ODYSSIAN

Apollo, The Sirens of Puget Sound, November 2012 project.

Apollo has a difficult time staying on Olympus. He is a god of light, and honey, let it shine. He isn’t supposed to be the personable one, the one who has been a mortal before and knows his way around them, but he finds after too long living in denial that he cannot stay away. The born and bred liars have a more comfortable place on their thrones than he; truths spill from his mouth so smooth they simply slide off his tongue. He cannot help but share them.

His gifts are not often appreciated: Olympians shy from them, and the mortals call it an inhuman mark of divinity, and it’s one that kills. But he understands. Universal truth is hard, unfriendly, and frightening. It makes immortals quiver in fear for a concept they were not born to understand, and mortals weep for a time coming far too soon.

They call it the light of life for a reason, however, and Death, but a piece of that self-same Universal Truth, is the one he most often finds he, the paragon of honesty, cannot accept. Too often, he seeks to let his light shine a little too long, all while seating dear cousin Thanatos with the electric bill.

After all, willing denial is still an acceptance of truth on some level. He simply refuses to acknowledge it aloud. But he isn’t always so lucky. There are some who remind him that art is beautiful because it achieves an end, some remind him that where liveliness once thrived, it cannot always. The constant reminder, one he is constantly seeking to deny, is the real curse, not plague, madness, disbelief. His curse cannot, will not, ever end, because, like him, it is immortal. Undeniable, when all else ends.

A universal truth to drive lesser men mad.

NaNoWriMo 2012: The first 10k.

I had a tradition last year, before I had a separate writing blog, to take a screenshot of my novel progress every 10,000 words; it’s sort of like a visual landmark for me. And it turned out pretty neat last year, even though I didn’t get terribly far. It’s interesting to see how even your scene names, notes, organization, etc. change subtly over the course of a month.

And because I still get asked about this now, the word processor I’m using here is called Scrivener, and I recommend trying it out, it’s absolutely BRILLIANT. This is my second year in a row using it, and I will never go back. (Also, psst, NaNo writers: Scrivener runs a free trial through the month of November, so you can use the month to acclimate yourself to the program; if you’ve ever wanted to try it out, now’s the perfect time.)

Dionysus, The Sirens of Puget Sound, November 2012 project.

Being the last of his siblings, Dionysus is something singular. Something special. But uniqueness, true individuality, is a hard won trait, and Dionysus’ strange and divine conception does not change this unavoidable truth. He does not remember his torturous infancy, only the fear of being hunted down, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and the overwhelming certainty that he would be caught no matter how far he goes.

His descent into madness is a slow one at first: it begins with flighty hallucinations at the edge of his vision—the sort where he blinks and it’s no longer there—and progresses into a certainty that he is not meant to understand every facet of the world, but to simply accept it as it is. Enjoy the life he has ripped from the grasp of his would-be murderers. And thus, those who come between him and his acceptance of the world are traitors in his eyes, heretics, unable to appreciate the simple things placed before them. Constraint has never suited him, and even his own authority chafes should he have to use it. He wears his anger as a warning, a weapon only to be used in dire circumstances.

He had missed out on childhood as the last Olympian, and took neither to teaching or being taught, but rather he accepted inherent truths and natural behaviors, undiluted with reason or sense. And when he turns to wine, it’s as if he sees the world in higher definition, as if he’s found the lost fourth dimension, but all sense is lost to explain it. And so he leads by example. Not by rules, not by orders, not by assumption. If it is meant to be, they will come. And if they come, well, then it is certainly meant to be. He has no time to waste being bitter, and plotting vengeance does not suit him. Carnal reaction is simple instinct. Pleasure is not just an inherent right, but a constant truth of mortality.

The human condition is his art.