I did it. I wrote a bit more than 1,700 words of my NaNovel. And, yes, I gave up and went with the super-silly concept. Why, you ask? For starters, I have no shame. More importantly, though, the less I have to think about where the story’s going, the easier it’ll be to write.

On the one hand: Yay!

On the other hand: Aw, crap. I have to do that 29 more times before month’s end.

Right. Excerpt time. Keep in mind that a NaNovel is, by definition, unfiltered dreck. (It beats coming up with compelling and interesting posting content from my real life, let me tell you)

David finally spoke. “Unless you’re going to suggest we use Michael for this, you’re the best option available.”

Sighing deeply, I felt myself getting cornered. “I wouldn’t suggest that. You know I wouldn’t. Now that you mention it, though, what do you have him doing?”

“Right now he’s got a small group out doing covert ops training, then we’re going to give him a couple of our aspiring political geniuses to grind the rough edges off of their technique.”

I nodded my agreement with that. “He’s the best teacher we’ve ever had. Most of what I know about political wrangling came from my time under his wing.”

“And it keeps him busy while we think of a way to convince him to take a real job around here,” David said.

“I don’t need to tell you to be careful, I know, but be careful.” Michael McGee was only a couple of years back from the dead, in a manner of speaking, and the grief that had sent him off into the void for his own peculiar kind of suicide wasn’t completely healed. Without having to ask, I knew that Elaine and David were careful not to assign him any students with so much as a passing resemblance to his beloved Jessica.

Elaine vanished, apparently content to leave David the job of sealing the deal. I didn’t wait for the renewal of his pitch. “You can’t rely on me and mine to fill in all of the empty places around here forever, man. We’ve done our part and then some. If I have to work, fine, but not this. It’s demeaning, for the love of all that’s holy!”

“Fine. Give me a name. The job’s there, and whether we record it or not, it needs doing. We can’t. Michael can’t. Amy and Xian are assigned elsewhere already, and you know as well as I do that you couldn’t do as good a job as either for that gig. Tara and Lynn are already on assignments of their own. Buster’s handling combat training, Daniel’s still doing damage control on the demon mess, and those are all of the people we have who are competent and trustworthy.”

“So I’m competent but not trustworthy?” I knew I’d lost by this point, but I couldn’t resist throwing that at him.

“Very funny, Andrew.”

Sighing was becoming a habit. “I’ll give you credit, old friend. You at least tried to wheedle me into doing it instead of shoving the cold hard facts down my throat.”

“I just wish,” he replied, “that you’d given me credit for that to start with so I didn’t have to play hardball.”

I had no graceful way to reply to that, so I did the smart thing for a change and kept my mouth shut.

“We’re agreed, then?”

“We’re agreed. But I’m going to use a puppet simulacrum. There’s no way in Heaven or Hell that I’m actually shapeshifting into the form of a household pet.”

“Whatever makes you happy, Andrew.”

“Blow it out your ear, David. Now, how about some more cheesecake?”

I had an idea. That idea stuck with me for several months. It was, in fact, the idea from last year that I abandoned in favor of another idea, one that may or may not have worked out had I been in a better emotional state last November. Apparently I’ve abandoned it again, but that’s mainly because I still have no idea at all how to get from Point 0 to Point F.

Then I had another idea about a week ago. It was cutesy, clever, and would’ve removed all obstacles of plotting from my path as it would’ve followed a tried-and-true genre-stereotypical route from start to finish. Alas, I simply couldn’t bring myself to actually write the thing. I have some pride left, after all.

So here it is, the first of November, the start of National Novel Writing Month. I’m probably going to sit down this evening and wing it, though I did have a bit of inspiration on the bus ride to work this morning, mainly having to do with what part of last year’s effort was the most effective and easiest to write

Wish me luck. I’m going to need it.

I’ve had this scene knocking about in my skull for a couple of months now, and I finally couldn’t resist jotting it down. Piece by piece, I’m fleshing out the world that my alter-ego inhabits, and what you see here is the closest I’m likely to get to an “origin” story. (Deal with it.)

No, this doesn’t count against my NaNo. I’m not a cheater!

The Job Interview

“Well. Everything seems to be in order, here. Yes, your file looks very promising. You’ve shown imagination, determination and strength of character. I think you may become a valuable asset to our organization.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I must pose some questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“You’re going to live for a very long time, by normal human standards. Are you prepared to deal with that?”

The applicant paused briefly before answering, “Absolutely.”

“You had to think about that. Perhaps you’d care to go into detail as to why.” This clearly wasn’t a request.

“You asked a very serious question. It deserved more than just a glib answer, but I didn’t want to belabor the point. My answer stands: I’m absolutely prepared to deal with the baggage that comes with an extended lifespan.”

“Fair enough. How about this: Can one person change the world?”

“Of course. What they can’t do is change the people in it at least not without crossing what I consider to be serious ethical boundaries.”

Behind his polished wooden desk, the interviewer slowly leaned back in his chair. The two men weren’t actually sitting in a real, opulent, top-floor downtown office, but only one of them could tell the difference. The other still lacked the power to do so. It was the other’s agility of thought and grasp of certain realities that the interviewer was tasked with discerning.

He decided on a new line of questioning. “You’re going to die eventually, you know. This job isn’t a ”˜get out of death free’ pass.”

“Of course it isn’t. Everything and everyone goes, eventually.”

“You’re awfully relaxed about that.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? No matter what, I’ll live longer than any normal person. This is a dream job, almost literally.”

The interviewer smiled and asked, “How so?”

“You’re letting me correction, offering to let me play God, within certain set boundaries. I can do almost anything, anywhere, to anyone or create any scenario I see fit, as long as I don’t manipulate certain kinds of events or directly tinker with anyone’s mind. Since I’m not interested in the contents of anyone’s psyche, this isn’t a problem for me. So, what’s not to like?”

“Death. Failure. Frustration. Cunning adversaries. The general unfairness and hostility of the universe.”

“You’re quoting, there, aren’t you?”

“I’m allowed.”

The interviewee indicated his acceptance of that with a shrug and a wry smile. “I already knew about all of that before I came here. What more should I be afraid of? I notice you didn’t mention boredom.”

“We don’t bring in people who are prone to boredom.”

“”˜We were never bored because we were never boring,’ indeed. So, what else?”

“Love.”

“Come again?”

“You heard me.”

That earned a long pause. “Let me see if I can suss this out. What you’re saying is that I’m going to need the ability to handle falling in love with someone, knowing that I’ll outlive them by centuries.”

“If not millennia, yes. Go on.”

“And even if they’re long-lived, there’s the chance that the relationship will go sour and I’ll have to deal with an ex-girlfriend, possibly even a hostile ex. Actually, over time I suppose I could collect quite a few of those.”

“Likely. Did you know that you can be rather abrasive at times?”

“You’re not the first to notice. Let’s see there’s also the chance that I could end up juggling romances across any number of facets of the cosmos. That’s a lot of work, right there.”

“Indeed.”

“So what’s the problem?”

The interviewer quirked an eyebrow. “Can you handle all of that?”

“What’s to handle? Yes, I admit I have a particular weakness. I also, however, know better than to let my reach surpass my grasp by too much. I know what’s important in life, and I know how to multitask and prioritize. The real trick, though, is in having high standards.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I won’t get involved with anyone who isn’t intelligent enough, emotionally centered enough and has a strong enough grip on reality to deal with me on my level. They also have to be comfortable with the fact that they’re not the only love of my life.” He paused. “Maybe that sounds conceited to you.”

“It does, but a certain amount of conceit is useful in our line of work. You know you’re going to make mistakes, don’t you?”

“Of course I am. And even when I meet the perfect woman and we hit it off beautifully, two centuries along or so we may have become entirely different people. Nothing stays completely the same forever, especially a human being. I think that should add some zest and flair to my existence, in fact.”

“Could you kill her if she became enough of a threat?”

The interviewee blinked and went perfectly still. “I Hmm. I don’t know. Sorry, but that’s the best I can do. I won’t know until I get there.”

Standing up and coming around to the front of the desk, the interviewer said with a smile, “Don’t worry. You’re not supposed to have all the answers. One of the requirements for the job is recognizing and admitting when you don’t know something, even about yourself.”

“Especially about oneself, I’d think.”

“Very true. So. Welcome aboard.”

They shook hands to seal the applicant’s fate for the next several millennia.

“Well then,” the interviewer asked, “Would you like to go out for a drink?”

“Sorry,” Andrew replied. “You’re not my type. I thought that was in my file.”

“It never hurts to ask.”

Since November, my son Alex has been tinkering on and off with the Blender 3D rendering and animation system. I’ve been threatening to show off his efforts for a while now, and today I’m following through on that threat… (these three are Indeo encoded, so you may need to download an installer)

Backstage Appearance & Collision – an early test sequence (260kb)

Face Suction – imaginative, if a bit weird! (380kb)

Balloon – blow it up, watch it float away (2mb)

And now that Alex has learned to give skeletal structure to his tutorial gingerbread man, we have brand new bits like these… (which are XviD encoded; I recommend having ffdshow installed if you can’t play these files)

Gus Claps (240kb)

Gus, The Soccer Player (220kb)

Gus, Pitcher And Cheerleader (340kb)

Gus Gets Hit (240kb) – my personal favorite…

Way to go, Alexander!

I’m not sure I’m going to finish NaNo this year. Too much life going on, and possibly even some death. And if that doesn’t crimp your style, you’re a more dedicated writer than I am. But here’s some of what I’ve managed to produce today.

“Where do you see us in a thousand years, Andrew?” The question came out of nowhere, breaking the relative quiet of a wet Portland late fall afternoon. A heavy mist that aspired towards being called rain lent ambience to the day without actually inconveniencing anyone. Damp weather didn’t deter Andrew or Tara; any park bench they chose would be clean and dry no matter the season.

“I’d say, right over there.” He pointed to a bench at the other end of the park.

“Very funny. Ha ha.”

“Sorry, love.” Andrew sighed and looked heavenward for a long minute. “I’m not sure I understand the question, to tell you the truth.”

“I don’t know. I feel like nothing has changed in the last thousand years. It’s good. It’s great, actually. But is this it?”

He looked her in the eye and said, “Yes. This is it. You’re going to live as long as you want. You have love, and friendship, and the ability to do anything you want to do, any time you want to do it. The most dangerous thing someone in our position can do is start thinking that there always has to be something new. You can get addicted to ‘newness’ just as much as you can get addicted to booze or drugs.”

“What if it gets boring?”

“Then do something about it. Life is only what you choose to make it, remember?”

Tara rolled her eyes. “That’s one of her song lyrics, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I’m sure she’d be just as mortified as you are that I’m quoting it in this context. And don’t change the subject.”

“I can if I want to.”

“But avoiding the issue only prolongs the unhappiness.”

“But…”

“And you can get addicted to unhappiness, too. Why else would so many people needlessly wallow in misery? I mean, yes, there’s more than enough genuine misery to go around. What the hell is your excuse, then? I could find a hundred thousand people in this city who would gladly kill to have your advantages right now, and your responsibilities are relatively light. To put it bluntly, you have no excuse.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair. And I’m tired of watching you mope about, wishing life would hand you something when you don’t even know what it is you want.”

“Oh, and you’re Mr. Perfect.”

Andrew laughed. “Didn’t you know? I thought everybody knew.”

“Stop that,” Tara said, but it was too late. She was already smiling.

I finally cracked 10,000 words, one full day behind schedule. Watch for me to be typing furiously this weekend, folks. I have a curve to get ahead of. Anyway, here’s an odd chunk of text I churned out tonight.

I also devoutly wish that upstart big-city tyrants-to-be would consider how much work it takes to rule an entire planet with an iron fist. If only they’d asked me, I could have saved them a great amount of trouble. Take it from me, folks. I have experience in this sort of thing. Just one example: You have to delegate authority. No, really. It’s been tried the other way and no matter how well you schedule your time you spend every waking minute making stupid, petty decisions. All day. Every day. And well into the night, most nights. So the delegating is good, but then you have another problem. Every person you give authority to is a potential usurper.

Remember, you’re dealing with a tyrancy. (Don’t tell me there’s no such word. I’ve earned the right to make one up if I damned well please.) Because you’re essentially a glorified thug, you have to hire thugs as your lieutenants. Thugs, by definition not gifted with an overabundance of imagination, are still bright enough to envision being the Head Thug In Charge. If they’re not that bright, why are you putting them into positions of authority?

Are you starting to see the problem yet? Good. I hope you keep this in mind if you’re ever faced with the task of subjugating a large population and ruling over it for any serious length of time.

Before you wax rhapsodic about how being the Head Thug In Charge would mean always getting to do whatever you want, think about the fact that there are petty and not so petty thugs all gunning for your job, all the time. And don’t forget all those decisions that have to be made. You can’t delegate all of it, or you’ll find that you’re no longer in charge, very quickly.

Are you still thinking about a life of tyranny? Then remember that you will be utterly and completely alone in the world. Yes, you’ll have your harem (or stable if you prefer) and your henchbeings and vast wealth and power… but not one friend. None. Everyone is either a threat to you or a threat to someone near you. If your friend is innocent, they will be eliminated by the competition, and no matter the consequences. If your friend isn’t innocent, well, can you completely trust them?

Love? Forget about it. A full thirty five percent of dead tyrants met their end in the bedchamber, and at least half of those fatalities were by the hand of the tyrant’s supposedly devoted spouse. I’m not even going to argue this point further.

So that’s what you have to look forward to. Hard work, paranoia, almost no time to yourself, and no meaningful relationships. Tyranny sucks. Take my word for it.