired egg. Below, he sensed the young man they had previously captured wrestling the straps that bound him to a chair. Dorg had handpicked this tall muscular warrior. His long brown hair and dashing smile were ideal to lead the humans to victory. Like swatting at a fly, he brushed the soul from the man and hurled it to the light as the body fell limp.

He filled his mind with images of the man and felt himself drift to the body. He imagined himself making a fist with the man’s hands and felt fingernails digging into his palms. He pictured himself speaking and felt parched lips cracking. Then he imagined expanding his chest to take in air and felt a cool rush through his throat. The man in the chair opened his eyes and Dorg saw shadows flicker on the cave walls. He gasped for air and coughed as life returned to the body. He had made it; everything had worked to his desires. But now he needed sleep, his energy was spent. The thought of his bed in a nearby cove was soothing and he leaned forward to stand but couldn’t. His legs and arms were still bound to the chair.

“ZieZee? I’m back, untie me,” he yelled.

The caverns echoed his voice. He twisted and spun his head for a quick look behind and a sting shot down his back and his neck popped. He winced and straightened. She was watching him with those big red eyes. No doubt still angry.

“It was an accident, I didn’t mean to attack you. You know what it’s like…it’s hard to contain emotion in spirit form. Please, set me free. I need sleep,” he said.

She could have answered, she had rested enough to send thoughts to his mind, but she didn’t. He sighed and leaned his head on the back of the chair, sagging into the straps that held him. She would forgive him. His plan had worked and that’s all that mattered. To the south, amid the clashing of steel and cries of death, he would soon emerge a hero. The humans would revere and worship him: the man who saved them from the dark ones. Then they would return Nix to her dragon body and hatch the egg themselves. Nix would do whatever they asked of her. All would be in place to lead the humans into an age of peace and prosperity. Finally, he would have the resources needed to research the vitane. After so long, the end of his banishment was near…maybe even within the lifetime of this new body.

Recently, I had an opportunity to gain some insight. I play an online game called “World of Warcraft,” commonly referred to as “WOW.” If you aren’t one of the eight million people who play this game, hold your judgment until you finish reading…I’ll give you some background.

The effects of this alternate reality of this world aren’t limited to the imagination. Marriages have been formed and dissolved, lawsuits have been filed, and in-game items have been traded and purchased using real world currency. In fact, I have spoken with a 21 year old man who works in an office in China with 40 others. They play WOW eighteen hours a day. They grind away in the game earning gold, the currency of WOW. The gold is sent to their supervisor’s in-game character and then marketed in the real world for $20 per 100. In this WOW Sweatshop, he earns $200 per month and is thankful to have a job to support his family. But that’s another article.

In WOW, I play a short little gnome named ZieZee. As a gnome, I am part of the “Alliance,” and therefore allied with the human, dwarf, and night elf races. Most of the others characters I encounter are real people sitting at their computers plucking away at a keyboard while exploring a vast world of swords, magic, monsters, dungeons, cities, etc. I can chat with them, team up with others finish quests, or even form guilds comprised of hundreds of individuals all working together.

On the other side are players who create characters that are Orcs, Trolls, Tauren (big Ogre-like creatures), or Undead. They are known as the Horde and enemy of the Alliance. The two sides cannot communicate, group up, or collaborate. In some worlds (there are multiple WOW worlds that you can join), you can freely attack and kill members of the opposing faction. Initially, I created a character in one of these worlds. Later I decided it did not suit my personality and transferred to a friendlier place.

As I explored the land, I become progressively more powerful. Characters who have played for months or years can easily mow through armies of lower characters and I often ran across these more powerful characters. Alliance characters would often lend me a hand with a difficult beast. Hoard characters, however, would often charge, attack, and kill me. Dying, although not the end of the game, is an inconvenient process.

I wasn’t interested in the player vs. player aspect of the game. I left lower Horde members alone and let them go on their merry way. As they cautiously kept their distance I often waved or smiled to indicate I meant them no harm, although their distrust kept them away. Communication between factions is limited to basic physical actions. Although I didn’t harass lower Horde, I didn’t find the same courtesy from their bigger brothers and sisters. I found myself being attacked from behind, attacked while opening a chest, and attacked while just walking down the path time and time again. With each brutal ambush, I my anger increased. I found myself hating the Horde; really hating them. I noticed my face automatically jumped to a bitter scowl whenever I saw one. Fear griped me when I saw them on a distant hill. I truly developed an extreme prejudice for the races that made up the Horde.

I abandoned my friendly nature and begin fighting back. I’d join others in raiding Horde villages, killing other players. It felt good to get even. They had caused me too much pain and suffering.

Then one day as I was out adventuring, I came across a Horde undead Priestess gathering Herbs for her potions. I went into stealth mode (an ability my character has) and snuck up behind her. Although I was ready to attack with my backstab ability and she was seconds away from death, I hesitated. I followed her for about four minutes as she picked her flowers and my hate and anger for the Horde wavered. I couldn’t kill her. And not only that, I couldn’t play this game anymore.

I know it’s just a game and all pretend, it doesn’t matter, right? No, it doesn’t, but it still didn’t resonate with me. I didn’t like feeling the anger, hostility, and fear that surfaced during my interactions with the Horde. I didn’t like the vengeance that drove me to sneak up to assassinate the Undead Priestess. Even if it was a game, it was so far out of character for me that I couldn’t do it anymore.

I snuck around in front of her, holstered my two poison tipped daggers, took off my armor, and unstealthed…appearing for her. Now I was helpless. I’m sure she realized I could have killed her easily while I was stealthed, but now a few quick spells and I’d be the dead one. I waved and sat down on the grass. She didn’t move, but instead stared dubiously at me. I watched the screen curiously. It took several moments but then she sat down in front of me. Using the basic physical gestures allowed, evoked by typing “slash commands” we communicated. /wink, /smile, /laugh, /hug, and finally, /dance. In the end we waved goodbye and went our separate ways. It felt really good.

I paid to have my character transferred to another world, where you couldn’t mercilessly attack the members of the other faction. Sine then, the game has been much more enjoyable for me. Why I ever played in a world driven by hate and violence I don’t know. I guess I hoped that I could somehow find a way to cope and survive. Maybe I thought I could make a difference. It sounds stupid because it’s just a game. But really, it’s not just a game, which is why I struggled with it. It is real social attitudes manifested in a pretend world. It’s examples of the real problems we have in our world. And it drummed up real feelings of hatred, vengeance, and anger within me. Had I started playing WOW with the intent of fighting bitter enemies, I would have handled it better. But I wanted to play to have fun, explore, and socialize.

Yes, it is just a game, but now I think I can understand, a little, the hatred and anger experienced by real people in the real world. I know why in Seattle a few years ago an African American man bitterly told me to get out of his shop because the “white man’s shop is down the road.” He didn’t want to share his African carving and artwork with me because of the anger and hostility that burned in him merely because my skin is white. His history has burned that in to him. The war in Vietnam burned it into others. It’s too bad we can’t just switch to a new game server where that doesn’t exist. It takes vulnerability…putting away our daggers and standing in front of one another exposed. And in real life, that’s a scary thing to do.

Like burning acid
Boredom eats my heart and soul
Stealing my spirit

Empty of Spirit
I meander through the void
the prey of cheap thrills

My soul now enslaved
Instant Gratifications
Are my ties that bind

Passion is traded
Like a hooker on main street
For thrills and disease

Focused on the stars
I can escape from the void
And reclaim my soul

“Where’s your red nose Rudolf?” somebody yelled as the boys burst into more laughter.

He tried to walk with a normal easy stroll but he felt tense and awkward. It was hard to normalize this situation while he battled both embarrassment and fear. Embarrassed everyone was staring at him and fear that another snowball would smack the back of his head…or worse, that a sudden shove to his back would throw him again face first to the ground.

“We want to see you fly Rudolf!”

“So would I,” he thought amid their jeers.

His head suddenly lurched forward and he felt the cold sting of another snowball. He didn’t pause to brush off the snow, determined instead to distance himself between himself and the school.

He both loved and hated his name. Christmastime was the worst. Most of the rest of the year passed with only minor incidents but after Thanksgiving the teasing continually got worse. By the last day of school before Christmas break he expected this. Even the snowballs.

But his name was all he had from his father. He held onto the name in the same way that he held on to his imagined life with a father he’d never met. Somewhere out there was a man named Rudolf who understood. And Rudolf tolerated the teasing because the pain of letting go of the idea that someday he’d find his father hurt more than the snowballs.
After a few blocks, the mob lost interest and Rudolf was left to walk in peace. He shook the icy water out of his hair and wiggled his shoulders to rub his coat on his back. It soaked up some of the freezing slush that had drizzled halfway down his spine. He picked up his pace to get home where he could take off his wet shirt and wrap up in a blanket.

The house was cold and empty. His mom worked two jobs and wouldn’t be home until just before the sun rose tomorrow morning. She’d sleep a few hours and then rush out to catch the bus. Rudolf spent most of his time in the dark, quiet house reading. He tossed his coat on the couch and quickly stripped off his wet shirt, careful to keep it from touching his bare skin. He grabbed the heavy wool blanket on the couch, wrapped it tightly around his body, and collapsed in a cold shiver onto the soft dusty cushions. He spent most of his life alone on this couch.

After his shivering subsided, he reached one arm out from inside the warm blanket to the table behind him and flicked on the light. In the same motion, he grabbed his book. For the next five hours he was happy. In these adventures he had friends and people who loved him. Men admired him. Girls oogled over him. And he stomped out evil and saved the world.

When his eyes finally dropped shut and the book fell to his chest, Rudolf slept with a smile as his escapades continued throughout the night. When he opened them the next morning, the smile stayed in place. He loved dreaming. It had been a wonderful night. In the real word, his mother had come and gone again. In this world his warm breath form a tiny cloud in the cool air above him. He tightened his grip on the book, still resting on his chest, lifted it, and escaped for the rest of the day. He finished it just after the sun stole the meager winter daylight.

His stomach growled. He rolled off the couch and stood, careful to keep the blanket wrapped tightly around him. He moved through the house to the kitchen and looked for something to eat. The fridge wasn’t completely empty but it didn’t have much to offer; a pickle jar with only green juice, old cottage cheese that looked more like blue cheese, and a carton of milk that was on its way to becoming cottage cheese.

Earlier in the week he bought can of Speghettios for 99 cents at the mini market down on the corner. They were probably still on sale. He shuffled through the kitchen drawer for spare change. Unsuccessful, he went back to the front room and searched the bookshelf. He let his blanket fall to the floor and ruffled through the cushions of the couch and chair. Seventy five cents later, he decided to make the best of it. Wearing three shirts, both pairs of his pants, three dirty socks (two on each foot and one on each hand), and his coat, he ventured out into the dark cold Christmas Eve.

Near the market he checked a payphone hoping for a break. It was empty. Inside the market he confirmed the Speghettios were still on sale and even spent a good minute looking at the picture of the little round noodles on the cover. He paused on his way out of the store and thought about buying a Snickers bar instead. But he wanted the Spheghettios. He figured he could find some change somewhere.

Outside he walked down the streets. Several of the houses had blinking lights along the roof and windows. Most of them had a Christmas tree on display in one of the front windows. He wondered what it was like past the glowing trees. Did families actually sit together for a Christmas dinner? Did they read Christmas stories? Maybe sing around the piano? He hoped so.

A large SUV in the distance slowed and turned into a driveway several houses ahead and on the other side of the road. Car doors opened and closed. He saw a few shadowed figures walk into the house and a couple more around to the back of the car. The back swung open and the people unloaded the vehicle. He heard muffled voices as the figures, loaded with grocery bags, walked into the house.

As he drew even with the house, a dark Christmas tree in the window suddenly sprang to life. As he watched, something near the car caught his eye. Curious, he walked across the street and saw a grocery bag laying on the ground near the vehicle.

He crossed the street and picked it up. It was heavy. He opened the bag and wasn’t surprised to see it was full of food. He was, however, surprised to see a can of Spheghettios. For a moment he hesitated. He could take the can and leave the rest. He didn’t consider taking the whole bag. In fact, he wouldn’t have even considered taking anything but Spheghettios had been on his mind all night. They wouldn’t miss a mere can of Spheghettios. Their nice car, nice house, bags of food…why shouldn’t he take it? He could leave the rest on the porch, ring the bell, and run.

He walked up and rang the bell. The door swung open and he held out the bag. The warm air rushing out of the house carried smells that made his mouth water.

“You forgot this,” he said.

The teenage boy at the door looked down at him for a moment.

“Oh, thanks.” He said and took the bag. “Have a Merry Christmas,” he said with a quick smile.

An irritated yell from back inside the house interrupted Rudolf’s response, “Come on Jake, we’ve already been waiting all night!”

Jake glanced around and then back to Rudolf.

“Thanks, you too,” Rudolf answered as he stepped back.

The door shut and Rudolfo turned and began walking down the steps. He reached the sidewalk and hurried to the left and out of view of the front window. And then he stopped. He felt the can in his pocket. He wanted it so bad. He could already smell and taste them. But he was starting to feel sick. He remembered the boy wishing him a Merry Christmas and felt worse.

He rang the bell a second time. A large woman wearing a red sweater decorated with green Christmas designs answered the door.

He avoided her eyes and held out the can in his sock covered hand.

“You forgot this too,” he said.

She didn’t take the can. With his head hung low he rolled his eyes up. She was staring down at him and he quickly looked away, ashamed. He thrust out his hand again hoping she would take it. But she didn’t.

He looked up and she was covering her mouth with her hand. ‘She knows,’ he thought. ‘She knows I stole it.’
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was hungry.”

“What’s,” she cleared her throat and seemed to struggle to speak. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Rudolf,” he answered.

“Like the Reindeer?” she said.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Like the Reindeer,” he said without enthusiasm.

“What are you doing alone tonight?” she asked.
He shrugged.

“Won’t your family be worried?” she asked.

“Nah,” he said and held out the can again.

She took the can and bent down so her eyes were even with his.

“We are just getting ready to eat and we have plenty. I would be honored to have such a fine young man join us for dinner. Would you like to come inside?”

Rudolf wanted to but shook his head, no. He felt bad.

“I’m sorry about the Sphegettios,” he said, again avoiding her eyes.

“Rudolf,” she said.

When he looked at her she had tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Thanks for stopping. Thanks for reminding me what Christmas is really about. Sometimes I get so caught up in everything I just…”

Rudolfo didn’t understand.

“Take this, at least,” she said and pushed the can back into his hand. “You deserve a lot more.”
He hesitated but accepted her gift.

She chuckled and sniffed. “You saved Christmas Rudolf.”
He was confused, but he smiled at her and shook the can, “So have you.”

“Stop by again some day, will you?”

He nodded.

“Promise?” she asked.

He looked back at her and nodded. “Ok, I will,” he grinned.
The looked at each other for a moment and Rudolf stepped back.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Merry Christmas, Rudolf” she answered.

At first, I didn’t do anything. I thought it was a mistake or somebody talking behind me or in the other room. But twenty minutes later it happened again.

“The knife in the kitchen will be crimson by morning,” said the same dark voice.

This time I sat up and turned around. My brother, laughing, was watching the TV from the couch behind me.
“Don’t Hal!” I snarled. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing at you stupid,” he answered through his giggles.

I looked at Cindy. “Did you do it?”

“Shut up loser,” she said, “I can’t hear.”

I frowned and turned back around. It took several minutes to brush it off but soon I was once again laughing with both of them at the completely unrealistic antics of the teenagers. Another twenty minutes and the tall nerdy boy with glasses tripped over the cute girl. He fell and the kids around him laughed, Hal and Cindy behind me laughed, and I laughed too. Then he looked directly at the camera and instead of the squeaky voice I was used to, I heard the dark sinister voice from earlier.

“Susan, you are a very bad girl.”

I screamed, sat up, and covered my eyes and mouth with my hands. The laughing behind me stopped and an angry voice filled the room.

“SUSAN! SHUT UP!” yelled my sister.

I turned and glared at her. She looked back at me and raised her eyebrows.

“Well,” she said. “We can’t hear! Stop messing around.”

“But doesn’t that freak you out?” I said. “Why did he say that?”

“What?” she said and shook her head quickly to mock me.
I stared at her for several seconds and spun back to the screen. The geeky boy was talking to the cute girl. I was afraid to ask my question but had to do it.

“Didn’t you hear him say my name?” I said without turning around.

“SHUT UP!” she said. “Geez SUSAN!”

I got up and stormed out of the room and up the stairs. I was done with the TV and I did what I always do when I’m upset and need to calm down. I went up to my computer to write in my journal. I was using the computer before anyone had a chance to teach me to type so I learned on my own. As a result, when I write I stare at the keyboard and my fingers fly randomly around and I peck each key one by one with my index fingers. Surprisingly, I can type pretty fast like this (faster, in fast, than some of my teachers).

I was punching the keys like I wanted to punch my sister, complaining about how she always teases me when something felt wrong. It’s a feeling I get when I have typed something wrong but I don’t consciously realize it. It’s a gut feeling that says…oops, mistake! I stopped and looked at my screen. What I saw made me scream and lunge backwards, which caused me to fall back in my chair onto the floor. The next thing I remember was my dad’s voice.

“Susan? Susan?”

It was like a dream. Like the voice was coming from hundreds of miles away yet at the same time, it was right next to me. I opened my eyes and saw his face above me. For a moment I didn’t really know what was happening but then I remembered and jumped up into his arms and tried to hide from my computer.

“Woah! Sweetie. What’s going on? Are you alright?”
I pointed to my computer without lifting my head from his shoulder. He picked me up and I squeezed tighter as he sat on my chair. He read for a moment and then spoke in a solemn voice.

“Well, I can see we have a big problem here,” he said.
I nodded, knowing what he was talking about.

“You spelled arrogant and conceited wrong.”

I spun my head around and looked at the screen. The word I’d seen moments ago was gone and had been replaced with my angered ramblings.

“That’s not what I saw,” I said.

“You mean what you wrote,” he asked.

“No, that’s not what I saw. There was something else that I didn’t write. And…” I paused.

“And what?” he asked.

“It dripped down the screen like blood.”

He laughed and asked, “and what did they say?”

But I was mad and didn’t want to tell him. I stood up and walked out of the room. I started to go into his room, but then I saw the computer by his bed and I stopped. I turned and walked into Cindy’s room but her TV was just inside the door. Hal had a computer, the hallway had a computer, and I had nowhere to escape! I stepped into the bathroom and locked the door behind me.

“Susan?” my dad said several minutes later as he knocked lightly on the door. “Are you okay in there?”

“NO!” I said.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t talk about it. I was trying not to even think about it.

“Will you come and talk to me?”

Uneasy, I unlocked and opened the door. He picked me up and sat on the floor as he cradled me in his arms.
I told him what happened and he didn’t laugh or make fun of me. I even told him the word on my computer; “Murder.”

“How about if we turn off all the computers and the TV’s for the rest of the night?” he said. “Would that make you feel better?”

I nodded.

Cindy yelled in protest, but Dad made everyone shut down for the night and the house was quiet. Several hours later, we played cards to fill up the time normally on the TV and computers. Hal ended up mad cause he didn’t win and Cindy called me a cheater and said it was the worst day of her life as she stormed into her room. Dad said the game was over and went upstairs. Hal followed him and I was alone in the quiet family room.

I suddenly felt cold and afraid of the TV behind me. It was off, the room was quiet, and I felt like somebody was watching me. I felt like the TV was watching me. I couldn’t move and prayed somebody would come downstairs. I couldn’t even scream. I was too scared.

“Dad?” I finally said, weakly.

“Nope, not Dad,” the evil voice whispered me.
I jumped up and heard horribly wicked laughter behind me as I ran up the stairs.

It wasn’t easy, but I convinced my dad not only to let me sleep between him and mom, but to take the computer out of his bedroom. He said I was being really weird and we might have to make an appointment for me to see a therapist. I didn’t care. There was no way I was sleeping alone or near a computer or TV.

But even with my parents I was scared and couldn’t sleep. Scrunched in between Dad and Mom, arms wrapped around them both, I stared petrified at the ceiling for hours. In the dim blue moonlit room, I cringed at every creak and groan the house made throughout the night. But when I heard the TV downstairs click followed by static, my blood turned ice cold. I stared at the open door into the hall as my body quivered in fear.

A chilling whisper echoed through the house, “Suuuuuuuusssssannnnnn.”

“Dad!” I screamed and shook him. “Dad!”

He sat up and jumped out of bed. He stood by the bed for a minute, confused I think, and then looked at me.

“Susan! Why did you do that? You scared the hell out of me!” he said as he got back in bed.

“The TV dad,” I said.

“What about it?” he asked.

“It’s on downstairs! Somebody turned it on.”

He listened for a minute and got up out of bed and walked out of the bedroom. He descended the stairs and moments later I the TV went silent. He rattled the front door then opened and closed the garage door. After a few minutes he came back into the room.

“Why was the TV on?” he asked.

Mom was awake now too.

“I don’t know, I said. It just turned on.”

Something flashed in my dad’s hand and sheer terror filled my eyes with tears.

“What are you doing with that knife?” Mom asked.

“Oh, I just grabbed it when I was downstairs and thought somebody might be in the house,” he said and set it on the dresser. “But nobody was. The TV was on, which is strange.”

“Why didn’t you turn it off?” she asked.

“I di…” he started to say and stopped and listened. The TV was on again.

He turned and walked to the hallway and Sandi got out of bed to follow him. By the time I got out of bed to follow them, they were down the hallway.

“You are evil, Susan.” the voice said and I stopped in my tracks.

I grabbed the knife and held it in front of me. I could see partially into the hallway. The door was half open in front of me. Against the far wall a shadow flickered in the hallway as it shuffled and grew larger.

“Murderer. You evil little girl. You can’t hurt me!”

I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t move. I held out the knife. The door started to swing open. I screamed and swung the knife. It hit something and then a small body fell to the floor. Evil laughter filled the room as I stared horrified at my little brother, Hal, on the floor while red blood dripped down the knife in my hand.

That was five years ago. Hal still has a deep scar across his face. My family comes and visits me at the institution. Today my therapist thought it would be good for me to face my fears and look at a TV. I didn’t want to. I told her it was a bad idea but she pressured me into it. The voice told me I was a bad girl. It told me that by morning the night nurse would be strangled by the sheets from my bed. And I’m scared again.

* * *

Although the tape around his chest restricted a full breath of air, Charlie inhaled deeper than he had for years. It felt good; he felt good…finally.

But last night hadn’t been good. Although it wasn’t one of his worst nights, it was miserable for him and frustrating for his wife, Judy. His struggle was a two edge sword. Not only did he suffer from his own affliction but he exposed her to the aura of despair created by his agony. That guilt doubled the suffering.

Year after year, she stood by his side. She comforted during his low points. She encouraged during his despair. And, amazingly, she stayed with him. Much to his surprise, and sometimes to his disappointment, she tolerated his constant complaining. Maybe if she yelled at him for being such an idiot he wouldn’t have felt guilty. Maybe if she stormed out the door cussing and cursing the day she agreed to spend her life with an extreme pessimist he would actually feel better. But she never did. He continually complained about work and politics and she continually to console.

“Your time will come. It will. You have worked hard for Marty and he likes you…I know it. Just don’t give up…don’t walk away from thirteen years.”

He smiled. Last night when she’d spoke those words, he’d let them echo through the hollow tunnels of his head. Years ago, before discouragement first poisoned his soul, her words lifted his spirits. But each use slowly robbed the words of their magic. Each pick-me-up fell slightly shorter than the previous. In time, the words did nothing more than keep him from opening his own mouth and letting his darkness escape and poison her soul too.

“You can’t give up on your dream. What would be left? What would you have if you let go now?”

For years he felt he was actually doing her a favor by listening to the words of encouragement. So many times he wanted to tell her to stop…it was a burden to hear encouragement while in such deep despair. It was a constant reminder of his failure. But even though it sometimes angered him that she still believed his time would come, he didn’t attack. No, he always listened…or at least pretended. But now, here he was. His time had come. Just as she had always believed it would. Somehow she had managed to get him here.

He secured the belt around his long coat and stepped onto the transport, smiling for the first time (ever) at the operator.

“Good morning, sir,” the stranger said and winked his mechanical eye.

“Yes is it,” he said and grinned back.

Ironic, he thought, to smile at a Manbot. Every morning for thirteen years he’d scowled bitterly at the Manbots…every one of them. The meal preparer on his floor, the lift operator, the shuttle director, the corner patrol…every damn Manbot on every damn corner of every damn city. But today was special…and so he smiled.

The signal, hours ago, had shocked him. It had come shortly after the morning alert. After he’d opened his eyes and felt, like any other morning, the darkness surround him. After he had searched for a reason to avoid another day of processing. After he had rolled his lethargic body from the sleep pod and grumbled his way to the preparation room. It had looked like any other day…until he saw the signal.

In that moment, his day changed. The darkness vanished and he felt…life. He had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be alive. Judy was initially shocked at his pleasant nature over their morning rations but then understood. Without an explanation, she realized the signal had come.

As tears of joy streamed down her face, she silently mouthed an, ‘I knew you would make it honey!”

With a hug and kiss, he said goodbye to her for the last time.

“Thanks,” he whispered. “Thanks for putting up with me for all these years. I owe everything to you.”

Her eyes sparkled in the hazy morning light and she shook her head. “You made this happen…now go and receive your reward.”

The transport began to vibrate and hum as it began its quick journey across the wasteland. On any other day, he’d curl up on the floor and sleep. But not today. He looked around. The transport was full of Manbots. There were, as best he could tell, three other humans…and he was thankful for this. He didn’t hate his fellow men. Three was not too many.

He regretted not being able to thank Marty in person. But then, he had earned his opportunity. He had endured day after day of meaningless, mindless, brain-sapping processing all with the assumption that one day he would be signaled. He just hadn’t expected it to be thirteen years. So many times he wanted to quit. So many others had given up on him, including his own parents who, ashamed of his foolish dreams, stopped calling after four years. He inhaled proudly, feeling again the pressure from the tape wrapped around his chest. Now they would be proud. Everyone who had laughed, scorned, and called him a fool would say…. ‘Wow, Charlie did it. He was right all along.’

Judy was his only faithful friend. She had stuck it out…just has she promised she would fifteen years ago when they vowed their lives to each other. And it hadn’t been easy for her; she saw him at his lowest. She held on day after day through his unceasing complaining about his mundane life. She deserved the rewards and honors that would soon befall her because of his success.

The transport slowed and Charlie breathed faster…excited and anxious. He walked to the transport exit panel and stuck his hand deep into his coat pocket. He wrapped his hand around the small, soft round ball and waited.

The doors opened and Charlie stepped out. He looked up one last time at the processing plant that rose high into the sky before him. This time he didn’t feel bitter anger at the sight. He felt hope.

“This is for you, Judy,” he said. And he squeezed the ball.

Introduction

Photography is an attempt to capture an image to make a point or remember/share a moment of time. This explains why a picture is worth a thousand words. A picture is more than a printed image. It can stir feeling and emotion. When you experience a moment of intense emotion and want to take a picture, what exactly are you trying to capture? Do you simply want to remember the sun went down on a particular day or do you want to remember a serene feeling of awe and beauty inspired by fiery red and orange sky? Is it the image or the feeling/emotion you are trying to capture? Even a simple snapshot of the kids for grandma is taken to share a personal connection. We want to remember or share feelings of love, hate, despise, sorrow, humor, awe, concern. If you mindlessly pull out a camera and press the button, you will grab the moment and you will most likely remember your emotion. But, if you want to maximize how well you can pass this on to others, you need to give some thought to the process. Call it Zen photography. This is accomplished by doing more than just pushing a button. It requires you to think about what you are feeling, identify what you want to capture, push the limits of your creativity, and understand the basic mechanics of photography.

The same picture taken in different ways can convey many different emotions. In fact, pictures might be worth a thousand words, a million words, or perhaps only a few hundred…depending on how it is taken. If you have a complex emotion or feeling to convey, make your picture say it. If you have a statement to make, make the camera create the image that makes your point. Chances are slim you’ll accomplish this with a thoughtless point and click. At the same time, you also do not need to spend hours planning every photograph. A quick moment to identify what you feel, consider methods on how to capture it, and then plan and execute a successful picture can have a huge impact on your final print. One well planned picture will say more than a barrage of snapshots.

To help you capture your ideal photograph, I’ll introduce you to the technical aspects of photography, discuss creativity, and finally, offer some ideas on connecting with your environment and subjects. Hopefully this will help you take better pictures, have more fun, and maybe even spark an interest to dig deeper into photography.

Technical Introduction

Most people enjoy taking pictures and prefer to avoid delving into the mechanics of how the camera works. I can understand not wanting to get bogged down with technical jargon and just take pictures. Cameras are pretty smart and you can get good pictures without stepping too deeply into the science, however, even the smartest camera needs a little help from the human behind it.

The building block of photography is light. Your camera captures light as it bounces off objects. Let in too much and your pictures are too bright (overexposed). Don’t let in enough and they are too dark (underexposed). Think of it like filling a glass of water. You pour until the cup is full…not too little and not too much. The process of filling the cup perfectly…or letting in just the right amount of light is called “exposure.” Your basic tools for capturing light (and thus, setting the proper exposure) are aperture and shutter speed. Your camera knows how to control these settings and, thus, allows you to get decent shots without reading my article on intermediate photography. If you get to a point where the camera isn’t taking the pictures like you want, that’s a sign it’s time for you to move on to the next level.

Until then, I’ll focus on how you can help your camera take the best shot. Most cameras today will let you specify various shooting modes. A sports mode will gear towards high shutter speeds (to freeze action), a portrait mode will emphasize a large aperture (to blur the background), and landscape will use a small aperture (to keep everything in focus). My first tip is as follows:

Basic Tip #1: Use the shooting modes offered by your camera

If you don’t understand how to select a shutter speed and aperture, at least take advantage of the various shooting modes built in to your camera. If you leave your camera in full auto, it has no clue what you are trying to shoot and will use a general setting. If you can at least tell your camera, “Hey, I’m taking a portrait,” the computer built in to your camera will work to your benefit and automatically make the adjustments to maximize the settings for a great portrait. Most cameras have a quick dial that you can turn or a button you can push to quickly hop through the different shooting modes.

Your camera, in addition to letting in the proper amount of light, must also correctly position the glass on your lens. This is known as “focus.” Generally, your camera will look at what is in the middle of your viewfinder and set the lens so that object will be sharp focus. However, let’s say you want to take a picture of your daughter standing to the right of Mt. Fuji looming in the background. Although there are many cameras on the market with multiple focusing points (they automatically focus on the closest object), most likely your camera will focus on the center object, Mt. Fuji. Your final picture will be a blurred image of your daughter and a sharp Mt. Fuji in the distance….probably not what you were after.

Basic Tip #2: Center your picture on your main subject, press the shutter halfway, and then recompose your picture

Most cameras by default will let you lock the focus by pressing the shutter button halfway down. In our example above you would point your camera at your daughter (so she is centered in the viewfinder), press the shutter button halfway down (and hold it there), move the camera slightly so she is off to the right and you have a nice view of Mt. Fuji in the distance, and finally, press the shutter release. By following this tip, your daughter will appear in sharp focus with Mt. Fuji looming in the background.

Basic Tip #3: If possible, take pictures when the lighting is soft and with the sun at your back

When the sun is bright and directly overhead, shadows are dreadfully dark and everything else is blindingly bright. Generally, this doesn’t make for a good picture. If your camera exposes for the dark areas, the light areas will be completely overexposed (all white). Conversely, expose for the bright areas and the dark areas are reduced to blackness. Sometimes, you just can’t avoid shooting in harsh lighting situations, but, when possible, take your pictures during the first or last few hours of daylight and shoot with the sun behind you. This will have a massive impact on the quality of your pictures. Get up early, take pictures, then go relax, take a nap, or read a book through the hot part of the day. When the sun starts to drop, you’ll be rested, refreshed, and ready to get more top quality photos.

On exception is that a moderately cloudy day offers a good opportunity for midday picture taking. The clouds act as a giant light box and soften the light which gives mild highlights and gentle shadows.

Basic Tip #4: Hold your camera steady

A moving camera means a blurry picture. You may choose to pan with a moving object as you take a picture, and that is fine, but even in panning, hold your camera firmly and press the shutter release with an easy gentle push. I go so far as to treat the camera as I used to treat a gun (back when I hunted). I breathe slowly, aim carefully, hold firmly, and press the button slowly and gently.

Creativity

Creativity, introspection, spirituality, and critical thinking are all part of the same core concept in my mind. I think the idea is to tap into our own unique ideas, thoughts, and emotions. It’s not easy because we are so inundated with the thoughts, ideas, philosophies, teachings, rules, and images of so many before us…not a bad thing unless it stops us from doing our own thinking (which I think it often does). It can, however, even be a good thing and act as a springboard into our own creativity. We just have to practice.

On my first visit to New York, a co-worker and friend (and native New Yorker) made the comment that he loved seeing the city with first time visitors. It helped him appreciate and notice all the things he had become acclimatized to…and thus invisible to him. He encouraged me to share with him my fresh thoughts and ideas as I explored the city. I try and use this approach with my photography. I want my pictures to always feel fresh and new.

Basic Tip #5: Take pictures when you are feeling enthusiastic and inspired

To be creative, you need an emotion, feeling, or idea (without that, you may as well be a robot with a camera). Unless what you are after is boredom, don’t start with it! Let yourself become immersed in whatever you are photographing. Taking pictures at a football game? Let the excitement of the game carry you along! My opinion is that emotion is the basis of creativity. By being mindful and free with our emotions, I believe we broaden our creativity. I have laughed, cried, and been nearly stunned with awe (except for my finger pressing the shutter button) while taking pictures. If I am not feeling inspired, I generally don’t get my camera out. I get spoiled by moments when I feel like everything just comes together perfectly; perfect shot after perfect shot. Of course, I love photography so much that just picking up my camera evokes a significant amount of emotion!

Think of an intense moment in your life. How would a picture of this moment look? Would it convey what you were feeling? I remember fishing once when I was only about eight years old. I anxiously reeled in a catfish from the canal after sitting several hours in the hot sun. When I pulled the fish out of the water, however, my enthusiasm drained and replaced with sadness. I had caught plenty of fish before, but in that moment, I suddenly felt horrible. I tried to quickly and painlessly unhook the little guy, but it wasn’t easy. I was so scared he would die before I could set him free. How could I have taken a picture that would make viewers feel my sadness rather than evoke warm memories of a young boy out fishing?

Basic Tip #6: Pause once in a while and ask yourself, what am I feeling?

Your unique feelings and the way you perceive the world are part of your personal creativity. If you can learn how to take pictures that help others to feel and see the world through your own heart and eyes, it can evoke new emotions and feelings in others. People generally love to explore, feel, and see new things. Your pictures then become a way for others to grow, feel inspired, or mourn. You can share a part of yourself and have an impact on the world around you!

To explore your own personal creativity, push yourself to look at the world in different ways. There are so many different ways to take the same picture! What would happen if you tilted the camera? What would happen if you were to lie on the ground or held the camera above your head? What if you moved closer, zoomed in, or zoomed out? How your frame the picture is called composition and as you move around the object, the possibilities for composition are endless.

Basic Tip #7: Move around with your camera

Moving around with your camera is one way you can explore your creative approach. If you choose to delve into more advanced techniques, you will find many ways you can experiment (flashes, filters, reflectors, focal length, macro lenses…). A fun experiment is to take pictures of the same thing while varying composition. Can you evoke either happiness or fear based entirely on composition and technique?

Another good exercise is to take an issue, idea, or value that is important to you. Try and come up with a picture that expresses your point of view. If you feel very strongly about caring for children, how can you take a picture that inspires others to value a child? Maybe your picture will be of a sad and hungry child or maybe it will be of young girls in a caring loving environment. Maybe your message about children has no children at all, but rather an old broken neglected toy. Thoughtful photography encourages us to explore our world and feelings as both the viewer and the photographer.

The creative approach you use to show people how you see the world make your pictures different. Be creative in composition, ideas, and even in applying the mechanics of photography to expand your unique creative approach. Where you point your camera and how you configure the settings will change your message.

Zen Photography

Knowing the mechanics of photography and being able to creatively compose images are vital to capture striking images. In fact, sometimes I am taking pictures so fast and mindlessly that all I am doing is setting my camera and altering my composition. It’s not my ideal scenario. In this mode, it’s like I am just firing a shotgun randomly with a hope of bagging dinner. And yes, sometimes I do get great pictures. But without applying more heart and soul to my efforts, my pictures lack something. My most rewarding photographs happen when I slow down and tune in to the world around me.

Basic tip #8: Be mindful of the world around you

By occasionally putting my camera down and listening, smelling, touching, and watching, I can connect myself to my surroundings. Sometimes this means letting a horned owl fly by without reaching for my camera because I am watching how her feathers move, where her head turns, and listening to the flap of her wings. After slowing my mind down, I am ready to pick up the camera. Now when I look through the view finder, I see a living world around me. In my mind, I speak to the owl as I follow her with my telephoto lens. Now when I make a print of her, it’s more than just an image. I have captured a feeling.

I love candid shots. I can sit in the park, watch children play, and take pictures all day long. My best shots of children come out when I have connected on some level with them. Maybe I need to play with them for a half hour or tickle them and make them laugh. Other times I may watch them to learn what makes them smile or frown. Once I have made a connection, I am ready to capture who they are in a photograph. Anything before that is just a snapshot.

Basic tip #9: Periodically check your camera settings

Because a Zen approach is holistic, you can’t forget that mechanics are part of the process. I have blown some great pictures because I skipped tip number 8. I’m out there shooting; in the groove, excited, everything is in the flow….100 pictures later, I find out my camera is set at 1000 ISO, I’ve pushed two stops, or I am not in the correct exposure mode. I like to stop every so often and just double check my camera settings…on a point and shoot camera this is easy. You are shooting sports….are you sure you are in the sport priority mode? If you shoot digital, review your pictures and make sure they are looking right. Read your histogram if you know how. Make sure you are shooting what you think you are shooting!

Basic tip #10: Be Patient

The greatest skill of a photographer is patience. Patience, however, doesn’t mean sitting around wasted time! Use that time to begin building the perfect picture. Breath, connect, feel…use all your senses to be aware of your surroundings. Forget about the problems and issues you face out in the world. For that moment, nothing matters. It’s just you and your camera….in the living breathing world around you.

Summary

Taking photographs requires more than a finger to push a button. If all you want is snapshots, you wouldn’t be reading this article. Practice using my first ten tips and when you are ready, move on to my advanced section!

10 Basic Photography Tips