History vs Man

Red Flag

United forever in friendship and labour,
Our mighty republics will ever endure.
The Great Soviet Union will live through the ages.
The dream of a people their fortress secure.

The irony of history in the face of the dreams and hopes of men bites painfully. These verses are taken from the 1944 version of the anthem of the Soviet Union, when the great men of the continent, Lenin and Stalin sought to create a new thing on earth.

It’s needless to go through the bloody history of the years before, but these men crowned their achievements with one of the greatest nations the world has seen, and they set in their hearts and minds, and those of the people they governed, that this dream will ever endure.

Yet we stand here today, less than a century after, and where is the union “united forever in friendship and labour”?

Through days dark and stormy where Great Lenin led us
Our eyes saw the bright sun of freedom above
And Stalin our leader with faith in the people,
Inspired us to build up the land that we love.

I’m sure those who sang these words of the second stanza still had Stalin’s reign in mind. The power of poetry is made evident, to rid the world of its shit and grime, and paint all in angelic awe. As the music and the words draw power, they also reek of some sense of misplacement, of confusion and dreadful error.

Through dark days and stormy, through peril and hunger
our eyes saw the banner of freedom afire,
and woe to the people, for Stalin the leader
your fealty with dread retribution inspires.

Above is my version of the second stanza. This may be a more honest depiction of the minds of the people who may have sung this song to military bands, that will later beat the drums at an execution, or beat political prisoners to order at a gulag.

The question it leaves in my mind is, how will history judge our dreams, bravery and folly? What will they read in the future textbooks about us? How long will our legacy endure, and will those who put faith in us because they couldn’t do the same in themselves look back and regret it? In the end, will we be looked at as the greatest fools of human history, or the most enduring names?

It’s a funny thing, really, when you think about all this. History has the last laugh. Always.

Pensive,
Jesse.

Here’s a link to the anthem. Enjoy the music, please.

And the words, Russian and English

Ghana’s Space Program

Hello reader,

I’m tied up with school work. “It will be over soon”, that’s what I keep telling myself, but the last days are not kind.

There have been some exciting developments that I should blog about, but this one here has lingered on my mind’s borders for many weeks. It had to come out today, however, when I learned two things that rocked the foundations of my belief.

First, Ghana has a space program*. Then, Ghana launched a projectile carrying a “powerful camera” into space today.

It felt like an isolated event, but a Google search yielded reports from cbsnews.com, telegraph.co.uk, and one odd Viagra-titled site I didn’t bother checking out. But that’s the big news, folks, and my first thought; fucking great! *snickers*

What’s not to love about a small, fledgling nation that can’t keep tabs on nationwide electricity (I type this in a blackout that’s lasted all day) and water supply, trying to look up t and beyond the heavens and rain clouds? The wit on twitter also spiced things up a bit (one

To infinity and beyond!

even suggested calling our spacemen “granauts”), but it seems the news only shot up so high and so briefly. It has given way to the usual idle talk about politics and religion; so much for a satellite that was sent up 200 yards with a camera and a big, yellow balloon thing.

While it’s a pity that the nation’s space program was launched last year and I heard nothing about it (entirely my fault) one of the aims of this three month project, as published online, was to bolster interest in the sector. I think they’ve succeeded in rekindling my interest. But I have had other, less lofty thoughts in the immediate past.

Bring in the drones.

While this is a far cry from interstellar travel (will we ever? I don’t doubt but, really?) it holds more promise to me, in my humble, short-sighted, ego-fed opinion. Drones are cheap. Drones are easy to man and put to good use. Drones are (almost) everywhere.
I’ll credit Aljazeera English for igniting that passion in me. The description on one website that today’s civilian-grade drone was simply a smartphone with wings and propeller controllers filled me with Jobsian possibility and an excited grin.

I thought, looking at their low cost (cheaper than many high end smartphones, apparently) and just eager to be stuck with sensors and stuff like that, I feel that drones will serve our country in many fun and fundamental ways. And it will be fun, I promise.

I looked at the possibility of drones being used to scan plantations to assess crops, being used by the navy to patrol our waters and spot those illegal trawlers and smugglers. Little, bug like techy things whizzing around far in the air, taking snap-shots and sending them over to control centers where they are assessed.

I thought of crowd control at national events, like parades and those things. I thought of the police using them as recon in the hinterlands, to monitor positions of those Fulani herdsmen, or observe the banks of rivers up in the northern regions, watching when they’ll overflow their banks.

Drones could be used to spot tree stumps in the Volta lake (is that still a problem?) and monitor ships as they enter and leave our waters. With the oil find, monitoring our waters will be even more crucial.

I see drone based services being used by companies to track the movement of goods from harbours to wherever they send them to. This is possibility waiting to happen. This will be fun. Also, you kind of get the idea that I really want to fly one of those things and call myself a drone pilot. I can’t help it, but I think it is awesome, cheap and immediately beneficial.

Why don’t we start with that then? I don’t see us sending a Sputnik to orbit anytime soon, but we could send our first drone to work before this week ends. I’m serious.

Your captain speaking,

Jesse.

Check out the Wikipedia page for GSSTC and GhSA

The Real Dark Lord

Dear reader,

I take this brief moment of relief from my self imposed writer’s exile to tell you a bit about something that has been on my heart for a while now. Now that I’ve kept strictly off my books though; I’ve started a new poem in decasyllabic verse, trying to stick to iambs while telling a story that will expand and modify my growing mythos. Yay me.

But this here post, also about my work in mythopoeia, tells of another concern. One that I am sure every fantasy writer has faced, and cursed in the depths of his heart, afraid to blaspheme against He-That-Is-Not-Named.

Most of our writing, whether innate or derived from the catharsis of a great novel or film (or movie series), has had to pass through the tempting halls of one Dark Lord; the true dark lord of our writing lives. Most have failed and fled the dungeons, assuming contorted shapes and forcing themselves to be pleased, while they know they have become a mockery of what they were before. Others have sailed through, either by deceptive cleverness or sheer courage. A few have embraced the dark side, and have allied themselves as his most trusted servants, rising to lead armies of their own to decimate the rest of us still leaving our hovels.

Of course, you guessed it right. Our work is plagued by this one writer, who has usurped all before him, and enslaved most after him. I hardly can think without his unseen will moving my mind to what he desires. And when I choose to rebel, it turns out that I only played into his trap and predictably fell into bad habits.

Allow me to openly declare my hostility to the JRR aesthetic. It hurts but pleases, like the One Ring. One cannot look away from its beauty, though one despises its control over his thought and will. Few are the fantasy authors who have towered recently, from an English woman of wit to that guy who spawned the enchantingly magic-lacking HBO series we all watch.

But what can a writer of fantasy, who wants to be a good writer, do in order to tell his story as himself? I’ve tried starving myself of influences, but that was the time I just had to resume my reading of the entire Lord of the Rings. And that came after reading the entire Silmarillion countless times, pouring over the Book of Lost Tales and the entire History of Middle Earth series. As if I hadn’t learned my lesson. Openly rebelling against established influences is as cliche as the run-away slave trope. Embracing them…aha! I’m not exactly used to that.

But there is some hope beyond the clouds. I recently begun a deliberate effort to regain my style of writing/storytelling. And my kind of stories. I learned from experience, though later I confirmed by research, that the best way to be who you want to be in the art you choose to practice, is to…wait for it…do what they, the “Elder Ones” did.

That sounds contradictory, but it holds true if you know what they did. And this is it: they did what they loved. What they truly loved. Not what they had come to expect, or what they saw and fancied. True, it takes a while to discover what one truly loves, but when one gets there (and it is a long, depressing, iterative process, which may end when you die, so don’t hold off writing indefinitely) one knows.

Which is why I tweeted a few hours ago, “Imitate the process, not the product.”

And this is what I have begun to do. Of course, there are some mechanics that may have to be borrowed, bla and bla. But the essence is to work with what makes you – besides your favourite tales. Let your work reflect who you are (or were, if you are now a horrible amalgamation of contrasting influences. Accept my condolences) and what makes you you.

Look at it this way: Take the Chronicles of Narnia. You like the tales. But do you like every part of them? What do you particularly like about the stories? Try to define it without reference to the actual Chronicles of Narnia. You see where I am getting to? You probably fancy the idea of a quaint little world with semi-comical characters and well-defined, biblical morality. Or you adore the idea of child-kings and child-queens from a different (probably more familiar) place ruling over fair and righteous lands. You may like the narrative style that is simple and humorous, and often leaves the storyline to talk to you the reader. Or you probably read a lot of Greek Mythology, and wish to have something of similar stateliness and remoteness. Well, you’re getting to know your own aesthetic. Trust me, the Greeks endured all this while without elves. You don’t want to emulate the product of the great writers, who were inspired by ideals and influences that seemed fresh in their time. One cannot simply get away with that.

The freshness I find in any work of fantasy is one that is as unique as the individual who thought it up, though it stands on stepping stones erected before him/her. And when something is so good, it spawns many followers (tips hat to Martin).

The best I can say is that, don’t force your writing to be original. Allow your writing to be. And it should be you, because that is the most honest thing you can do to your readers. Don’t do the happy ending thing if your mouth waters at untimely deaths. Don’t do untimely deaths and irreversible tragedies just because they are the new thing. Don’t use creatures because they haven’t been used before, and don’t refuse to use some because they are over-used. Don’t do what they did; do what they ‘do’.

After this post, I resume the constant revision of my own mythos as it tries to break away from the chains of its oppressor, to put on the coat that has me written all over it. Then, if I am successful, I may probably join him as a brother coeval “…on his dark throne.”

Keep reading and writing “original” fantasy.

Namarie!

Jesse.

Thoughts On A Cold And Sullen Eve

Let us raise a little glass
and blow on little trumpets.
Let us toast, dear friend of mine
while the minutes march ahead.

Time is swift and time is soothing,
but memory disturbs the dream of living.
Dark the shadows, long the raincoats,
the pitter-patter of the raindrops
oft reminds and often hinders
one from going about their daily duties.

Still let us raise a little glass
and blow on little trumpets.
Fairies make me glad by day
and singing elves by night.

Her smile and call like Luthien’s are,
and I, like Beren, eagerly follow.
Desperate for attention
and a warm and guiltless shoulder
while trying to keep the Darcy facade.

While trying to keep the cold outside
and killing the fire inside.
Two decades and three
and many more to come;
Of heartbreak, hope and hubris.

But let us rise and call for order.
Let us lift the little cups.
Drink, my dear friends, drink on me,
and do not waste one drop of wine.

Times are hard, though days be hopeful,
hard to come by, joy has proven.
Drink like there is no tomorrow.
It may turn out to be true.

So walked out Bill and dear old George
into the falling rain.
I sat and watched the glass doors swing,
and sighed as taxis hurried by.

I told myself, it will be fine
in this dear life of mine.

Thoughts On A Cold And Sullen Eve. This bit is to me, written to celebrate a special moment in my life.

On Mythopoeia

Dear people of this world,

Hi, I am Jesse, better known in literary circles as William Saint George. I am into mythopoeia. I link you to Wikipedia there so I can spare me the labour of a full explanation.

Put short, it is the art of myth-making for the sake of it. Our prime example has, and may very well be JRR Tolkien’s legendarium.

This looks a lot like some place in my story…

Contrary to popular belief, it not only is about hobbits in the Shire, and Middle Earth wizards and Sauron. It concerns the much larger world of Arda, of which Beleriand and Middle Earth were a portion. There is Valinor, and other such places I have forgotten by name.

Mythopoeia is something I was into, before realizing it was a full blown genre, newly crystallized under Tolkien’s works. Before him have been some notable examples of High Fantasy that border on myth making. Of them, I consider the Gods of Pegana, by Lord Dunsany to be the truest example. Let me know if there are others.

In my opinion, High Fantasy, which I describe as fantasy literature that is deliberately made richer and more intricate, to as it were create a truly detailed and believable world (Conan, Harry Potter), should not be confused with true myth-making; which is creating mythologies.

My mythopoeic adventures begun about a decade ago, when I took my writing seriously. I’ve always written fantasy, but my true goal has been to create a world, a plausible world, with its own gods and goddesses and little beings that live out their destinies. I’m sure the seeds of this goal were first sown when I started reading Greek Mythology.

I created my first mechanical, rudimentary mythologies when I was much younger, and would draw elaborate maps to illustrate them. Thinking it was impossible (I had no idea of who Tolkien was, nor of his work) I did not take it as seriously. But when I read the Lord of the Rings, and learned that it was based on something grander, I knew that I was on to something.

Fast forward today, and here I am now. Over my years of trying to write my stories, I have learned and noticed a few interesting things about the genre, and probably about my favourite writer.

Tolkien, it is widely known, created the languages first, before the stories. He was a philologist. Languages were his thing, and he worked them well to produce our best and most celebrated example of mythopoeic literature. I, for the most part, have always been a map guy. I won’t tell when I drew my first map, but I always delighted in using figures to tell stories. I always begun with a map, and ended up with a story of how the map became what it was. It helps when one knows their strength.

I fell behind in my map ways, but have since began to use them to connect individual legends. The result has been exciting. After close to a year of fleshing out two disconnected parts of my mythos, I finally found the all important link that has brought me back to where I begun this whole thing. Now I can move forward

Often one has a story, and looks for a way to tell it. I started with maps, and relied on maps for the most part. But I was led to believe that I could tell my stories better by writing. So I attempted, and subsequently failed to complete several novels. Even after “downgrading” to short stories, it turns out I’m not cut out for holding a narrative in prose. I nearly turned to game development, real-time strategy game development of the Age of Empires kind. This gave me an interactive map, and actual characters to play with. That was the closest I could get to having my world realized. It was my inspiration when I took up strategy gaming, and I modeled early maps in the AoE map maker. I did the same with Warcraft III. It was fun, but just not fulfilling. I had to turn elsewhere.

Then the poetry started. My first poems were free verse, and used only to back my poor prose. I knew of epics, but always considered them far above me. I gave up on the poetry, and tried to write essays. That worked out well. I rethought the whole creative process. I wasn’t writing a story. I was nurturing one. So, instead of writing that “This person said this, so that this other thing will happen.” I discuss the persons actions, as though the person in truth had acted. Where I have doubts, I write them out. Honestly. That greatly helped put my story in perspective.

The essay writing continued, and I discussed my story with myself, and allowed it to evolve on its own. It begun to grow with its own life, seeking inspiration from unexpected sources. When I tried to force things, I realized my error and had to rewrite. Thankfully, I can proudly say that the story is mature enough to be shown to others.

That is what I have done here. I started this blog to show off my work. Clearly, after a lot of training from this guy, I’ve taken  my narrative verse to a different level.

On My Myth

Here, I tease you with a few wonderful highlights from the story I’m growing. One of the biggest hurdles was creating a cosmos and a creation story that I will actually stick to. I can’t count how many times I have begun this thing, but my current creation myth is a reflection of my current thoughts. It turns creation into a little, mathematical game of bringing into being all from naught.

In the beginning, there was God. He was everything and nothing at the same time. He did not have any embodiment, and could not be separated from anything, because he was all. In a sense, he was not “he” (or she, if you will). There just was. Then he made the first creation that he could make in that form, which was music. With music, he created language, with which he spoke himself into embodiment. In that way, he was the third creation, coming from language, which was created from music. In the end, after an interesting set of events, he vaults about himself the Sevenfold Realm, being ordered like music, and infinite in expanse…

Another bit was creating an origin of evil in the world. It was needed to drive the conflict, which drives any story. But I did not want to go with the Judeo-Christian Lucifer-falling-from-pride-and-rebelling thing. It was another issue I laboured long on. Eventually, I got something that I discuss in part in small this essay On Death.

I’m glad organizations like the Mythopoeic Society work to support this kind of literature. It steps beyond the normal human desire for stories, and seeks to create something large and all encompassing.

I’m still a novice at all this, and my story is still young and evolving. New themes come up, and drastic changes are made. But the beauty of letting a story evolve on its own, and grow to what it chooses to become, is that in the end (if the cycle ever ends) a truly beautiful myth will be born.

Sincerely,

Jesse.

ps Tolkien’s essay “On Fairy Stories” has been of immense help and direction to me. Check it out!

I fear that if …

I fear that if all else was counted as poetry; if rap and country music, Spoken Word rhetoric, were deemed by society to be poetry, then I will not call myself a poet. For I will loathe it.

This is what truly drives me, when I sit and lambast other forms of art that try to be (and are often more successful at being) poetic, and then go on to call themselves poetry. If in truth they are poetry. Then I will say this, that I do not know her.

My Number Of Followers

This is a spiritually (and comically) significant number. Thank You.