Blurred Line

Apparently, the VR community Second Life has been hit by a bombing campaign organized by a terrorist group who wants to liberate the four million members of the world from the control of the company that created the community.

Science freaking fiction, man. Read the article.

First off, it appears that the new Firefox update is rendering my links in a funky, retina-destroying blue. Oi. Sorry about that, I guess we'll all just have to bear with it for a while. Finally, though, at least IE users have something to celebrate for once.

Also, in case you're wondering about the official word on The Prestige vs. The Illusionist, I've got it: As much as I hate to go against Ed Norton, The Prestige blows his flick out of the water in pretty much every facet. I guess you just can't really bet against Christopher Nolan.

A new song is up for all to enjoy - "It's Showtime, Pt. 2" by The Mooney Suzuki. Because who doesn't like a downright danceable garage rock instrumental? Seriously. Overall, this band's an enjoyable listen - they've got the garage rock sound and attitude down pat, even if their lyrics don't exactly scream intelligence. It's all just good fun. As always, just press ZAP on the player. And check out their album if the song piques your interest.

Had to kill "Spam" today. It just wasn't working out. A pity, too, because it was nearly finished. Still, about the only thing I like about this story when I look back on it is the groovy tech it centers around and that, obviously, does not a good story make.

It's spring break now so I'm working full-time, industrious fellow that I am. Also, I have somewhere in the neighbourhood of less than zero dollars, so it's kind of a necessity thing, too. I'm hoping that the financial difficulties will get sorted out soon, but it doesn't look like it, since I have a lot of those nasty little "real life" expenses to deal with in the meantime. Why blather on about this? Well, I've been milling over the idea of shutting down Apodis Publishing. My hosting plan runs out in March (and it's the end of the company's fiscal year), so now would be the time to do it. I'll keep you updated.

Oh, and if you haven't seen it yet, you have to watch George Takei's response to Tim Hardaway's recent nasty gay comments.

Midterm season has hit, though it's pretty much wrapped up by now, hence my absence here. Also, I'm a lazy bastard. Fortunately, reading week is coming up, so I should be able to get some lazy out of my system.

Additionally, the Moon Topples "Vision" contest has just finished up. No wins for Cavan, but I was just excited to actually have written something (my output's been pretty much non-existent lately). Anyhow, I just wanted to make a few remarks on this piece (here's the direct link). A lot of the flash fiction I've seen (especially on the web) is of the "fake left, go right" variety. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but I also don't think it's a coincidence that the best flash pieces are also most often the ones with the most subtle turns. When writing for this contest, I challenged myself to write something with absolutely no twist at all. I wanted to see if I could actually create some meaningful interaction between characters in a flash piece that left the reader contemplating things. I'm not sure I was entirely successful, but I took a shot. Anyway, here it is:

"Vision!" cries the blind man.

He's walking towards me (not the defeated shuffle you'd expect from an old man with plastic bags around his feet and a cardboard sign draped over his tattered jacket, but something proud, upright). I look down at my own feet (last year's fad, scarred with salt stains) and hope he'll walk right on by. There's another man beside me, waiting for the bus. Fortyish. Suit. Immaculate hair that looks like it's been welded to his scalp.

The blind man slows as he reaches the station. Can he sense us here? Does he smell the presence of other people? He's mumbling under his breath, but when he finally stops in front of the businessman, his words become coherent. The cardboard sign he wears has the word 'vision' scrawled on it.

"Vision!" he cries again. "What do you see?"

"I see myself not giving you any change."

"Yes, but what do you see?"

The businessman sighs. "Sorry."

The blind man remains where he is. His gaze is fixed directly onto the face of the businessman. It's uncanny, and more than a little unnerving. I'm trying to make myself as small as possible, folding myself into the crevices of the bus station.

"Look, buddy, I don't have any change. Why don't you just move it along now?"

I see a bus coming and strain my eyes to see which number it is. I'm feeling around in my pocket, making sure my pass is at the ready. The bus approaches, stops. It's not mine. The businessman boards and I think about trailing after him. The bus leaves and it's just me and the blind man. The silence, the anticipation of what he'll say is spooking me.

I'm expecting standard sandwich-board material. You know, "The End is Nigh" and all that. Hellfire. Brimstone. Those are the kinds of visions these guys have, aren't they?

"What do you see?"

And he's looking at me. Straight on. Filmy white eyes looking directly into mine. I'm shuddering inside, looking at his eyes, at his clothes, at his feet. Knowing I shouldn't, but doing it anyway.

"Uhh...a bus stop?"

"Yes. What else?"

"I don't know. A road. Buildings. The sky."

"Yes. And what do they look like?"

I shrug, glance around the corner, hoping that my bus will be here soon. "You know, like they're supposed to. A road's flat and long and black and goes off into the distance. Buildings are tall boxy things. The sky's blue. A few clouds."

He never takes his eyes off mine while I'm talking. He stares intently. He takes a deep breath.

"Yes," he says. The word rides on his exhalation, one syllable stretched out interminably. Dissolving meaning.

I can see parts of myself reflected in his eyes. My face glinting off the corner of his eye.

My bus pulls up. His eyes firm on mine.

I totally dropped the ball on entering The Moon Topples contest, what with my quest for new glasses and a new jacket. As if that wasn't enough, I've also been working on my seminar paper, so I had to let the contest entry slide. It would've won, though. Just so you know.

In the meantime, here's what I look like now. Sans hair.

Edit: OK, turns out the contest deadline was midnight tonight, not yesterday. So I just sent in my entry now. Sweet.

This weekend turned out to be kind of bittersweet for me - I had a lot of fun, even though things kind of took an unfortunate turn. On Friday night, my roommate from my first year of university was in town from Nova Scotia (and I hadn't seen him since then - so it'd been about four years), so we decided to go out for a night on the town. During that night, I managed to lose my (only pair of) glasses and my (only) winter jacket. So, picture me, relatively inebriated, fairly blind, and wearing only a t-shirt and light button-up shirt during a thirty minute walk home in temperatures that were far below zero celsius. Yeah, not fun. I now have a cold.

Anyway, Saturday was a quest to get new glasses, since I can't work, drive, or really do anything productive without them. Of course, the optometrists told me it'd be Friday before I could get an appointment, whereupon I created a massive sob story about how my glasses were crunched under the tires of a car (verbatim quote: "It was so surreal. I mean, I was standing there in shock, not because my glasses were gone, but because they'd actually just been run over by a car. Really, what are the chances of that ever happening?"). Afterwards, everyone at the office wanted to be my friend, so they managed to fit me in and, thanks to Lenscrafters, I had myself a shiny new pair of glasses by the end of the day (and I look unbelievably hip, by the way).

Sunday and today have been spent being sick and/or looking for a new jacket. Neither has been much fun.

Also, I finally got a rejection back from Reality Complex. They said the story was well-written but predictable. Unfortunately, I can't particularly disagree.

About a week or so ago, I heard of another flash fiction contest being put on at someone's blog. The prompt, announced yesterday, was "vision". I didn't really have any ideas, so I put it out of mind. Until today, when an idea came to me during my daydreaming in my Old English class. I'd tell you about it, but conditions of anonymity are in place until voting has closed. That way, people's massive popularity (or lack thereof) can't affect the voting. But I'll fill you all in on the inspirational process that led to my entry when the dust has settled.

And also, DDR is now "officially" an awesome way to have fun while doing physical activity (really, the best way...well, next to that other thing, but you can't do that in an elementary school gym class).

Here, for those who are interested, is the last piece of flash I wrote for a contest - this one for one of the prompts over at Clarity of Night. I call it "Blood Electric".

The hum is steady, insistent. It trickles down Eva's neck, her back, her legs. It has blotted out whatever signs of life were once present here.

She looks up at the power lines, majestic against the darkened sky. They are the landscape here, the sole structures on the flat, gray desert floor.

There are variations in the hum now. A pulse. A heartbeat. Eva stands next to one of the poles. She traces the arc of the lines, as they lazily descend, then pull themselves up to meet the next pole. She loses track, eventually, as the wires fade into the distance.

She places her hand against the smooth, warm steel of the pole. Feels the hum enter her, coming in surges. Like blood. She savors the moment.

Overhead, the clouds shift malevolently.

She feels it, inside her. Feels it exploring, searching. It stops moving suddenly, as it always does, and unfurls its tendrils, spreading across the void of her body. It is alive in her now, just like it was in the City.

It speaks to her.

And then, she knows. She knows that she will not see the City again, with its sleek metal columns and the wonderful, overwhelming pulse of electricity. The car that dropped her off here will not return. She does not belong there. She never has.

She will starve here. Her flesh will return to the land. The City has sacrificed her to the Earth.

The clouds, hungry, begin to spit acidic rain.


Profile Editor. Writer. 9-5er. Lord of the Dance. Blurredline.com Apodis Publishing Fusion Fragment cterrill(at)blurredline.com Buy Goodbye, Darwin Amazon.com Amazon.ca Chapters.ca Barnes&Noble.com Read it free in PDF Format Buy Blurred Line Amazon.com Amazon.ca Chapters.ca Barnes&Noble.com Read it free in PDF Format The Short Stuff "Learning Magic From Mint" - published May 2007 in Atomjack "Between Eternities" - published October 2005 at Speculative.ca "Smoke and Mirrors" - published June 2005 in Byzarium Submissions Log Total Subs: 25 Acceptances: 3 Rejections: 17 Withdrawals: 3 Subs Out: 2 Quality Blogs Scalzi's Whatever Dave's Blogography Bookslut The Struggling Writer SF Signal the0phrastus Paperback Writer Scribe's Writing Desk Nathan Bransford Lyons Literary LLC The World in the Satin Bag Book In The Oven The Word Perhaps We Learned Something... Words, etc. Archives March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 Et Cetera Cavan @ Last.fm Cavan @ LibraryThing Feeds Atom Feed RSS Feed	Saturday, February 24, 2007 - Militant Revolutionaries...in VR Apparently, the VR community Second Life has been hit by a bombing campaign organized by a terrorist group who wants to liberate the four million members of the world from the control of the company that created the community. Science freaking fiction, man. Read the article. Cavan blogged at 9:06 PM \| 0 comments - "It's Showtime, Pt. 2" and a Few Notes First off, it appears that the new Firefox update is rendering my links in a funky, retina-destroying blue. Oi. Sorry about that, I guess we'll all just have to bear with it for a while. Finally, though, at least IE users have something to celebrate for once. Also, in case you're wondering about the official word on The Prestige vs. The Illusionist, I've got it: As much as I hate to go against Ed Norton, The Prestige blows his flick out of the water in pretty much every facet. I guess you just can't really bet against Christopher Nolan. A new song is up for all to enjoy - "It's Showtime, Pt. 2" by The Mooney Suzuki. Because who doesn't like a downright danceable garage rock instrumental? Seriously. Overall, this band's an enjoyable listen - they've got the garage rock sound and attitude down pat, even if their lyrics don't exactly scream intelligence. It's all just good fun. As always, just press ZAP on the player. And check out their album if the song piques your interest. Cavan blogged at 8:51 PM \| 0 comments Tuesday, February 20, 2007 - No More Spam Had to kill "Spam" today. It just wasn't working out. A pity, too, because it was nearly finished. Still, about the only thing I like about this story when I look back on it is the groovy tech it centers around and that, obviously, does not a good story make. It's spring break now so I'm working full-time, industrious fellow that I am. Also, I have somewhere in the neighbourhood of less than zero dollars, so it's kind of a necessity thing, too. I'm hoping that the financial difficulties will get sorted out soon, but it doesn't look like it, since I have a lot of those nasty little "real life" expenses to deal with in the meantime. Why blather on about this? Well, I've been milling over the idea of shutting down Apodis Publishing. My hosting plan runs out in March (and it's the end of the company's fiscal year), so now would be the time to do it. I'll keep you updated. Oh, and if you haven't seen it yet, you have to watch George Takei's response to Tim Hardaway's recent nasty gay comments. Cavan blogged at 6:13 PM \| 2 comments Thursday, February 15, 2007 - Moon Topples Entry Midterm season has hit, though it's pretty much wrapped up by now, hence my absence here. Also, I'm a lazy bastard. Fortunately, reading week is coming up, so I should be able to get some lazy out of my system. Additionally, the Moon Topples "Vision" contest has just finished up. No wins for Cavan, but I was just excited to actually have written something (my output's been pretty much non-existent lately). Anyhow, I just wanted to make a few remarks on this piece (here's the direct link). A lot of the flash fiction I've seen (especially on the web) is of the "fake left, go right" variety. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but I also don't think it's a coincidence that the best flash pieces are also most often the ones with the most subtle turns. When writing for this contest, I challenged myself to write something with absolutely no twist at all. I wanted to see if I could actually create some meaningful interaction between characters in a flash piece that left the reader contemplating things. I'm not sure I was entirely successful, but I took a shot. Anyway, here it is: "Vision!" cries the blind man. He's walking towards me (not the defeated shuffle you'd expect from an old man with plastic bags around his feet and a cardboard sign draped over his tattered jacket, but something proud, upright). I look down at my own feet (last year's fad, scarred with salt stains) and hope he'll walk right on by. There's another man beside me, waiting for the bus. Fortyish. Suit. Immaculate hair that looks like it's been welded to his scalp. The blind man slows as he reaches the station. Can he sense us here? Does he smell the presence of other people? He's mumbling under his breath, but when he finally stops in front of the businessman, his words become coherent. The cardboard sign he wears has the word 'vision' scrawled on it. "Vision!" he cries again. "What do you see?" "I see myself not giving you any change." "Yes, but what do you see?" The businessman sighs. "Sorry." The blind man remains where he is. His gaze is fixed directly onto the face of the businessman. It's uncanny, and more than a little unnerving. I'm trying to make myself as small as possible, folding myself into the crevices of the bus station. "Look, buddy, I don't have any change. Why don't you just move it along now?" I see a bus coming and strain my eyes to see which number it is. I'm feeling around in my pocket, making sure my pass is at the ready. The bus approaches, stops. It's not mine. The businessman boards and I think about trailing after him. The bus leaves and it's just me and the blind man. The silence, the anticipation of what he'll say is spooking me. I'm expecting standard sandwich-board material. You know, "The End is Nigh" and all that. Hellfire. Brimstone. Those are the kinds of visions these guys have, aren't they? "What do you see?" And he's looking at me. Straight on. Filmy white eyes looking directly into mine. I'm shuddering inside, looking at his eyes, at his clothes, at his feet. Knowing I shouldn't, but doing it anyway. "Uhh...a bus stop?" "Yes. What else?" "I don't know. A road. Buildings. The sky." "Yes. And what do they look like?" I shrug, glance around the corner, hoping that my bus will be here soon. "You know, like they're supposed to. A road's flat and long and black and goes off into the distance. Buildings are tall boxy things. The sky's blue. A few clouds." He never takes his eyes off mine while I'm talking. He stares intently. He takes a deep breath. "Yes," he says. The word rides on his exhalation, one syllable stretched out interminably. Dissolving meaning. I can see parts of myself reflected in his eyes. My face glinting off the corner of his eye. My bus pulls up. His eyes firm on mine. Cavan blogged at 8:40 PM \| 4 comments Wednesday, February 07, 2007 - A Story Toppled I totally dropped the ball on entering The Moon Topples contest, what with my quest for new glasses and a new jacket. As if that wasn't enough, I've also been working on my seminar paper, so I had to let the contest entry slide. It would've won, though. Just so you know. In the meantime, here's what I look like now. Sans hair. Edit: OK, turns out the contest deadline was midnight tonight, not yesterday. So I just sent in my entry now. Sweet. Cavan blogged at 10:03 AM \| 5 comments Monday, February 05, 2007 - Weekend Update This weekend turned out to be kind of bittersweet for me - I had a lot of fun, even though things kind of took an unfortunate turn. On Friday night, my roommate from my first year of university was in town from Nova Scotia (and I hadn't seen him since then - so it'd been about four years), so we decided to go out for a night on the town. During that night, I managed to lose my (only pair of) glasses and my (only) winter jacket. So, picture me, relatively inebriated, fairly blind, and wearing only a t-shirt and light button-up shirt during a thirty minute walk home in temperatures that were far below zero celsius. Yeah, not fun. I now have a cold. Anyway, Saturday was a quest to get new glasses, since I can't work, drive, or really do anything productive without them. Of course, the optometrists told me it'd be Friday before I could get an appointment, whereupon I created a massive sob story about how my glasses were crunched under the tires of a car (verbatim quote: "It was so surreal. I mean, I was standing there in shock, not because my glasses were gone, but because they'd actually just been run over by a car. Really, what are the chances of that ever happening?"). Afterwards, everyone at the office wanted to be my friend, so they managed to fit me in and, thanks to Lenscrafters, I had myself a shiny new pair of glasses by the end of the day (and I look unbelievably hip, by the way). Sunday and today have been spent being sick and/or looking for a new jacket. Neither has been much fun. Also, I finally got a rejection back from Reality Complex. They said the story was well-written but predictable. Unfortunately, I can't particularly disagree. Cavan blogged at 7:05 PM \| 0 comments Friday, February 02, 2007 - Moon Topples Contest About a week or so ago, I heard of another flash fiction contest being put on at someone's blog. The prompt, announced yesterday, was "vision". I didn't really have any ideas, so I put it out of mind. Until today, when an idea came to me during my daydreaming in my Old English class. I'd tell you about it, but conditions of anonymity are in place until voting has closed. That way, people's massive popularity (or lack thereof) can't affect the voting. But I'll fill you all in on the inspirational process that led to my entry when the dust has settled. And also, DDR is now "officially" an awesome way to have fun while doing physical activity (really, the best way...well, next to that other thing, but you can't do that in an elementary school gym class). Here, for those who are interested, is the last piece of flash I wrote for a contest - this one for one of the prompts over at Clarity of Night. I call it "Blood Electric". The hum is steady, insistent. It trickles down Eva's neck, her back, her legs. It has blotted out whatever signs of life were once present here. She looks up at the power lines, majestic against the darkened sky. They are the landscape here, the sole structures on the flat, gray desert floor. There are variations in the hum now. A pulse. A heartbeat. Eva stands next to one of the poles. She traces the arc of the lines, as they lazily descend, then pull themselves up to meet the next pole. She loses track, eventually, as the wires fade into the distance. She places her hand against the smooth, warm steel of the pole. Feels the hum enter her, coming in surges. Like blood. She savors the moment. Overhead, the clouds shift malevolently. She feels it, inside her. Feels it exploring, searching. It stops moving suddenly, as it always does, and unfurls its tendrils, spreading across the void of her body. It is alive in her now, just like it was in the City. It speaks to her. And then, she knows. She knows that she will not see the City again, with its sleek metal columns and the wonderful, overwhelming pulse of electricity. The car that dropped her off here will not return. She does not belong there. She never has. She will starve here. Her flesh will return to the land. The City has sacrificed her to the Earth. The clouds, hungry, begin to spit acidic rain. Cavan blogged at 1:53 PM \| 2 comments	Progress Zilch! 0/0 Listening A.J. Croce - "Maybe I'm Amazed" My Music Reading Bright Lights, Big City - Jay McInerney My Library Watching Black Book: B Sweet and Lowdown: C Breakfast on Pluto: B Wishlist Bridge of Sighs - Richard Russo Rachael Yamagata - Elephants...Teeth Sinking Into Heart