A Night Before Christmas.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the place,
The Resident Murloc was running a race.
The stockings weren't hung by the chimney with care,
For last minute panic caused her to despair.

"C'mon sweetie," I mentioned, "let's snuggle in bed."
"No time for that now, I'll sleep when I'm dead.
Now working, now toiling, now wrapping the presents,
All of this work is for you malcontents.

"I've decor to hang up and presents to wrap.
So help me with this or just shut your yap."
Her jaw was clenched firm, her eyes were quite glary,
Her nose blew out flame, the site was so scary.

I thought it might be beneficial to ease
Her stress levels so I gave her a tease.
"You're so cute when your anxious. Did you know your belly
Shakes when you fuss, like a bowl full of jelly?"

More fright'ning than grizzlies, her fury it came,
She cussed, and shouted, and called me such names.
I spoke not a word, but just turned and fled.
Knowing she'd give me something to dread.

Hot on my neck, I could feel her spit spatter.
I sprang under the bed to avoid the whole matter.
But I heard her exclaim, 'ere I dove out of sight,
"I'll get you, I promise, you'll die this dark night!"


Yeah, I'm no Clement Moore, but it's 3am. Gimme a break.

Because Gun Control...

...is on my "absolutely positively under no circumstances discuss this on Facebook" list, I'll link this article here (warning: it's long; 10k-ish words): http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2012/12/20/an-opinion-on-gun-control/

Also, I made this for you:

What Do You Make of the World?

In which I plow ahead, forcing myself to write a short story, not because I think it's good, or interesting, or even because I enjoy it, but because if I'm going to start something, then, gorammit, I'm going to finish it even if it kills me.

I’ll never forget my first day at the Academy.

“The world,” began Professor Sullivan, “is what you make of it.”

The elderly doctor leaned on the podium. It bobbed up and down as the anti-gravity thrusters adjusted to the meager weight of his wiry frame. His eyes swept over the attentive audience--my classmates and myself--drinking us in. And we were eager to be drunk on his words.

He turned to the screen behind him and, with a sweeping gesture of his hand, wiped a static image of the world into existence. The orb was crudely drawn, jagged lines cordoning off areas of flat-shaded blue and green.

“Centuries ago, this is how we saw the world: fixed and unchangeable. Mankind was the slave of relentless and ineffable powers, over which he had no control, or means to keep them at bay.”

He folded his arms behind his back and turned towards the image. The profile of his dimly lit face was overcome with concern. “Those were dark times.”

He waved his hand across the board once more and the image changed again. The jagged lines smoothed into curves and the flat hues blended into an infinity of shades.

“But in the midst of these dark ages,” the professor continued, “came some remarkable minds. Minds who were able to master the laws of nature. Minds that saw the malleability of the universe and thus opened themselves to a world of amazing new possibilities.”

He turned back to us, a glimmer in his eye and a mischievous grin on his face. “But even they were held back by their shackles to the old way of thinking: that there were some absolutes which mankind simply could not overcome.”

Behind him, the world expanded and contracted. Bulges formed and crept under the surface, as if some great mass was trying to burst forth.

“It was only at the turn of the last century that the wisest of the wise finally stumbled onto that great, liberating truth that freed humanity forever, to be the master of nature, instead of her slave.”

The world changed colors, from blue to red to violet, then shapes, from a sphere to a cube, to a flower. The light show grew in intensity and vibrancy, shining through the professor’s wispy-white hair, finally becoming a fiery explosion, a flaming wreath around his face, which was darkened by shadow. He was a terrifying sight to behold.

“Centuries of human progress were poured into discovering this truth. It represents the sum total achievement of all knowledge.”

He held out his hand and the flaming rose jumped into it, burning itself into ashes. The light vanished with the flames and the room was darkened, save for a single shaft shining through an open window behind us which illuminated his open hand. He stood motionless. The room was dead silent.

The ashes began to stir. They crawled around in a circle on his hand, moving faster and faster, until they became a tiny cyclone. From the midst of the whirlwind, a dove burst forth and flew over our heads. We gasped and turned to follow its path out of the window.

The professor spoke slowly and clearly. “The world is what you make of it.” He smiled and looked at the moment no different than any other kindly old gentleman. Once more, his eyes washed over us.

“Now it is up to you, the greatest minds of your generation, to use this truth. Make the world into something greater.”

Read the rest here.

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For those of you keeping score at home, I started writing this story over two years ago, about the time I made this blog post. The story was originally called "Delusions of Reality" and was going to be about a boy at an academy who learned to "change the world" by make-believing it was something else, until he realized that it was all make-believe and nothing ever changed. I realized this was dumb and stupid and violated the cardinal rule of story-writing: the artist serves the muse, not the agenda. But, I still liked the conceit and the twist at the end, and reworked it.

Bonus points to those who get the references. Certain persons who did their theses on Fermat should get a few of them.

As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.