Bruin Fisher
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Posts posted by Bruin Fisher
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put me down for another one...
Camy
Not to be outdone by an emu...
Trab, I'm game to do another section any time. Just let me know when!
Bruin
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the light at the end of the tunnel...
Yesterday I thought things were looking up. I was optimistic for the future, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Today the boss switched it off - to save electricity.
Sorry you're having a bad time, Kapitano, hope things get better soon. It's a great Flash Fiction story.
Bruin
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Be still, my heart, and do not let me know
The darkest secret lurking there below.
Do not describe the monster you conceal
I do not wish to see my soul revealed.
The day will come when life for me will end
And with relief I'll clasp that day as friend.
I lived without the love that others share,
But I will not disgrace the name I bear.
Be still, my heart, tell not my tale of woe.
Do not recount the pain from long ago.
I bear it still, for what else can I do -
My path is plotted and lies straight and true.
-by Bruin Fisher, having recently discovered the poetry of A.E.Housman. Find his complete poetry here. I have posted a bit about him in the Roamin' Reader forum.
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I've recently discovered the poetry of A.E.Housman. He in turn has introduced me to the appreciation of poetry, a form I've had trouble with in the past. If you haven't come across his work before, his complete poetic works (excepting his comic verse) can be found here.
Housman's poetry is accessible, powerful, and it may be that one reason it affects me so powerfully is that he writes from my perspective - thwarted homosexual in intolerant, exclusively heterosexual society.
As a young student at Oxford university he met and fell in love with one Moses Jackson, who, sadly, was heterosexual. Their friendship endured and although Housman was not invited to Jackson's wedding, whatever cooling of their relationship this caused had healed by the time Housman served as godfather to Jackson's fourth son. Jackson settled his family in Karachi, India, and Housman corresponded with him until Jackson died of cancer in Canada.
Housman spectacularly failed his final exams and we can only guess that the trauma of his unrequited love had something to do with it. He took up a menial job working for the patents office and adopted an austere bachelor lifestyle, continuing to develop his skills as a classics scholar in his spare time. Ten years later he was appointed classics professor at Cambridge university and was considered by his students and colleauges a dry, remote, rather daunting man. His editions of several classics are still considered authoritative. Therefore it was a big surprise to everyone when he published a collection of poems, 'A Shropshire Lad', at his own expense because it had been rejected by publishers to whom he had submitted it. It sold slowly at first but sales picked up and various musicians set some of the poems to music. With the advent of the First World War, 'A Shropshire Lad' caught the mood of the nation. It has never been out of print since May 1896. He published one further collection, 'The Last Poems' in 1922, when his friend Jackson was dying and he wanted him to see them before he died, and his brother Laurence published 'More Poems' after his death in 1936 and then 'Collected Poems' in 1939. His homosexual viewpoint is more openly expressed in these posthumous publications than in the earlier collections.
The above distilled mainly from Wikipedia articles.
I have found Housmans poetry inspiring and uplifting, although it deals with death, suicide, lost love, fatalism and the futility of war. I hope you like it too.
Bruin
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Sounds great to me too. Can't wait to see what happens next - go for it, Cole!
Bruin
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I did part V - I'm not doing two consecutive parts. Someone else?
Bruin
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A beautifully crafted cameo.
Bruin
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I agree with everyone else on this: 1st or 3rd are equally valid and useful tools for a writer.
1st lets you tell the reader the thoughts of your protagonist, and also to hide from the reader stuff your protagonist doesn't know.
3rd lets you tell bits of the story your main protagonist isn't involved in, but you can't tell the reader anyone's thoughts. IMHO, anyway.
Also IMHO it's a no-no to use 1st and jump from one 1st person to another. Even if you flag it clearly with chapter headings or something, it jars for me.
I have a vivid childhood memory that the bookworm that was my young self read everything I could get my hands on, and initially all I had read was 3rd person. When I first came across a book written in 1st person it grated, and I had a real struggle to continue reading. It didn't feel right.
Clearly I got over it, and now I find that most of the stories I've written have been 1st person. I think it is easier to write in 1st person, especially if you are drawing extensively from personal experience for the story (write what you know). For that reason it's probably fair to label it the beginner's POV. Not that it's inferior, unless other readers have the same problem with it that I did as a child??
3rd person is an extra hurdle to surmount when you're developing your story but it will give you extra tools if the story is complex. As a generality I suggest that 1st person lends itself to short stories without sub-plots, while 3rd person lends itself to longer more complex work.
My two-penn'orth.
Bruin
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Here's where I parade my ignorance for all to laugh at.
On this subject I'm the worst of forum posters: the man with little knowledge but much curiosity.
I don't have a great deal of personal understanding of the workings of OS's but I've read what other cleverer people think. I can well appreciate that Windows would not be particularly secure because of the haphazard way it's developed over the years, and the emphasis on function over security. Tracing the history of Windows from v1 to Vista shows it was originally bolted on to a single-tasking text-based OS that was hopelessly inadequate for the task. And subsequent versions retained sections of code from the earlier versions....
Similarly IE is full of security holes, but other browsers such as Firefox are less insecure.
I'm told Linux is a vastly more secure OS because it was developed from the ground up with 'proper' principles of security etc. And I'm told Mac OSX, like Linux, has its roots in Unix and is similarly secure. Not that either OS is proof against viruses, but that it's more difficult to write a virus that gets past the OS's defences.
So I guess there are two reasons that viruses (virii?) attack Windows. One is that Windows is an easy target - insecure - and the other is that 95% of the worlds computers are running Windows so you can do more damage by spreading a Windows virus.
Is it not logical, then, that both OSX and Linux need protection against viruses and other threats, just as much as Windows, on the basis that one virus can destroy your machine just as effectively as 100 virii?
Bruin who one day will dump Windows and put Linux on all his machines. One day...
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Chapter 30 of Darkfall is now posted and ends with the words 'THE END' so you may draw your own conclusions (sorry, couldn't resist).
So all you guys who don't like to start reading a story when it's not finished, now is the time to dive in. Darkfall is arguably the best thing I have ever read on the web. And I don't say that lightly. I admire the work of lots of writers, most of them AD denizens, and I've enjoyed Grasshopper's other stories but Darkfall is, for me, a class apart.
Is it overly dark? I don't like stories that are unrelentingly gruesome or morbid or violent or depressive. Darkfall is none of these things. It deals with dark themes, mostly in the early chapters, but always with an undercurrent of hope, and with sympathetic characters you quickly grow to love. I cannot recommend it highly enough.
Please read this story!
Bruin
P.S. I just heard from Grasshopper - there's an epilogue still to come.
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I just finished reading Everybody's Wounded. You want a share price tip? Buy Kleenex.
This is an emotional rollercoaster (box of tissues advised) but a very satisfying read, well-written and involving. I love the story and strongly recommend it.
Bruin
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After berating cavorting dancers, each foreigner generally happy in joyous kicking lust, missionary novices overwhelmed; preaching, quickly reaching stridency, typically, until vanquishing with xenophobic yearly zest.A Buddhist congregant doesn't ever force God;
he instills just karma lovingly,
mentions no obtuse philosophies,
quietly recounts stories,
teaching unprepared, vastly wearisome, xenophobic young zealots.
Stunned, awestruck, overwhelmed I am.
I haven't even attempted it. My excuse will have to be I don't want to be seen as xenophobic...!
Bruin
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What a sad story.
I don't often comment on news items, but in this case I feel that the reply given by 'dear Abby' was not well thought-out.
The parents are grieving, and in their grief have blamed the girlfriend for their son's death. She wants to set the record straight, for her own justification.
She doesn't know that the parents unwittingly drove Jerry to suicide; he was worried about their reaction if he told them, but he may have had a lot of other worries as well - workmates, friends, etc. A closeted gay guy has multiple worries like that.
Nothing anyone says now will bring poor Jerry back, so whatever anyone says now should be with the goal of helping the grievers to move on.
If she tells the parents they drove their son to suicide, will that help anyone? Especially since she can't be sure that's why he killed himself?
The girlfriend was his only confidante; was she aware he was sinking into depression? Could she, should she, have done more to help - she was the only one in a position to.
Maybe she could just tell them he was gay and leave the rest to them. It might help them to understand why he died - the only idea they have at present is that he was distraught over the split with the girlfriend.
It is, as Caylor says, a very sad story and there's no happy ending for any of these poor people.
Bruin
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Just finished Tim, not quite at one sitting - real life intruded a couple of times. It's a great story if a little harrowing in places. It's very well written, an emotionally powerful story sensitively told. If you haven't read it yet, go read! It's strongly recommended.
Bruin
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Fantastic!
You don't write poetry (?)
I don't like poetry (?)
But you wrote it and I read it and I love it.
It's fully of symbolism, imagery, allusion - you really mastered the art.
I read it again, and again, and again, as you do with all the best poetry. It reads and has meaning on multiple levels. So clever, kudos to Trab!
Bruin
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It had to be a joke piece but I couldn't predict the joke ahead of time. And it's what you might call "Quietly well written" - written with a feel for language and atmosphere that doesn't announce itself with a fanfare, just keeps the reader (ie me) engaged.
Oh, and now that the story's got me interested to see what else you've written...I click on your AD page it turns out you're actually Sinbad, who I've read before.
Wonderful. I could see something approach, but had no idea what it might be.
Thank you, guys, for your kind comments. Glad you liked it.
Kapitano, sorry to disappoint, yes I have changed pen-name. However there is a brand new story heading towards completion so check back again soon!
Bruin
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The New Job
by Bruin Fisher
I couldn't believe the place. New job, new town, new home, and my first day at work was turning into a tour of Neverland.
I mean, I'd heard of the HR policies at the big IT research establishment where I'd just landed this plumb job, and of course when I got the job offer I'd jumped at it, even though it meant moving to Palo Alto. But I'd never realised how far it all went.
Did you know there's a rule: you're never more than a hundred metres from food? And the food is free. And there are relaxation rooms dotted about all over the place, all with a different layout and atmosphere. In some you can play games on a wall-sized screen while sitting on, or in, a beanbag. In others you can surround yourself with books and curl up in a big overstuffed chair by a real fire while you read. In others you can prop up a bar and chat, or dance under the disco lights. There are table tennis tables, pool tables, squash courts, two swimming pools, it's amazing anyone gets any work done at all. But they say they want their people at their creative best, and so they need to be happy, relaxed and stress-free. And this apparently is the way to get that. I'm not complaining!
I was being shown around by this cute girl who looked like a school-leaver but she said she'd been there three years already, since the centre was first set up. And we were interrupted by a tannoy system which was announcing various social events coming up. The Bridge club, the hiking club, the Grass Court Tennis association, the open source committee, even the dungeon masters. I was trying to listen to my tour guide but the tannoy kept taking my attention, especially to the announcement that the first meeting of the Homo Nerds Support Group was to take place the following evening in Sun Lounge F.
This, I thought, was just too good to be true. A social group that fitted me like a glove. You have to understand, gay geeks don't fit into most social groups terribly well. Not in my experience anyway. And now I'd landed a job where they had a club for us! Fantastic!
I asked the school-leaver where Sun Lounge F was, and noted the details down on my PDA.
By the following evening I was feeling a little more at home. I'd established myself at my desk in the open plan but quiet and private cubicle in the big room which held no less than thirty cubicles like mine. Nevertheless once ensconced in my nice leather chair, I could pretend there was no-one else in earshot.
At the end of the day's work I enjoyed a good meal in the cafeteria two doors from my office before scooting home for a shower and change, and then back to the office to find Sun Lounge F. I wore my favourite tight leather trousers and a sleeveless skin tight t-shirt. I spiked my hair a little and shoved my coolest shades on the top of my head. Black leather loafers, no socks. A final check in the mirror ? hair, nose, fly ? and I was satisfied. Sun Lounge F here I come.
It turned out to be a sort of enormous conservatory built on the roof. As I walked in, a middle aged woman in twin set and pearls came up to me, her determined smile faltering a little at the sight of me, but she persevered and welcomed me to the new group, handed me what she called a welcome pack and pointed out the refreshments area and the seating, very comfy cushioned cane chairs.
I glanced at the cover of the welcome pack and my legs gave way so it was just as well I was standing right against one of the big chairs. It said: Home Owners Support Group.
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Kapitano began this thread just four days ago and it's been read 408 times, and posted to 96 times. Maybe that's some kind of a record?
Certainly I reckon he deserves a clap for it.....
(No, not that kind of clap, sillies)
Bruin
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In the time it took him to figure out what to do, walk back and forth, and sleep with his buddy, he could have just bought a new clock, already preset by the store.
But then he'd have missed out on an excuse to sleep with his buddy.....
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Another great offering from our Camy. Is there no end to this man's talents?
One thing puzzles me - what is the significance of the title - Gab?
Bruin - is there no beginning to this man's talents?
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We could have an incorrect answer topic.
My two-penn'orth: The Butler Did It.
How's that for an incorrect answer?
And now here's the answer to my clock puzzle.
He winds his clock back up before he leaves to visit his friend.
And he notes the time on his clock when he leaves, and the time on his friend's clock when he arrives. He now has a time interval that would tell him how long the journey took him, except for the discrepancy between the two clocks.
He notes the time on his friend's clock before he sets off home, and the time on his own clock when he gets home. Again, he has a time interval that tells him the journey time skewed by the discrepancy between the two clocks.
However the discrepancy between the two clocks will increase the apparent journey time on one of his trips and decrease the apparent journey time on the other journey - by exactly the same amount. So if he adds the two time intervals, he gets his there-and-back journey time, because the time discrepancies cancel out. So if he divides this time by two he gets his one-way journey time, and he can subtract that from the journey time he measured to see by how much and in which direction to adjust his clock.
Easy when you know how!
Bruin
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You guys are fantastic. When Bruin started, I had the idea that maybe "Eric" was part of some criminal gang, and had been crying because he had been ordered to 'off' someone, and he couldn't do it, and now...?
BTW, I just about spit up, laughing, at Trubshaw, which is obviously a takeoff from my email address, only barely disguised. Brilliant, totally.
Oh, and not to sidetrack the story, but Alveric? Is that really the name of the dwarf in the opera? I'm not a linguist, but the similarity of Alv to elf, makes me think maybe it is derived from Elf Eric at some point, maybe a folk precursor to the opera by Wagner? Just a fleeting thought.
The Trubshaw thing will just have to be put down to serendipity, since I have no idea what your e-mail address is!
The character from 'Der Ring des Nibelungen' - the series of operas by Richard Wagner - is given by Wikipedia as Alberich. But I've always spelled it Alveric in my mind because that's how it sounds. Wagner's operas were based on Norse legend and the epic poem 'Nibelungenlied'.
Actually I know hardly anything about Wagner's operas, and care rather less. I like the overtures, that's all.
Bruin
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Sorry guys but the solution to the clock puzzle doesn't depend on him already knowing how long it takes to walk to his friend's house, or on being able to see his friend's clock from his house. It works even if the friend lives miles away.
Bruin
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There He Sat pt V
by Bruin Fisher
from an original idea by Trab
Well, I knew he had just asked a question, but it didn't register; I was still floundering. How did I hurt my head? How did I get from the edge of the forest in the rain to this comfy bed? How did the tearful man with the wet hair, the beautiful eyes and the gun turn into the smiling angel of mercy with the same beautiful eyes I was looking at? And why did he think he could kiss me? I didn't have answers and my brain grew confused and fuzzy in the attempt. So he'd sat on the edge of the bed and asked a second time, and then a third, before the words filtered through and I realised what he was saying.
Knowing what he was asking me didn't help much; I didn't have a rational explanation. I mustered my resources and tried to come up with something plausible.
"I went out to hire a video. In the car park I saw you, you looked like you were in trouble, I should have offered help but I chickened out and drove off, without even getting a film. But you had worried me and I went back, just as you were driving off.
He just watched me. He didn't make a sound, like he was waiting for me to continue. So I did.
"Maybe I should have turned around when I saw you drive off but you seemed so desperate, I was worried about you."
"What made you think I was in trouble?"
"You were crying."
He gave an odd snort like a suppressed giggle. I looked up into his face in time to see it squash into an ear-to-ear grin, crinkly eyes and all.
"That would be the onions in my kebab. I love onions but these were powerful, enough to blow the top of your head off ? and make your eyes water." He was laughing now, and struggling to talk through it. "That's all it was. But thank you for your concern!"
I couldn't help but see the funny side of it, and soon we were laughing together. I reached out for his hand and grasped it in mine, a sort of friendship gesture.
When I had some control back, I asked: "How did I get here? Where are we?"
"You hit your head on the end of your roof bars as you stood up out of your car. Knocked yourself out cold, and I couldn't bring you round. So I put you in my car and brought you home. I left your car on the side of the lane, but I locked it and it'll be okay there till you're ready to get it. It's only a quarter mile back along the lane from here."
"And here is?"
"My home. My parents' home, actually, my Dad's the forest warden, and I still live here and my sister does. They'll be here soon and I'm going to have to explain you to them."
"I don't know your name."
"Eric. Eric Hofstraat. If you promise to keep quiet about it I'll admit my real name is Alveric, after the dwarf in the Wagner operas, but I prefer Eric, it doesn't need so much explaining!"
"Hi, Eric. I'm John Trubshaw. You checked my wallet so you know that."
"Yes, sorry, I hope you don't mind, I was trying to find who to phone about you when I couldn't bring you round. There's a picture of you hugging another guy. Your brother?"
"No, my boyfriend. That was four years ago, we split up not long after the picture was taken, but I keep the photo."
I'm always like that. If being gay comes up I come right out and say, but I always have to watch faces after I've spoken to see if I'm going to have trouble. I watched Eric, and there was no reaction. I kind of guessed there wouldn't be ? I still hadn't asked him about kissing me ? and the way he kissed had told me enough about him.
There was a commotion coming from below ? downstairs, I guessed.
"That'll be the folks home. You ready for this?" asked Eric.
I nodded, without any idea what to be ready for.
The door of the bedroom opened, and a short, buxom woman with a pretty, round face and elfin features walked straight in, with a puzzled frown, and a very large policeman right behind her.
"Eric, darling, there's a policeman here to see you. You're not in any trouble, are you?" - and at that moment she spotted me on the bed and took a step backwards, putting her hand to her mouth and wailing "Oh, oh... oh!"
Bruin
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The Mean Kitty Song
in The Raccoon's Den
Posted
This is the sort of thing that makes YouTube worthwhile. Great clip.
Cool Kitty and his flatmate is cute. Wonder if he's.... no, erase that thought.
Bruin