Let’s see what today’s prompt brought us… Thankfully, these are just habits, not duties 🙂
So… I read daily in three languages, about 30-50 pages per book, depending on the day. As you can guess, I usually read three books at the same time. I typically do this in the garden, but I can enjoy the process anywhere. I easily detach from whatever is happening around me and plunge into the narrative.
Earlier, I also read in German, but I kind of relinquished learning this language, as I have no spoken practice with real people. Thus, I couldn’t develop my skill above the upper-intermediate level. And I normally can’t stand talking with AIs, as they are boring and morbid. So, only three languages are left for me at the moment. I’m thinking about returning to extensive language learning though 🙂
I try to meditate daily, though I’ve been persuading myself to do this for almost a week already with no result. I normally do Yoga, Reiki, and other spiritual practices, which usually mean a lot to me and support me psychologically.
I play video games, mostly different parts of The Sims (except for 4th, which I can’t stand), Skyrim, and for nostalgia’s sake, The Heroes Of Might and Magic III. I also have ESO, Mount and Blade, Minecraft, and other games installed on my computer, but those are left for rarer occasions.
Additionally, I ruminate a lot, worry, and daydream – I love imagining different things and stories. Sometimes I’m so captivated, I forget where I am! I over-interpret people’s behavior and enjoy pondering upon philosophical questions, analyzing everything over and over again 😀
Finally, I adore listening to music and walking in nature, taking occasional photos: I mention it a lot here on my blog, so you know it 😉
photo by MarvellousNightmare
I was caught by the rain on my way and got drenched completely 😀 As if after an intensive shower 😀
PS: After reading the last chapter of my recently posted short story, my husband asked me directly if the sorceress was, in fact, me, as she gave off a lot of my personal vibe. Of course, she wasn’t my twin or the personal projection of myself, but I must admit that the most female characters I write about have a lot of my energy and character features. It is easier for me to write this way, and it is difficult to create someone very different from what I am.
So, I thought carefully and set myself a challenge: my next story, I will write about a strong, independent, feminist woman. I don’t know what will come out of it, but if I managed to make male protagonist quite tolerable (?), why shouldn’t I succeed with a stronger female character? 🙂
After all, a good writer should be like a good actor, able to describe and impersonate everything. So wish me luck!
DISCLAIMER: the events and the characters mentioned in this story are the product of the author’s imagination.
The heavy, inky storm clouds sprawled across the sky swiftly. There was no glimpse of rain, though the thunder rumbled on and on, promising, menacing… The stuffy air was electrified with foreboding suspense; the stillness was dense and unbearable… Until a sudden cluster of lightning shattered the sky to pieces and set the sparse rock woods ablaze. The mountains trembled in an instant, swaying, bursting, and crying in stonefalls. Their gray shapes surrounded Agenit, threatening to crumble, fall, and bury him alive.
The valleys below were damp and crimson with blood; heaps of corpses could be spotted everywhere. The moans and prayers of the dying people filled the air, imploring, cursing – nonetheless, their pleas hung unanswered.
It reminded the priest so vividly of what he had read about The World’s End Prophecy, it was uncanny. Now the Moons should fall on the earth and burst into pieces, ruining the cities, seaports, temples—all they built in their blind pride. And the Deities would step down to earth, walking among mortals, cleansing the planet of sinners and rewarding the worthy ones… Did he even believe in this nonsense from the sacred scrolls? There was no time for rumination, though.
Agenit looked everywhere, desperately searching, calling for someone, yet never finding even the slightest resemblance… His head was swirling from tension, his fists clenched, until finally he gasped in recognition. She is alive! Alive!
In this crazy, terrifying madness, when death seemed to rule the world, dead, blank eyes staring at him from every point and angle, and devastation absorbing everything around, he cared for no one but her. It was her he could never lose.
Half-blood she was, or some other kind of elven descendant. Anyone could instantly guess this just by looking at the woman’s luminous, deep, almost transparent eyes, with an electric quality in them. So humane, affectionate, and at the same time so bizarrely inhuman, they were almost the exact reflection of the sky’s insanity above them.
The sorceress stood upright, raising her hands to the sky. Her inner palms, covered with intricate tattoo patterns, shimmered mysteriously with tiny blue and silver sparks; she was evidently weaving a spell.
The woman remained on the cliff’s edge, shaking, almost embraced and destroyed by the imminent danger. She was just one tiny step away from it. Agenit’s heart scorched with pain at this sight. He knew that the impact of the spell could kill her at that moment; the air was electrified, overcharged with the storm and the energy left from the battle magic that filled the space not so long ago. The sorceress knew it too. Why did she wish to sacrifice herself like this? For what?
The man wanted to catch her in an instant, to press her tightly to his chest and never let go. He had never been the romantic type, really. He would laugh at the mere suggestion. Though, right now… He couldn’t help it.
Agenit ran to her, calling, cursing, stumbling, trying to reach his beloved so desperately… Embers from the forest fire were falling on his head, and stones almost hit him several times – just a few scratches. Still, he’d give his life to save her, to stop her from enchanting this murderous spell… The signs on her palms lit up brightly. Feeling his presence, the woman turned, looking him straight in the eye, as Agenit squeezed her at last…
The unfinished spell burst, creating multiple energy currents, igniting the air around them. The power wave threw their bodies away, smashing them against the rocks, and stones fell like rain, covering them and saving them partly from the destructive, poisonous impact. In other circumstances, it would have killed and buried their bodies, but the priest created an energy shield the moment he caught the woman.
It was almost quiet now. His beloved lay in his arms, so delicate, unmoving, so cold to the touch… Was the blow too powerful for her anyway? Or was she doomed the moment she started weaving her enchantment? He pulled her even closer in dismay, unwilling, refusing to let her die…
The man continued embracing his beloved in silence, shocked and confused, until he discerned a slight movement of her head. Agenit lit up in an instant, full of hope, however it was only a silent whisper, ‘It’s the end…’ Her voice was like the rustle of tree leaves gently touched by the wind, like the soothing song of the sea tide… Or was it all an illusion, these words? Her eyes were shut tightly, no breath was heard or felt, even though he tried desperately to catch it, and only tiny currents of blood from her temple were leaving wet stains on his hands and clothes…
‘You overslept,’ Torret reproached him dryly, shaking him energetically by the shoulder. ‘Wake up, you were chosen to be part of the embassy to Delvii during the sacred gathering an hour ago. In the name of Rogterr, I’d never give you such a responsibility! I wouldn’t trust you even with washing dishes after supper. They are crazy! Crazy! And they rely too much on astrology!’
Agenit cursed silently and opened his eyes. His dreams, foreboding and disquieting, still had a grip on him. The mesmerizing eyes of that unknown sorceress, the coldness of her skin… The man shook his head, trying to get rid of these confusing feelings while his neighbor continued his unending, maddening preaching.
Torret gestured dramatically, carried by irritation, then looked back and stopped abruptly. ‘A bad sign,’ he nodded towards the sacred lamp. ‘For fire’s sake, you can’t take care of one simple thing! Every neophyte can do it! And they chose you as the embassy member! Idiots!’
Agenit silently agreed with his friend. Maybe this is a sign that the time has come? His sacred fire went out, anyway. He’d go to the mages’ guild this evening; they must accept him. There was no time to wait. The man caught a tiny movement from the corner of his eye and turned swiftly to look at the window.
A black, four-winged bird sat on the windowsill, observing him triumphantly, with uncovered malice. As soon as it noticed the man’s attention, the creature shrieked sharply, eerily, declaring the disaster.
This weekend, I finished reading Horus Rising: The Seeds of Heresy Are Sown by Dan Abnett. It is the first book of the Horus Heresy novel series, which can be described as techno-fantasy or fantasy action genre. All these books belong to the Warhammer Universe, and they are fanfiction based on this game.
Dan Abnett is a British novel writer and comic creator. He currently works as a scenarist for Marvel and is known for Sinister Dexter, Black Light, Badlands, Atavar, Downlode Tales, Sancho Panzer, Roadkill, Death’s Head, and Wardog comics. He has published numerous novels dedicated to the Warhammer Universe, and some of which have found wide recognition among the reading audience.
Horus Rising: The Seeds of Heresy Are Sown presents the chain of events for the next parts and explains the main points of how the Imperium of Man looks, making us acquainted with the main ideology of it, its morals and belief systems, aims, and “mission” – all of these through the eyes of Captain Loken. We also get to know about the society structure, iterators (ideologist-philosophers), remembrancers (artists), and Astartes (genetically bred warrior-race) – which confirms the idea that poetry and love bloom the most where the fiercest wars take place.
We learn about materialism (on the surface) and the militarism as the main underlying currents of the Imperium. We take a look at the other species and civilizations, often presented by scenes in which Loken shares his memories about certain wars with Mersadie Oliton, a remembrancer who preserves his stories. We understand why Warmaster Horus is often referred to as a great leader, and that materialism, declared as the right path for humanity, may not really turn out all that perfect (cult, warp, chaos), and the rejection of warp power may cause bigger problems.
Captain Loken is portrayed as an honest, reliable, moral, and kind type, giving us a perspective we can trust. He is stoic and stubborn, but even he finally accepts certain views and facts. He is shown as a stereotypically “good guy,” and that creates an interesting effect: when he steps off the straight, appropriate path, we tend to accept and understand it. All his memories seem true, all his sympathies are justified in a way… But he is so annoying at the same time, exactly the way a stereotypically “good guy” may be maddening. If he would only show a glimpse of vice or weakness and be more human just for once!
However… It’s probably another irritating feature of this novel: the characters are schematic and not really deep. It all stays on the surface… Or should military men (well, Astartes) be like that? Nah, I doubt it.
Still, the book sets things in motion, it intrigues, and makes the narrative compelling – we wonder about the power of the warp, we are caught by the portrayal of the “Emperor, beloved by all” as perfect and distant, really reminding some kind of deity. It’s only natural that cults are appearing.
Despite somewhat shallow descriptions, we still are presented with inner conflict in Euphrati Keeler after encountering the warp, or in Warmaster Horus when he encounters another human civilization, “Interex,” which could potentially be equals to the Imperium. These moments truly capture our attention, and I’m grateful for them!
Yet, other cultures, civilizations, planets, and species so overly attractive and captivating, however we have just a brief overview of them. Sadly, we aren’t allowed to dive deeper into details; their descriptions only touch the surface.
On the other hand, the author managed to pack an impressive multitude of events and details into this medium-sized novel, so he clearly had no other choice but to sacrifice the depth. The language is also quite simple and dry for my taste, but I guess if you are not into immersive, intricate descriptions in general and want to read about your favorite Universe, this novel would be perfect for you.
Finally, I’ve never played the game itself. I started reading the Warhammer series on a bet with my husband, and the only thing I knew was that Warhammer encompasses most of the popular fantasy themes. I also had a friend long ago who wrote fan fiction short stories based on that Universe.
Nonetheless, after reading Horus Rising: The Seeds of Heresy Are Sown by Dan Abnett, I feel pretty much acquainted with this world and its intricacies, intrigued enough to continue reading the books of this series, and even curious enough to play Warhammer myself.
To sum up, an interesting read, especially if you are into the game or sci-fi/fantastic action genre in general. It is very structured and dense with events, though a bit shallow when it comes to descriptions.
I’m back to blogging after this somewhat lengthy weekend, and I’m ready to share my thoughts, art, and experience with you 🙂
First and foremost, I’d like to answer briefly to this prompt.
My favorite thing about myself is that I always think with my own head and I’m not easily swayed by the opinions of other people. Additionally, I’m curious, inquisitive, experimental, and I’m constantly trying to broaden my horizons, which leads me to the fact that I’m a passionate reader 😉 And I love this about myself very much.
Speaking of which, this weekend I finished reading The Whole Truth about the Planet Ksi, written by Janusz Zajdel, a prominent Polish sci-fi and dystopian writer. Recently, I’ve written about his short story collection The Farewell Letter. For those who may not know, let me briefly remind you, that this author was a important figure among Polish sci-fi writers, helped and cared about younger writers a lot.
Having worked in radiology safety and as a university professor, he tried to combine or even balance the fictional part of science fiction with scientific facts and rational logic. Zajdel‘s dystopian works reflected his criticism of the Polish socialistic reality of his life, and also the way any propaganda fogs people’s minds. He died of lung cancer at the considerably young age of 46.
Speaking of The Whole Truth About the Planet Ksi, it is mostly a dystopian novel with some sci-fi elements (transplanetary travel and colonization of other planets than Earth). It revolves around the ideas of how totalitarian societies are created and why they thrive even if people suffer. Lies are a better basis for creating such societies because lies are flexible, and truths are often stiff and inconvenient. If you provide people with some outside enemy, the people will be connected, trusting, and praising the tyrants as their only protectors.
The story unfolds through two perspectives: one is an expedition head, Sloth, who was sent to check what was going on with the group of colonists sent to planet Ksi, and the second perspective is that of the original colonization group’s captain, whom we know as 11, or great grandfather.
Sloth is neutral, rational, and quite mature. He values the years that are left to him, remembers totalitarian societies on Earth, and does not rush into decisions or quick actions. He prefers the marveled eyes of women to any political power, giving us the impression that we can trust him.
On the contrary, 11 has lots of dishonest desires and unhealthy ambitions, betrayed his friends, enemies, and people of this globe several times, and actually helped terrorists establish this totalitarian, even feudal, society, where your rank is based on the number tattooed on your forehead. This makes readers doubt his perspective on things; still, he was the one who saw everything from the very beginning.
The author of the book does not force an opinion on you; you may choose what to think of the main character and even of the future destiny of the planet Ksi. When the second expedition arrives to spy on the Ksi’s society, they also are not sure of their next course of action regarding this society. They want to help, but they are unsure of how to do it without turning out as alien conquerors who took away the last straw of hope from this planet’s population.
And I really appreciate this approach, this conversational, theorizing way which lets us, readers, decide for ourselves. The language is descriptive, the protagonists are multi-dimensional, and their emotions are genuine. Readers can empathize with their doubts, turmoil, and longings
The society, though a bit caricatured, actually reminds us of the ones we have on Earth, and the author precisely demonstrates how they function. Yes, something like this, theoretically speaking, may have appeared in space at the early stages of colonizing. Well, such states are and were here, near us on Earth.
However, I had uncertainties while reading the book. For instance, how did people age in space in this book? I thought that outside Earth’s gravity we remain unaffected by the flow of time (perhaps someone with a physics background can explain this to me). Another moment: planet Ksi had only a 16-hour-long day, I get it. However, human biological hours should still remain 24… Am I right?
Additionally, the first generation of colonists was deprived of technology, which is understandable, but couldn’t they hunt with some handmade primitive tools? I believe J. Zajdel had explanations for that, but unfortunately, it is unlikely I will ever ask him…
Overall, I took great pleasure in reading this compelling dystopian novel. It broadens your perspective and encourages you to think, speculate, come up with your own choices and solutions. And prompts us to analyze the roots of various social issues and the ways many modern totalitarian societies function and continue to develop.
The Whole Truth about the Planet Ksi reminds me a bit of Eden by S. Lem, so if you are a fan of those authors or you really enjoy reading dystopian prose, it may be a great pick for you😊
Thank you for reading this and I hope I’ve answered this prompt!
DISCLAIMER: the events and the characters mentioned in this story are the product of the author’s imagination.
‘It’s hot as in Rogterr’s fire palace,’ Agenit muttered wearily, lazily untying his scarlet ceremonial robe, embroidered with golden patterns and the speckles of the sun stone, and carelessly throwing it on the floor. Such a simple gesture, but it expressed all that he thought or felt about the priesthood. Dressed in simple pants and a linen shirt now, no one would ever discern him from some potter or carpenter from the town. The man wiped his forehead with a relieved sigh. He was himself at last.
The room’s air was motionless and stuffy, and the heat intensified with each second. Slanting sun rays fell through the narrow window, as if burning through the floor and the opposite wall in brilliant torrents of smoldering light.
Agenit was a gifted and skilled fire priest, so heat was but a temporary nuisance for him, as he knew how to adjust his body to high temperatures. He could absorb the blazing heat and replenish his depleted magical reserves, which he hastened to do.
The priest sat down in a pool of light, with his eyes closed, and took several deep breaths. He could shift his state of consciousness almost instantaneously, and in a few minutes, his mind became entirely entranced.
Agenit’s inner fire was burning strong. What was the outer elemental flame flame, but a reflection of his inner one? What was his inner blaze if not part of the universal one? The scorching heat grew more intense, burning and causing pain, until it ceased to exist. Now, only one fire remained, just oneness, unity, and connection. And it became expressed in blazing, dynamic, smoldering brilliance, which was engulfing his mind, and eliminating all idle thoughts, his separate sense of “Self.”
As soon as it was achieved, the energy from the larger, natural element replenished his inner reserves, cleansing, reviving, and incinerating his doubts and fatigue. And then only the loud pounds of the heart remained, and as soon as they went silent, the priest opened his eyes.
It was much better now, and after a while the man jumped to his feet. Sure thing, he was a child of fire, a son of mighty Rogterr… At least all priests of this deity called themselves so.
Nonetheless… As a human being, he appreciated the mild coolness of the wind and soothing touch of the water, their delicate, soft caresses… Sometimes, Agenit simply missed the sea, the cold, repeating rhythm of waves crashing at the shore, the thick, mysterious, dark passages of the pine wood that always gave him shelter and a place to play when he was a boy… Before they brought him to the temple and made him accept these wretched vows…
The birds’ melodic chirping and the relaxing stillness of the room suddenly became shattered, drowned in the sound of a passionate foreign song coming from the town’s central square. String music was electrified with drama and expressiveness, full of intensive and clear power. It was so distinct and overwhelming, as if it were everywhere, ubiquitous and entrancing.
The female voice seemed to reach out to him, imploring, seducing, and enchanting him to leave this life behind to follow this mysterious temptress from overseas wherever she might go.
Awe-stricken, the hypnotized man looked out of the window.
He could observe from afar the crowd gathering around the musicians, swaying, gazing, mesmerized, bound to every word, every sound of this pure sorcery… And he found himself as if anchored by the window, looking, hoping, longing… Until the sudden silence filled the space again.
The crowd cheered, clapping. The whole commotion was so contrastingly unrhyming, rude… even primitive in comparison to the melodic wonder he experienced a second ago, that he felt deceived and all at once irritated.
‘Don’t they have any other work to do?’ the man winced, slightly envious.
Anyway, this musical magic disrupted the natural rhythm of his day. Agenit shook his head, trying to concentrate on his thoughts.
Even from a distance, he could discern the figure of the singer: a slender woman with darker complexion, her long dark hair flapping against the wind. She resembled a vivid, colorful tropical bird, strayed away from the forest by some awful mistake and now cornered by a gaping, cheering, dancing crowd, as if caught in a vibrant net…
What wouldn’t he give to stroll among them in broad daylight, to be free, released from the solemn walls of the sacred temple, unrestrained by the dogmas and oaths? To escape the pretenses and make-beliefs of the priesthood, which always lost their power as quickly as no one seemed to be watching. Lies charged with idle glances and contemptuous talks.
At least, why should he pretend? Agenit often ran away disguised at night, when all other priests seemed firmly asleep in their beds. He climbed down the quarters’ wall, then usually jumped over the fence – thin, delicately wrought, interlaced with golden ivy that burned like hell when touched with bare skin…
Come on! Could this southern stinging plant prevent him from escaping? It only scared nine-year-old neophytes just accepted into the temple, still believing, full of shock and wonder.
Later on, the man normally hastened down the crowded streets, drinking the finest wines, savoring delicious food in the company of music and laughter in some shady corner taverns. And he enjoyed life there until soft haziness overcame him.
In addition, he always found reason to fight with a drunken opponent, victoriously showing off his sword skills and magical excellence. The round of applause and shiny female glances were fitting rewards in dangerous endeavors. And then… The pale moons, glistening stars, and whispering sea waves kept their secrets well.
In short, Agenit had blazing, scorching blood in his veins; the flames of passion surged through his soul, making it simply impossible for him to be pacified, restrained, and confined within the paper-rolls of sacred texts and dusty temple walls. He wanted, craved, and was obsessed with freedom. A true child of fire was he…
〰〰〰〰〰〰
Ok, I did it! This story is based on my novel, which currently exists in my head only 😀
I decided to give it a try; otherwise, I guess I’ll never write it. Let me know what you think, and whether it is better with pictures (all generated by me in WP AI Picture generator) or without.
This time I decided to write here about my two latest dreams connected by the same theme: music. What I mean is I literally dreamt about music, heard it as a background of the dream in one case, and it was a major theme of the dream in another case.
My first dream’s main theme mostly revolved around the song Persephone by Wishbone Ash. Lyrics:
There's a light that shines on Persephone Always a fire in her eyes And the last time that I went to her I could tell things weren't right I just don't care to see your years go wasting There's no longer magic in your eyes In your time, you could outshine everybody else around But your off-stage ways might be a bore You take a bow, you take a fall I just don't care to see your years go wasting There's no longer magic in your eye I came to be here in the footlights To live with you through every song And your face displays a peaceful field I can't believe the curtain has to fall Now I know your years were never wasted Tonight I saw the magic in your eyes
It is important to notice that I often associated myself with this goddess and her archetype, both because I’m a vulnerable woman and because I’m torn between contrasts, mainly between life (light, spring, creativity, love, life, maniacal phase, urge to create) and death (darkness, magic, transformation, painful past experiences, depressive phase, urge to destroy).
Goddess of the Spring and the Queen of the Dead, Eros and Thanatos of Freud: all these are close themes to my heart. In Norse mythology, we have Hel as a similar archetype, yet she is not so vulnerable.
And of course, because I’m caught in the constant cycle of rebirth, though aren’t we all?
The second dream had music in the background, namely Witch of Endor by Bloody Hammers (careful, some doom metal is here):
Ignoring divine instructions Souls being released by my sword Guidance from above departed All my questions returning ignored
Yeah solution is raise the dead And find the conjuring witch of Endor Reigning in hell Solution is find the conjuring witch of Endor
Pushing onward through the hail storm There will be no turning back Seek the eyes of the fallen prophet My only chance in this attack
Ignoring divine instructions Souls being released by my sword Guidance from above departed All my questions returning ignored
Yeah solution is raise the dead And find the conjuring witch of Endor Reigning in hell Solution is find the conjuring witch of Endor
In the wake of this injustice A beaten path to the unknown Awaiting holy apparition And my guidance to be shown
The story behind this song is a biblical one. It describes King Saul’s failure to connect to God before going to war; he receives no answer. He had previously driven out all magicians and witches from Israel, but he wants to receive help from the witch/sorceress of Endor, as it is his last straw of hope. So he disguises himself and reaches out for her help.
You can read more in the Bible or go through this link to become acquainted with the whole story…
As for my dream plot, I was actually a sorceress confined in the catacomb, waiting for execution by being burned. At the last minute, I received help from the guard. He let me out and showed me a way of escape through the tunnel. There were others waiting for the same fate, but there was no opportunity to save them, although I cried and implored this man to help them as well.
The tunnel was very narrow and dark. At some point, I needed to use some force to climb further. I even thought I was condemned to die this way. But finally, I found a clearing and appeared in a shady basement. I found the stairs there and climbed up further and further until I found a door.
I pushed it and entered a large, magnificent, well-lit hall, full of people with suitcases. It was something like a waiting room of some famous, high-class hotel. I moved around, tried to talk with people, but they avoided talking and drew back from me. I felt really sad, lost, and rejected.
There was no visible reason for this behavior, as despite climbing out from the catacomb, I was nicely dressed, and my hair was clean, thick, shiny, and reached the floor. However, I felt as if the word “witch” was branded on my forehead. So, finding neither solace nor any kind of reply, I retreated to a corner near a large bay window. There was a desk nearby, at which I remained further on, leaning on my elbows, lost in sorrow.
I watched the crowd, feeling, living through their pain and joy. I started reaching their minds telepathically to feel connected, to create an illusion that they were my friends, that I was not alone. I especially enjoyed observing and connecting with an old woman and a little girl, who sat facing each other and playing chess, surrounded by large bookcases. They were secluded in this corner in a way.
The figures were silver, and they clicked melodically against the chess table. “Reverend Mother” (I love Dune) crossed my mind, and at that very moment, I was blocked out of the old lady’s head. She turned back and looked at me sharply.
I wiped a tear from my cheek. I got a roll of paper out of nowhere and started writing, to calm myself down, to muffle the pain overcoming me. It helped. I wrote a letter, or a book, or a post—I’m not sure, but it was the best thing I ever wrote; it was something exceptional.
And at this realization, I opened my eyes, the music still playing in my mind. ________________________
I have some ideas about the dream’s meaning, but the post is already too long for a decent interpretation.
I’ll just connect the magic in Persephone’s eyes with this long, healthy hair, as it is always a symbol of good health, energy, inspiration, and liking my own self. I wrote something… so perhaps something good may come from my literary endeavors. There will be some kind of positive resurrection for sure 🙂 As for the rest…
Thank you for reading this! 🙂
PS: all pictures were generated by me in WP AI Picture generator
I remember these times, sure, as we got an internet connection in our home by the time I was 13 years old. Was it such a good time, though?
People write about “real connections,” playing in the sand and running around with true friends, calling each other and talking all night… I was “different,” lonely and separated from others since a very early age. I don’t want to write another tearful post; I simply didn’t feel this togetherness. I played alone, confined and lost as always in the mesmerizing realms of my imagination.
I was that kid who played with imaginary friends, that’s true. We all had superpowers, and traveled to different, better worlds, having adventures together…
I never played on the playgrounds unless my mom forced me to. Actually, my best memory of that is how I ran away from other kids and made a ship out of my handkerchief, making it swim in the large pool. My mind turned it into a great boundless sea.
I definitely preferred sitting at home, in silence, lost in imagination. A real dialog between me and my grandmother back in those days:
‘What are you doing sitting all alone there?’
‘Please don’t bother me, I’m thinking.’
I was out of my mind with Disney cartoons (there were also some post-socialistic ones on TV; I admired Czech Krtek the most, but still, Disney was my best choice). In all honesty, I could be ill and out of power, but they would heal me in an instant. That was real healing power/restoration magic!
I was curious and inquisitive, so I loved the channels about nature, history, and similar stuff. Once a big fan of Sailor Moon and Pokémon (Aleksandra and Laura know), I remember how furious I was when my father called this ‘nonsense.’ He always “knew the best,” of course.
Bookworm – that’s who I also was! And I still am! Since I learned how to read, it was difficult to pull me away from books. But in those so cherished times without the internet, all these books were expensive. My family members were initially relieved because why invent some other present for my birthday? There was already a perfect one! But I read all the children’s books I found on the shelves, then all the adult novels, and there was a problem because I had nothing to read.
Than my grandmother took me to the library.
How I hated that place! First, I always finished reading books before the term had passed; second, why would I want to part with something I treasured so much? I wanted all these books to be mine! Only MINE! My preciouuusss. I mean I’d willingly work there, but I hate, when the books are not mine and my reading habits depend on someone else.
I read all the time. I read even in school during classes and recesses to hide from loneliness, pressure, and bullying… The books were my comfort zone. At a certain point, teachers started (and never finished) complaining and trying to punish me by depriving me of reading. I was the only one whom they prohibited from reading, instead of forcing me to do it, like they did to other kids
Also, before we had the internet… I actually don’t remember how it really was, either my grandparents bought me a computer, or it was commissioned by my mom’s work; still, it stood right in front of me, square and white. There was an Aladdin game there, which I played all the time instead of doing math 😀
Later, I added The Sims, Heroes of Might and Magic, Warcraft III, and so on to my collection. These games circulated in our class, and I had a friend (only one, and she was constantly mad at me for something, but we also had nice discussions while drinking tea) from whom I borrowed them back then.
Eventually, you know what? My life improved significantly since I got the internet. I had unlimited access to books and music. I met lots of like-minded people, and I actually made many friends and could develop my hobbies and passions. I learned foreign languages, drawing, and practiced yoga thanks to this magical thing. I met my husband because of the internet. Finally, I’m sharing all these memories with you because of it 🙂
Do I remember the time before the internet? Yes. Do I miss it? Not a chance.
PS: Pictures are either generated by WP AI picture generator or found in Google
The mist engulfed and fully drowned my mind, Sheltered me tight from memories and sounds, Pinned drops upon my hair to shine bright, My eyes luminescent, reflecting stormy clouds.
The mist has filled my head with fuzzy thoughts, Merged into muffled piles of tangled words. What is my poetry but clash of rusty swords? Dissatisfied, I’m stuck, I feel remorse.
Drowned in longing, soft and gray despair, Sentenced to swim in humid, heavy air, Struggling with questions, looming everywhere, Well, am I worthy? How could I stop caring?
At times, I feel I’m nothing but a failure. Not fit for this material existence, Where one must be a quick decisive leader. But in imaginative, misty distance, Perhaps there is a place for such as me.
The fog engulfed and fully drowned my mind. The water drops are dancing in my hair, As if I bathed in the primeval sea of light, And plunged into its dusky depths prepared
Of finding jewels of the highest truth, Scattered in the quietest seabed, Mingled with the dark, cloudy sand. I wake up from this fantasy, I move…
The trees became the castles and old bridges, The music plays as always, storm and chaos. I wish it rained at once.
Thanks to one of the recent prompts, I’ve decided to return to writing book reviews and sharing my thoughts and impressions about novels and stories I’ve lately read. I helps me organize my reflections, and I hope it will be useful to you too, especially if you are as passionate about literature as I am and you are looking for fresh recommendations 🙂
I learned about J. Zajdel through my husband, who knows of my love for the sci-fi genre, so he suggested I start reading this author, claiming that his style is somewhat like S. Lem. In truth, this isn’t entirely accurate. J. Zajdel was the second well-known sci-fi writer in Poland (after Lem), and they bothwrote dystopian and sci-fi literature. However, while Lem often conveyed his novels in a very philosophical, sometimes even lofty fashion, which I personally appreciate a lot, Zajdel had a dry, consistent, logical style. This was probably affected by his other profession; he graduated with a major in physics and worked as a radiological engineer. One of his aims was to popularize science through literature, while another was to criticize the society and political states of his time (communism and dictatorships), which he brilliantly did.
Speaking strictly about the review topic, Farewell Letter is a short story collection composed by the author’s friends and wife after he died. It consists of his various pieces written at different moments of his life. It perfectly reflects his writing progress and gives insight into the constantly changing scope of the ideas that interested him. This collection also includes his interview, some excerpts from his novels, outlines for unpublished books and stories – very intriguing, by the way (he died at the age of 46, so he left them unfinished), and the recollections from his close circle, which portray J. Zajdel from the personal perspective. We get to know that he was a very warm and supportive friend and that he basically nurtured the present and future generation of Polish sci-fi authors.
His works were classified as sci-fi and dystopian. Still, you won’t find the mystical or pure fantasy elements in his stories, as was common with Bradbury or Lem. His narratives are very logical, concise, and painfully possible. In fact, he introduced some fictional aspects in his stories, like UFOs, teleportation, or alternative realities, but as I said before, it was not a typical fantasy fiction. These ideas and concepts are considered hypothetically possible by science. So the author described them as theories and paradoxes and played them out beautifully, testing them in his creative pieces. Also, everything happening on the pages of this story collection is justified and explained, providing a background for action. Most of the stories have nice dynamics and brilliant irony that balances his somewhat dry descriptions, which, along with capturing dynamics saves his literature from becoming dull or monotonous. My favorite among his works from this collection was The Other Side of the Mirror, because it included the elements I like: thrilling concepts (Zajdel played with a theory about dimensions and teleportation) and thought-provoking elements, something that broadens reader’s horizons.
Coconut Doesn't Exist 