Tag Archives: Writing

The Most Important Gift You Can Give Today

Sometimes it pays to do the things we love.

When I found out that Felipe Pepe was recruiting volunteers to help him create a compendium of the history of computer RPGs (“Role-Playing Games,” for those less familiar with videogame acronyms) I immediately knew that I wanted in.

I never imagined that one day my work would be part of a printed book, much less a book from which 100% of the author’s profits would go toward charity – in this case, the Vocação institution, which grants education and finds employment for young people in the most disadvantaged areas of Brazil.

But it did. You can order it here, and do so knowing that once the first print is done, there will be no more. It is a single, limited edition.

I can only thank Felipe in triplicate:

Thank you for engendering such a passionate project.

Thank you for having endured my delays and edited my words for the better.

Thank you for finding and taking the opportunity to use this work to improve the world.

Video games are not always a waste of time.

Cracks – 4 – Pain

Cold.

Was that the word? The body, this body-that-was-hers-but-that-was-not, this trembling body, remembered the word.

“C-c-cold,” Sirja said through chattering teeth. “Cold” did not exist in her world.

Pain.

One of her white fangs plunged into the soft flesh of her lip, and blood began to flow down her bare chest, the warmth of the black fluid spreading across icy skin.

Pain. Pain was familiar. Her world was pain. Her pain, the pain of others, the pain of the world itself.

Delicious pain.

A whistle cut through the dark night. Sirja turned to its source. Far off, at the other end of the strange stretch of smooth stone, a lone figure, a man, watched this-body-that-was-hers-but-not with predatory eyes. The stranger stood at the edge of the cone of light projected by one of those little fires trapped in glass and metal cages, as if hesitating to expose himself.

So easy.

Sirja expanded her chest with icy air, shook her profile in a serpentine manner, nodded at that man with this body-that-was-hers-but-not-really. And then, she crossed the portal into that place that she had heard passers-by calling a “restroom.”

There was more light here. Sirja looked at her reflection in the cristal wall. The body that mixed her shapes with those of the … other creature … It was beautiful, curvy, the perfect bait. How well had this place treated her, yes.

But all the blood, the blood of her previous prey, the blood that covered most of this body … No, it could not be, it would not do, it would scare away the one whose footsteps echoed ever closer.

Sirja pricked one of her nails-which-were-hers-but-were-not, a sharp, pointed nail driving into her right breast just below the clavicle.

Pain.

Black blood began to flow, and more and more, as she wiggled her finger, as she opened the wound further, pierced a hole in the half-lent body.

Pain. Pain. PAIN!

And the light from the restroom lamps was sucked like a liquid by a straw, sucked into the black hole that was her self-inflicted wound.

The man stepped into a pitch-black public restroom.

The predator smiled a fanged smile.

Journals

Revisiting journals from 10, 7 or even 5 years ago is fascinating.

It is motivating to see goals that have not only been fulfilled, but far surpassed. Today, there are things in my life that worked out much better than my biggest dreams of half a decade ago.

And it is also an injection of humility. Because, you see, the opposite is true, too. On some goals, there was no progress at all; today, I still write them in my journal, almost identically.

But from divergence, arise the questions! “What did I do differently that gave me so much success in some areas, and so little in others?”

There is always the basic answer: it was a matter of luck. The Lady Fortune forever holds sway over our destiny. But we can not lay the full responsibility for our victories and defeats at her feet, either. A balance must be found.

The journal is a way to talk with the person we were 10, 7, 5 years ago.

If you start one this year, you could be having an important conversation in five.

That time goes by in an instant.