So, for some reason I’ve been thinking about what all the Planeswalkers will be doing during the Innistrad block. We know where Sorin, Liliana and Garruk are, but what about Jace? And Chandra?

Yes, this is the sort of thing I think about. and while I was thinking about it the other day I made up stories for what all the¹ planeswalkers are doing. Enjoy.

• Ajani is in a hospital somewhere recovering. Anyone dumb enough to take on Bolas in a Duel Deck situation deserves what they get.
• Bolas, of course, is back in his pre-planeswalker library, reading some Hardy Boys books. he always looked more comfy in the old days.
• Chandra and Gideon were last spotted by the planar paparazzi sitting by the pool in a very nice Lorwyn resort.
• Elspeth, rightly worried that everyone will forget about her if she isn’t in every single themed block, is trying to break into Innistrad. However, there’s a sign at the door that says “you must be this gothic to enter” and she just can’t put on that much mascara.
• Liliana will be the next Avacyn. She needs power, needs it now, and there’s not really any other good reason for her to be in Innistrad. It’s entirely possible she’s the one who killed the old Avacyn, and this would be a good comeuppance for her.
• Sorin, of course, has come back to Innistrad to kick butt and somehow create angels, and he’s all out of wings. Or something. I’d like to see how he talks Lilly into becoming an angel.
• Garruk will leave Innistrad without Liliana’s head on a pole, and will be so distraught that he’ll go straight to New Phyrexia and kill a few hundred giant twisted monstrosities to make himself feel better.
• Nissa will spend the entire block sitting in her tree house drawing hearts around her new “Sorin, Lord of Innistrad” poster.
• Koth and Karn will be starring in a tasteless comedy version of their escape from New Phyrexia called “Weekend at Venser’s”.
• Jace is working on a spell to break into our plane and do some serious mental rearranging on the people who banned his best card.
• Poor Tezzeret. Whatever’s going on, his life sucks right now. Get better, big guy! Hoping you feel less possessed soon!
• Same goes for Sarkhan.

1. currently alive planeswalkers from the main game, not from Duels of the Planeswalkers

For six years I was asked¹ to spend one night a week with people I wasn’t terribly fond of, usually playing basketball, or pretending to plan a camping trip, while internally I was planning a way to get out of said camping trip. I’m sure to those involved I appeared sullen and angry, which was accurate, but pretty much only in that setting. People who knew me then know that I was really a pretty happy guy, overall.

So why this hatred for the ol’ BSA² ? Anyone else who grew up not only knowing the word “bibliophile” but actively applying it to themselves already knows the answer to that question: bullies.

Yes, this was a church sponsored troop. Yes, we had leaders who were supposed to keep that sort of thing from happening. But more than once it was the leaders themselves who were the bullies.

I don’t think anyone involved actually thought of themselves as a bully. I’m sure they thought they were including me in their reindeer games, and it’s my fault that I didn’t understand how those games work. But on my end, the word “scouting” meant getting teased, hit, tormented and basically just having life suck a little more. More than one leader asked me if I wasn’t being “just a little over-sensitive” and assured me that it was “all in good fun”.

My parents probably didn’t know what was really going on, because naturally I didn’t tell them. Like any kid in that situation, I instinctively knew that getting parents involved would just make it worse. People would promise to be nice, and as soon as they thought they could get away with it, they would make my life worse than ever. Indeed, that’s exactly what happened the one time I did actively take a stand and flat-out refuse to go on a particular camping trip. After three or four people sat around and talked at me for a couple of hours I relented and drove up to the campground with a  leader who spent the entire drive complaining about how I had made him miss all the fun. Once we were the there and the leaders were all in their tent my life became a world of all the best in boy-on-boy attacks that could be carried out silently.

Out of desperation my parents informed me that I wouldn’t get a driver’s license until I was an Eagle Scout. This was a good lesson in ineffective threats. I had no particular desire to drive, so I simply let my mom drive me where ever I wanted to go until I went on my mission. Even when I turned seventeen and they relented I refused to go to driver’s education or apply for a license. They made the rule, and they would have to live with it. As I was leaving on my mission someone asked me if I felt that scouting had prepared me for missionary service. At the time I said “not really” but years later I realized that what I really wanted to say was that I was still active in my faith not because of scouting, but in spite of it.

Bleh. All this is long past now. I’m all growed up, with kids o’ my own and a good job and a house and a beautiful wife and I’m livin’ the American Dream like nobody’s business.

So, naturally, I’ve been called³ to serve as a scout leader. Which means its time to try to let go of a lot of things.

I knew this day was coming. I knew it was coming because my wife bought a Suburban, and if you’re LDS and own a Suburban it’s only a matter of time before you’re given a scouting calling. They’re lowering me in gently; I’m starting as a Webelos leader, working with cub scouts (i.e. ten-year-old boys) instead of teenagers. And the world of scouting has improved significantly. The BSA has made a number of changes to ensure that the boys who are going through scouting today won’t be put through the misery I went through. The “Youth Protection Program” that all scout leaders must complete before they can work with the boys focuses on recognizing the signs of bullying and stopping it quickly. The hard part, in other words, won’t be the actual participation, it’ll be letting go of the anger and stress that have nothing to do with the people I’ll be working with now.

So, here’s to letting go. It’s not about me any more, it’s about making sure that the experience these kids have is a safe and happy one, and I can assure you that they’ll have at least one leader that has both eyes open, and will put a swift end to any bullying.

1. see: “forced”
2. Boy Scouts of America
3. All Mormons who serve in any position are volunteers, but we don’t volunteer for specific jobs. We believe that local leadership is inspired to ask (or “call”) people to certain positions and we volunteer to serve in those positions

Four years, four wins! I’m pretty excited! Okay, as you were.

"ANYWAY the point is that we’ve seen two ways your little plan with those two surface dwellers can pan out. The first is the easy way: you reprogram the communication network and you’re out of there. The problem is getting in there in the first place. The second method is more difficult: you have to capture and hold at least a third of the Centarch and the rest will turn ugly in a hurry. But you still ave to capture some transmission equipment and make sure you broadcast the Centarch turning ugly and why. The problem with this method is that there’s no second chance, if you do it the right kind of wrong.

"But I’ll never understand women, so let’s see here…"

As usual the one that did the military female no favors showed up the next day.

I really don’t know why there’s no second chance "if you do it the right kind of wrong", nor who “the military female” is, and I have NO clue how or what the “one” that does her no favors is. Apparently my characters turned incredibly sexist when I started falling asleep. But whatever. I’m keeping it. No reducing the word count during November!

My story doesn’t end with loved ones getting killed in those planes or buildings, I don’t know that hurt, and there’s no way I could understand it, nor can I understand how those who carry that burden deal with it. Nor do I understand the kind of feelings or thoughts that would drive someone to that kind of action. But here’s something else:

May 1st, 2001: I was flying west from Louisville Kentucky to Salt Lake City Utah, getting ready to attend BYU. Catching my connecting flight from Cleveland I was seated next to a girl about my age (Twenty-three at the time) or perhaps a bit younger. She was wearing blue jeans, a shirt of some kind (I’m terrible at colors and fabrics and all that) and a hijab (I think, I had to look that up on Wikipedia just now). We exchanged greetings before take off and readied all our personal stuff…the usual boring stuff.

After the plane was in the air I asked where she was headed, a question that always seems really stupid when your sitting next to each other in an airplane. But she was continuing on to California. She asked me the same question and I said I was staying in Utah. The inevitable follow up was “Are you a Mormon?” I said yes, I was and she said “Oh. I guess we’re like, cousins, or something then.”

This next paragraph took about half a second to go through my head. I considered what I knew of Islam. I knew that the Prophet Muhammad lived in the 1400’s or thereabouts, that they were monotheists, believed the teachings of the Old and New Testaments, as well as the Quran, which according to their faith is the pure word of God revealed to His Prophet, whereas I had just spent two years teaching similar things about the Book of Mormon. They practiced fasting, alms-giving, and daily prayer, all things that my own faith taught as well.  While I wouldn’t have ever stated that Mormonism and Islam were “cousins” the way she did, I couldn’t deny the parallels.

Like I said, I went through all that in about half a second. “sure,” I said, and we talked about our respective religions a little bit. Not a whole lot, and I definitely don’t remember every word we said now, but it was all friendly and respectful.

The flight was booked full, and we were flying economy class. We had picked up or food from a cooler on the way onto the plane, and the two of us ate ours at the same time. Inspecting the contents, she looked a meat snack, and said, “Yeah, pork. I can’t eat this. Do  you want it?” I said sure, then pulled the soda out of my bag. “Hmm. Caffeine. I can’t drink this. Do you want it?” she took my cola, I took her snack and we both laughed a little bit. We weren’t the same, but it was nice for both of us to be able to just be who we were without worrying that the other one would mock us for it.

Anyway, a few months later, as we watched in terror and fear, I thought back to that girl on the plane, who, I was sure, had nothing to do with the insanity in the sky and was, I was certain, as horrified and disgusted as I was. I hoped that she had people to turn to during the coming months, as she would, through no fault of her own, be under suspicion. I hoped the people around her would be kind and treat her well during a time that was probably more hurt-filled and confusing for her as it was for me.

I hope the last ten years have been a time of healing for all of us. I hope that those who lost someone in the attacks have found some answers and hope and a way to go on. I hope that those who had to watch while their faith was held up as a reason to commit atrocities have found understanding and support in the people around them. I hope all of us have found a desire to move forward together.

http://chooseomaticbooks.com/end-of-free-preview/free-kindle-book/

Get the book free, be happy. 

You can thank me later.

But I digress. I’m not a fan of all that. I like people! And it’s because I like people that I finally bought a book about zombies.

It all started with Favorite Thing EVER. (have I mentioned that site before?) Matt Youngmark is my contact on the inside of the FTE Empire, and over the time I’ve been writing (sporadically) for FTE I’ve had more than one opportunity to chat a little with Matt (via email mostly) and discover that we have quite a bit in common, and should we ever meet in real life we’d almost certainly get on well with one another.

ANYWAY

A few days ago Matt casually mentioned that buying his Choose Your Own Adventure/comedy/horror/zombie book Zombocalypse Now! wouldn’t be a terrible idea and I casually spent $3 for it. At the time I thought I would just buy it to do a favor for someone I think of as a friend. But now I’d gladly buy it even if I didn’t know the money was going to someone awesome.

Look, I’m still not a fan of the rotting undead eating people. But Matt’s sense of humor and dry take on the whole situation makes it manageable. This is the Plants vs. Zombies level of horror: sure the bad guys are out there and are basically unstoppable, but the whole thing is just kinda fun. The point of view character (in true CYOA style ZN is written in 2nd person) is a stuffed bunny. Why? Not explored, not important. But it sets the tone for the rest of the book: slightly off-kilter, silly, fun, and interesting.

Depending on your choices you’ll meet up with a loose cannon ex-cop on the edge who’s  bent on cleaning up this town, or maybe a conspiracy theorist who’s pretty sure he’s figured out what’s going on…and most likely die.  The book’s cover loudly proclaims 112 different endings; I’m willing to bet that something like 109 of them feature your demise and acceptance as one of the mindless hordes. But you’ll go back, try again, and again, and again. The choices are intelligently designed; it’s not like you’re given one choice that’s obviously right and in character and one that’s thrown in just to give you a choice; they’re all things that make sense in the situation, and you’ll learn a few things about yourself as you make them.

Slowly, gently, the book builds up the real zombie-horror feeling: the sense that there is no way out, that every victory is really just a slight delay of defeat, and that despite your best efforts you’re going to trip up somewhere and be eaten. Then suddenly you stumble across a page that has you laughing out loud. The claustrophobia isn’t entirely dispelled, but it’s lightened somewhat. One of these times I’ll probably find an ending where I survive as well, and that’ll be awesome.

So, if you’re looking for some roughly Rated-PG Choose Your Own Adventure fun, head on over to chooseomatic.com and pick up Zombocalypse Now! now! At the very least it’ll give you something to do until you get bitten by an infected raccoon and lose your grip on your stuffed pink bunny-hood.

When call some one a monster I’m thinking something like this:

Yes, it’s true. I think in Muppets.

So, here’s the interesting part. They say to make a journal of things for which you are grateful:

Out of the six conditions, the longest lasting effects were caused by the act of writing “gratitude journals” where participants were asked to write down three things they were grateful for every day. These participants’ happiness scores also increased and continued to increase each time they were tested periodically after the experiment. (From Wikipedia’s Article on Gratitude)

And a lot of people will start doing just that. And the first few entries will seem really really banal. Because we are grateful for the simple, obvious things first. But what about when you keep doing it? Then what happens?

In fact, the greatest benefits were usually found to occur around six months after treatment began. This exercise was so successful that although participants were only asked to continue the journal for a week, many participants continued to keep the journal long after the study was over. (ibid)

This ties in (again) to the writing I’ve been doing on Favorite Thing EVER: the more I look for things that I really really love the more I realize that the world is full of lovely things. And the field isn’t getting narrower. I’ve written a number of articles for that site, and I still see a growing number of new things every day that are worthy of a write up. It’s really pretty amazing. But after reading the results of the studies listed above I’d like to try the real experiment: Six months of writing about three things I’m grateful each day. This is actually kind of exciting!

Writing has always felt (to me) like scrubbing my soul; as I write freely I start to see who I actually am, and start to climb out of the scared, bored shell that builds all too quickly around me.

So, I’ll let you know how it goes, both of you who stop by here from time to time. Stay tuned to this…er, Rss feed!

We all realized what that meant at the same time, and scrabbled for higher ground before the flash flood came down on top of us. I had been hurting, worried, tired, but at that moment I was just flat out scared. Everything else was lost as I tried to get out of the way.¹

When my wife and I were first dating, I scheduled a little trip for us up to Boise, where I was secretly planning to propose. The day before we left, she called me up.

“I’m thinking that, when we’re in Boise, You’re going to ask me to marry you.” She said. “And I’m thinking I’ll say yes.”

I nearly fell over, my joy was overwhelming. The fact that my little proposal was now somewhat less than a formality was not important, what was important is that she was willing to spend her life with me.

So here’s the point. I’m no longer afraid of that flash flood. I still feel the joy I felt in that moment when my wife agreed to become my wife, but now it’s a low, warm, permanent glow, instead of an explosion. But there’s one emotion that seems to stay as strong as the moment it happened: Embarrassment.

That time I … nope, not even on a blog that I know for a fact nobody reads, I can’t say it. That time I embarrassed myself back in high school still stings, still hits me like a hammer when I think of it, even though it’s been well over a decade since it happened.

Why is this? Joy, anger, fear, happiness, they all fade after a while. More basic feelings like hunger, exhaustion, and pain pretty much go away when the biological trigger is removed. Why doesn’t embarrassment? Is there some biological imperative that we keep being almost physically hurt by things that, in the final analysis, didn’t actually damage us?

I don’t have a real thesis for this one; I’m just wondering. If you happen across this article and have an opinion I’d love to hear it. Maybe someone even knows how to get rid of the feeling.

Or maybe everyone else already knows the secret and I’m the only one still in the dark. That would be embarrassing.

1. For the record, the flash flood ended up being about six inches deep. But that’s not the point.