Pages

30 April 2012

Zeitgeber

For this year's A-Z challenge, I'm posting juicy tidbits of researchy goodness for your interest and edification. I intend to use these as story prompts for the terrifying writing challenge Story a Day in May. You may use them however you wish.


Nice "z" word, right? I was tempted, also, to go with "zelatrix," which is the title of an older nun in charge of disciplining younger nuns, according to the much abridged definition at The Phrontistery. However, that just reminded me of this post by E.J. Wesley (scroll down for the nun in question) and I began to feel quite unoriginal.

Zeitgeber: from the German for "time giver," meaning "synchronizer," this word refers to external cues that help an organism sync up its internal clock to the earth's dark / light cycle. The process of synchronization is called entrainment.

Mark Sisson of Mark's Daily Apple notes that "The master mammalian circadian pacemaker is located in the hypothalamus, in a section known as the suprachiasmatic nucleus (SCN)." The mechanisms by which the SCN takes cues from the environment are three-fold:
the retino-hypothalamic tract, which directly delivers photic (light-derived) information; the geniculo-hypothalamic tract, which indirectly delivers photic information; and the raphe-hypothalamic tract, which uses serotonin to deliver non-photic information to the SCN. The SCN tells the pineal gland to secrete melatonin. Both photic information (like blue light) and non-photic information (like temperature, social cues, food availability, to name a few) act as zeitgebers with the ability to entrain (circadian synchronization in accordance with an outside cue is called entrainment) internal clocks.
I like the idea of an alien race that takes subtle cues in through new and unexpected organ systems; or, equally, the potential for the discovery of larger, extra-circadian rhythms we had no idea existed.

27 April 2012

Yeti

For this year's A-Z challenge, I'm posting juicy tidbits of researchy goodness for your interest and edification. I intend to use these as story prompts for the terrifying writing challenge Story a Day in May. You may use them however you wish.


Wow you guys! One more post to go in the old A-Z challenge. Can you believe it? I can't believe it.

I've got good things coming up in May. I'll be hallucinating and raving and foaming at the mouth as I try to make all these posts into short stories. I won't be posting those - I don't tend to publish my fiction on this blog, and I write by hand, and I don't usually present unedited story glick to anyone, so. But I will be posting about my progress, and I'll be celebrating the amazing stuff we all did and learned this month with a giveaway or two in May.

I heartily encourage all of you to try Story a Day in May. It is the toughest challenge I've done. Beats the pants off NaNoWriMo for difficulty, so, you gain massive points in machismo or sheer Amazonian ninjitude or badassery or whatever. Plus when it's over, we'll all have a big stockpile of short fiction to edit and send out to magazines or collect and self-publish or whatever you do with your short fiction.

On to "y": I'll keep this super short. I imagine we're all suffering from A-Z fatigue by now.

Neil Gaiman included a lovely introduction in his short story collection Fragile Things, full of trivia about how and under what circumstances and why he wrote each story. This is his intro to "In the End:"
I was trying to imagine the very last book of the Bible. 
And on the subject of naming animals, can I just say how happy I was to discover that the word yeti, literally tranlslated, apparently means "that thing over there." ("Quick, brave Himalayan Guide - what's that thing over there?" 
"Yeti." 
"I see.")

Via

26 April 2012

Xenium

For this year's A-Z challenge, I'm posting juicy tidbits of researchy goodness for your interest and edification. I intend to use these as story prompts for the terrifying writing challenge Story a Day in May. You may use them however you wish.


After yesterday's mega-post, I'm keeping it super short tonight with a brief discussion of a single word: xenium.

A xenium, according to The Phrontistery, is "a gift made to a guest or ambassador; any compulsory gift." The related term, "xenial," means "of or concerning hospitality toward guests."

In Natalie Zemon Davis's book "The Gift in Sixteenth-Century France," she notes that "xenium" is a Greco-Roman term signifying "a gift to make a friend of a stranger."

Heather at The Word Blog further elaborates that in the medieval period, xenia were "gifts given by subjects to visiting princes and landholders." She adds, "You might think that this custom is now extinct, but I’m sure it must be directly connected to the bottle of wine we apartment dwellers give our landlords each New Year with the hope that they will continue to promptly attend to any plumbing woes that may beset us in future."

I see a lot of story potential in the concept of xenia. I'm wondering about the potential paradox entailed in the concept of a compulsory gift. If it isn't freely given, is it still a gift?

Source


(By the way, if you're still looking for an "X" word, there's a list of unusual ones at the Phrontistery. I was tempted by xenogenesis until I remembered Octavia Butler already used it, and I am still interested in xanthocyanopsy.)

Wetiko, or, a New Approach to Old Deviltry

For this year's A-Z challenge, I'm posting juicy tidbits of researchy goodness for your interest and edification. I intend to use these as story prompts for the terrifying writing challenge Story a Day in May. You may use them however you wish.


Because of recent events in my personal life, I've been making a study of evil lately. I know in some circles it's considered an old-fashioned word, but I've always thought it relevant and applicable to all sorts of situations and even some people.

I'd watched someone I highly respected allow himself to become so deluded and corrupt that he was merely a shell of his former self. I wanted to understand why. Sure, there were lots of obvious reasons. Befriending assholes was one; climbing into a bottle was another. However, both of these "choices" felt more like symptoms than causes. They were not sufficient as an explanation.

Also, as a writer of horror, I want to hold up a candle to the darkness. I want to understand it so I can describe it.

So I read Hostage to the Devil, a book about exorcism and exorcists by Malachi Martin, a Jesuit and theologian. I learned from it, but somehow the Catholic / Christian approach to devils and the demonic didn't quite help me understand what had gone horribly wrong in my situation.

A little while back I heard about wetiko via an interview with author Paul Levy at Red Ice Radio. What's wetiko, you ask? It's a little (or maybe a lot) like the Matrix: It's in the very air we breathe, in our daily interactions with others. It's certainly in our governments and global economic system. It's in us.

Jack D. Forbes, Native-American and professor emeritus at UC Davis, wrote in his book Columbus and Other Cannibals, "Wétiko is a Cree term (windigo in Ojibway, wintiko in Powhatan) which refers to a cannibal or, more specifically, to an evil person or spirit who terrorizes other creatures by means of terrible evil acts, including cannibalism. Wétikowatisewin, an abstract noun, refers to 'diabolical wickedness or cannibalism.'"

Wetiko has been picked up by horror writers (most notably Algernon Blackwood) as a monster / plot device that signifies how scary the wilderness is, or provides a convenient excuse for cannibalistic behaviour in a character. Essentially, these approaches to wetiko have rendered it another boogeyman, in the tradition of any big bad monster. This is all in good fun but it misses the point (and is yet another form of appropriation of Native culture, itself a type of cannibalism). There is something much darker and more essential in the understanding of the term put forth by Forbes and later expanded upon by Levy.

By mmpratt99, via deviantART

Forbes's book Columbus and Other Cannibals is an attempt to answer a question posed by Derrick Jensen in his forward to the 2008 edition: "why is the dominant culture so excruciatingly, relentlessly, insanely, genocidally, ecocidally, suicidally destructive?"

Good question, right?

By partial answer, Forbes argues that "imperialism and exploitationism are forms of cannibalism and, in fact, are precisely those forms of cannibalism which are most diabolical or evil...the wealthy and exploitative literally consume the lives of those that they exploit." Forbes coined the terms "wetiko pychosis" and "wetiko disease" to highlight the sickness of boundless exploitation and greed for what it is: mass psychosis, a disease so prevalent, invisible, insidious, and vile that every atrocity committed in its name becomes normalized and rationalized by the perpetrators.

Events like the violent colonization of the Americas, slavery, and the Holocaust are obvious big outbreaks of wetiko psychosis, but it's the little daily routines that are really killing us. Other symptoms include "raw consumption for profit, carried out often in an ugly and brutal manner," double dealing, the ability to say one thing and do another, the easy way that European culture has of dividing people into "us" and "them," the disregard for and enslavement of nature, disrespect to living creatures at all levels and a separation from what's natural.

Levy, a Jungian thinker whose personal experience with wetiko changed his life, argues that wetiko is a pathogen that sits in the collective unconscious. Levy coined the term "malignant egophrenia" to describe wetiko-like behaviour. Later, when he encountered Forbes's work on wetiko psychosis, he realized that they were talking about the same phenomenon.

In a 2011 article for Sign of the Times, Levy writes,
Speaking in his own language about the predation of the wetiko virus, the spiritual teacher Don Juan, of the Carlos Castaneda books, mentions that the ancient shamans called this "the topic of topics."[xi] Don Juan explains, "We have a companion for life...We have a predator that came from the depths of the cosmos and took over the rule of our lives. Human beings are its prisoners. The predator is our lord and master."[xii] ...Don Juan continues, "It has rendered us docile, helpless. If we want to protest, it suppresses our protest. If we want to act independently, it demands that we don't do so."[xiii] It is striking how Don Juan's description of the effects of these predators is being enacted in our increasingly militarized society, as our freedoms and liberties get taken away step by step. It is as if an inner, invisible state of affairs existing as a yet unrealized archetypal pattern deep within the soul of humanity is revealing itself by materializing in, as, and through the outside world.
I find this concept really useful for working with ideas of good and evil. There are a lot of people who will say that evil is our baseline, that unthinking violence is all we would be capable of if we were not "civilized" through culture.  I have never thought this to be true. Rather, it seems to me that the process of learning to get along in our culture is one of numbing and dumbing down, of learning to dull our connections to those around us in order that we might do what's required. The more in tune we are with dominant culture, the more assoholic we become. Wickedness is something we pass back and forth to each other. It circulates, like living pain.

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Dante and Virgil in Hell (1850)

Levy's infection metaphor is apt:
The wetiko germ is a psychic tapeworm, a parasite of the mind. Just like certain computer viruses or malware infect and program a computer to self-destruct, mind-viruses like wetiko can program the human bio-computer to think, believe and behave in ways that result in our self-destruction. Wetiko is a virulent, psychic pathogen that insinuates thought-forms into our mind which, when unconsciously en-acted, feed it, and ultimately kills its host (us).
Like a cancer of the mind that metastasizes, in wetiko disease, a pathological part of the psyche co-opts and subsumes all of the healthy parts of the psyche into itself so as to serve its pathology. The personality then self-organizes an outer display of coherence around this pathogenic core, which 'masks' the inner dysfunction, making it hard to recognize. In a psychic coup d'etat, the wetiko bug can usurp and displace the person, who becomes its puppet and marionette....In advanced stages, this process takes over the person so completely that we could rightfully say the person is no longer there; they are just an empty shell carrying the disease. In a sense there is just the disease, operating through what appears to be a human being. The person becomes fully identified with their mask, their persona, but it is as if there is no one behind the mask.
By Anita Zofia Siuda

Having witnessed what looked very much like a pathogenic takeover of an individual - the last person on the planet I would have expected to crumble - the concept of wetiko psychosis makes a great deal of sense to me. I think Forbes and Levy are exploring human consciousness in a very important way. Wetiko does not benefit from being understood or identified, so if it seems like a slippery concept, that's no coincidence. It is in its nature to hide itself. Putting a name to the previously unnamed is tricky business. It's like explaining water to a fish.

24 April 2012

VD Attack Plan

It is time for my annual STD post. Cuddle up, girls and boys. It's story time.

This is a war story. It could be anywhere in the world. It could involve anyone. It could only take place within the human body. 



VD Attack Plan courtesy of the ephemeral film collection at The Internet Archive.

23 April 2012

Undertaker

For this year's A-Z challenge, I'm posting juicy tidbits of researchy goodness for your interest and edification. I intend to use these as story prompts for the terrifying writing challenge Story a Day in May. You may use them however you wish.

Okay, maybe it's an obvious "U" word, but I am in love with it after researching it, so schner.

Via Daily Undertaker


The English term "undertaker" refers exclusively to funeral directors / morticians. (If this thread on the Coffin Talk forum is to be believed, "undertaker" was the preferred term before the 1930s; mortician had only a brief vogue in the late 1800s / early 1900s, and "funeral director" is currently in, though I knew a guy who called himself a mortician quite proudly.)

Source

Originally, "undertaker" had a much more broad meaning. The Word Detective notes that in the 14th century, the word referred to someone who agreed to take responsibility for or promised to complete a task. So the term was generic: you had your public works undertaker, your cathedral building undertaker, etc. "Funeral undertaker" was a subset of the larger category of undertakers. By the late 17th century, however, presumably due to the increasing pressures of euphemism, "undertaker" had come to mean one type of undertaking, of the dealing-with-the-deceased variety.

Directionality plays a key role in determining the fate of words, as it turns out. The similar term in French, which also originally meant "one who agrees to take on a task" is "entrepreneur." "Entre" comes from the Latin term meaning "between" and "prendre" means "to take, " according to Webster's Online. Similar to "undertaker," the term "entrepreneur" was originally used like the English "undertaker," and required qualification: "entrepreneur des pompes funèbres." My French is not accomplished enough to discover if this term is still in active use beyond the job listings and college program listings a casual online search reveals, but there are also the terms "conseiller funéraire" (funeral coordinator), "porteur" (apparently a job unto itself?), which involves handling the casket and transporting it, and the fabulous, much-better-than-the-English-equivalent "thanatopracteur" (embalmer). (Here, loved ones carry the casket, so "porteur" as a profession surprised me a bit.)

Obviously, "entrepreneur" in its form as an English loan word has an entirely different set of meanings.

Source

Likewise in Italian the parallel term has never suffered the fate of the English "undertaker." The word is "impresario," from the noun "impresa," which equally tranlsates "enterprise" or "undertaking." The phrase is "impresario di pompe funebri." "Impresa," depending on context, can mean "firm," "business," or "exploit." Impresario on its own refers to a theatre manager / producer, one who is responsible for funding and executing the theatrical season, a term originally used in the world of opera.  Thomas Hewitt Key, in his 1898 work Philological Essays, noted that the related verb, "imprendere," also has the sense "to learn," and argues that the prefix ("im") is connected, via a Greek preposition, with the particle "up."

If ever I do write a story about a funeral director, I shall feel obligated, I think, to call it "The Impresario."

Source

Topography of the Psyche, or, the Craft of Lovecraft

For this year's A-Z challenge, I'm posting juicy tidbits of researchy goodness for your interest and edification. I intend to use these as story prompts for the terrifying writing challenge Story a Day in May. You may use them however you wish.


I want to share a theory with you that has been simmering because of my recent plunge into Lovecraft. In the past month I've been working my way through some early parts of the Cthulhu Mythos. I started reading a story or so at bed time, and almost immediately began having vivid dreams that drew heavily upon their imagery.

The more I read, the more I started to see resonances between Lovecraft's stuff and certain other experiences I've had. I think I'm onto something here, something we can maybe use in our writing, possibly to great effect.

Via Webcowgirl's review of Orono Productions' Dunwich Horror

Bear with me.

I've participated in my fair share of guided visualization classes. If you've ever listened to a "meditation" CD that takes you on a little journey using imagery, you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, well, you should give it a whirl. Basically, a guided visualization CD or instructor will have you close your eyes and picture or imagine different places / images in order to effect a healing or transformation.

(Sidenote: I distinguish between meditation proper and guided visualization, though you'll hear people call guided visualization "meditation." For my money, meditation is about trying to think about nothing / emptying your mind. Guided visualization entails slipping into a hyper relaxed state and going on a little journey.)

In any case, there are a few guided visualization formats out there. Most of them use specific features to get you to engage and shift different aspects of your psyche. These features are often topographical in nature: describing the physical features of a landscape, including hills and valleys, mountains and seas, as well as artificial features like buildings. You picture going down a forest path, or climbing stairs (up or down - I'll get to that). You enter a temple on top of a mountain, or drop into a secret passage that takes you into a room deep underground.

Maple of Ratibor

How you travel in a guided visualization determines which part of the psyche you're accessing. (I am no expert - this is my understanding of how it works based on taking classes.) If you travel to a mountain top, you're engaging with higher consciousness / matters of the spirit / your higher self. If you go down or underground you're entering into the realm of the subconscious. Other features can symbolize / assist with transitions between dimensions: traveling on a boat across water will help you shift into a deeper engagement with the self; entering a temple signifies a movement into the realm of the sacred where you can seek guidance or receive energies to help you on your path.

In guided visualization, the end goal of these journeys is to integrate new energies, make shifts in your life, or transform stale patterns or negative modes of thinking that no longer serve.

Lovecraft used topography lavishly in his stories, albeit to entirely different effects. I think his use of topography has a great deal to do with how infectious his work is. Have you ever encountered someone who is a big Lovecraft fan? How they'll talk about the Cthulhu Mythos or other aspects of his work, without really being able to explain what makes it so amazing? There's a certain glazed-look, foaming-at-the-mouth quality to these people, as if they've not only read him and liked him, but shared in his madness. (I say "these people" but I've had to wipe away my fair share of foam in my recent discussions of my readings.)

If you take a look at the Cthulhu Mythos list of stories, you can see how many writers in the early years contributed to it. Lovecraft was apparently a very active correspondent then, and he drew many minds into his worldview. His vision is dark, to say the least. One might also call it paranoid.

I think it works on people so effectively because Lovecraft's stories invite you to travel across vivid physical landscapes. You travel across wide plains; out open windows and into cities across mountains and time; you jump onto trollies in abandoned wildernesses; you journey down the longest, darkest staircases.

In using topography like he does, Lovecraft is perhaps accessing the same mechanisms as guided visualization. However, rather than finding the light-filled temple of the soul at the heart of the journey, he populates his destinations with nightmares.

The twentieth century was in many ways a nightmarish period. World war, economic depression, the honing of new tools of mass murder, the rise of modernism, the termination of philosophical thought in an especially dreary form of skepticism - these all pointed toward a loss of meaning. Lovecraft's stories take you to a place that you always suspected was there: it's dark, it's cold, and it's full of creatures who simply do not care, whose mere touch will transform you, violate you, and end you. They whisper, "You always knew this was it. As bad as you dreamed it could be, it is, and worse."

There's something powerful in using place, or - to give it the most mundane of its names - setting - the way Lovecraft did. Writers, this is worth emulating, yes / yes?

By Robert Atkinson


From "The Nameless City"

Then a brighter flare of the fantastic flame shewed me that for which I had been seeking, the opening to those remoter abysses whence the sudden wind had blown; and I grew faint when I saw that it was a small and plainly artificial door chiselled in the solid rock. I thrust my torch within, beholding a black tunnel with the roof arching low over a rough flight of very small, numerous, and steeply descending steps. I shall always see those steps in my dreams, for I came to learn what they meant. At the time I hardly knew whether to call them steps or mere foot-holds in a precipitous descent. My mind was whirling with mad thoughts, and the words and warnings of Arab prophets seemed to float across the desert from the lands that men know to the nameless city that men dare not know. Yet I hesitated only a moment before advancing through the portal and commencing to climb cautiously down the steep passage, feet first, as though on a ladder.

It is only in the terrible phantasms of drugs or delirium that any other man can have had such a descent as mine. The narrow passage led infinitely down like some hideous haunted well, and the torch I held above my head could not light the unknown depths toward which I was crawling. I lost track of the hours and forgot to consult my watch, though I was frightened when I thought of the distance I must be traversing. There were changes of direction and of steepness, and once I came to a long, low, level passage where I had to wriggle feet first along the rocky floor, holding my torch at arm’s length beyond my head. The place was not high enough for kneeling. After that were more of the steep steps, and I was still scrambling down interminably when my failing torch died out. I do not think I noticed it at the time, for when I did notice it I was still holding it high above me as if it were ablaze. I was quite unbalanced with that instinct for the strange and the unknown which has made me a wanderer upon earth and a haunter of far, ancient, and forbidden places.

In the darkness there flashed before my mind fragments of my cherished treasury of daemoniac lore; sentences from Alhazred the mad Arab, paragraphs from the apocryphal nightmares of Damascius, and infamous lines from the delirious Image du Monde of Gauthier de Metz. I repeated queer extracts, and muttered of Afrasiab and the daemons that floated with him down the Oxus; later chanting over and over again a phrase from one of Lord Dunsany’s tales—“the unreverberate blackness of the abyss”. Once when the descent grew amazingly steep I recited something in sing-song from Thomas Moore until I feared to recite more:

“A reservoir of darkness, black
As witches’ cauldrons are, when fill’d
With moon-drugs in th’ eclipse distill’d.
Leaning to look if foot might pass
Down thro’ that chasm, I saw, beneath,
As far as vision could explore,
The jetty sides as smooth as glass,
Looking as if just varnish’d o’er
With that dark pitch the Sea of Death
Throws out upon its slimy shore.”

Time had quite ceased to exist when my feet again felt a level floor, and I found myself in a place slightly higher than the rooms in the two smaller temples now so incalculably far above my head. I could not quite stand, but could kneel upright, and in the dark I shuffled and crept hither and thither at random. I soon knew that I was in a narrow passage whose walls were lined with cases of wood having glass fronts. As in that Palaeozoic and abysmal place I felt of such things as polished wood and glass I shuddered at the possible implications. The cases were apparently ranged along each side of the passage at regular intervals, and were oblong and horizontal, hideously like coffins in shape and size. When I tried to move two or three for further examination, I found they were firmly fastened.

ShareThis