I drove through downtown, paying more attention to the traffic (light as it was on a Sunday evening) than to the glass-and-steel structure of the buildings. Sharon and Adrian had moved down here to follow a job, and chosen a house in the suburbs; I'd moved down here to follow Tom3, and chosen a house outside of town, beyond the current ring of development. My particular job skills -- which amounted to programming and troubleshooting -- didn't require a physical office, so I hadn't had to choose between my career and proximity to my son. I liked to think of that as having a sound strategy for living, but as I got older I was more and more convinced that a lot of it was just luck.
I stopped at a drive-through and ate dinner on the way home. I really had meant to do more work on my current project, but the time at the zoo and dropping Tom3 off with his mother had worn me out. So, instead, I took the opportunity to collapse into bed and get a really long night's sleep. I did that a lot in my teens, and I still enjoyed it -- just nowhere near as often as I once had.
In my dreams, I was chasing Tom3 through a 10' x 10' dungeon corridor. He didn't seem to be in any danger, but I kept having to stop and fight monsters, and I couldn't catch up with him. Finally, I got up and used the restroom, and when I went back to sleep my dreams were less coherent and memorable. I was okay with that; boring dreams made for easy sleep.
And that was really it. It should have been just another weekend visitation, one among hundreds; vital to me, but not particularly important to anyone outside the family. And it would have been, but three days later my son's friend Daniel came knocking at my door, and that changed everything.
This concludes Chapter One of the first draft of Into The Game. I'm still writing the thing; as of this morning, I've got nine pages of Chapter Two. (So it's coming along about three times as fast as anything else I've tried to write recently.) However, this is as much as I'm prepared to put online; if I can actually manage to finish, I'll probably try to e-publish it.
And while I'm at it... if you're still looking for something to help you avoid working, Ann Lamott has some wisdom to share on the subject of first drafts...
Showing posts with label Into the Game. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Into the Game. Show all posts
Monday, June 18, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Into the Game 004
The zoo was everything I'd hoped for: animals, activities, education. I think we spent about five hours there, all told -- if you want to count lunch, anyway. We talked a lot about the different kinds of animals, the different environments that they lived in, and the countries where those environments could be found.
When it finally got too hot, we got back in the car and I drove on to the suburban neighborhood where Tom3 lived with his mother and her new husband. I called ahead to let them know we were coming, and was told that they'd have dinner waiting. On the way, Tom3 and I talked about what we'd seen at the zoo, and what we'd liked best. I asked him if he'd had a good time, and he said he had.
"Bladefang liked it too," he assured me.
It wasn't a terribly long drive; half the time it had taken us to get to the zoo, maybe less. And because of the way we'd chosen our neighborhoods, it would take me only a little longer to get from their house to mine, than it had taken to get from mine to the zoo. I had the route committed to memory, a method I preferred to any of the electronic forms of navigation available. Sharon had always thought that was funny, but Tom3 never mentioned it. If he noticed, he didn't care.
The house was a medium-sized two-story structure near the middle of the street. They'd chosen well, I thought: there were several full-grown trees around to offer shade for house and yard, the location gave them access to good schools, and the rest of the street was varied but well-kept.
Tom3 glanced up at the house when we stopped. His face was expressionless -- either blithely indifferent, or perfectly controlled, and I couldn't tell which -- but he hopped out and collected his things from the back seat with no sign of tension. He hadn't packed much; he never did. His bag of clothing was only a little larger than the case that held his game pieces, and probably weighed less. He didn't seem particularly happy or sad about being back home, but then he never seemed particularly happy or sad about visiting me, either.
I followed him up to the front door, where Sharon and Adrian were waiting. Tom3 hugged them both, then slipped past them and disappeared into the depths of the house. He hadn't said goodbye, but that was fine. I didn't like saying goodbye, either.
"You want to stay and eat?" asked Adrian. "We did burgers on the grill, and we've got plenty to go around."
I hesitated. I think I would have liked Adrian, if he hadn't been married to my Ex. As it was, the best I could manage was a sort of distant courtesy. Eating with them would be awkward, and not because of them; because of me. "No," I said, as deprecatingly as I could manage. "Well, I have to get back to work on this project."
Adrian nodded as if he understood, but I saw Sharon's eyes narrow slightly. She might not be bothered by it, but she knew I was lying. "You guys have a good night, though," I added.
I made it three steps down the front walk before Sharon said, "Tom?"
I turned back, and saw that Adrian, too, had disappeared inside the house. Sharon was still standing on the step; now she came forward. "You've seen this game he's playing, right?" It was clear from her tone that she was talking about our son.
I nodded.
"What did you think?" She studied my face. "Is it like the things you used to play?"
I sort of smiled-and-sniffed at the same time. "Yes," I told her. "I mean, not exactly. The games I grew up on had big, heavy, hard-bound books, and no cards -- but we had little figurines, and maps to place them on, and... yeah, it's very much the same thing."
"Okay, good." She looked relieved.
I looked a question at her, and she explained: "One of the neighborhood moms dropped by. She's convinced the game is dangerous and satanic. Said the little statues were actually familiar spirits, and she'd heard one talking to her little girl."
"Heh," I said. "Now it's really like the games I grew up with." I shook my head, remembering...
After a moment, I said: "I heard Tom3 talking to one of his figurines in his room, too - but it was just him, taking turns and speaking for both of them. Roleplaying." I shook my head again, more slowly. "I've watched them play. It's just a game, and it's probably better for his basic math skills than anything the school could come up with. I mean, if it starts interfering with his homework..."
A slight shake of Sharon's head indicated that that wasn't the case.
"...but otherwise, I wouldn't worry about it."
"Great," she said. "And, thanks." She hesitated. "I'm glad you're still in his life, you know."
"Me, too," I said. And, since that was about as much solidarity as we were likely to get, I added: "Good night."
"Good night," she said. We didn't embrace, or even shake hands; we just turned and walked away from each other. Ours was a relatively amicable divorce, and we'd been divorced for five years, now, but some wounds just don't heal. Or, maybe that's not right. I had a friend in high school who broke his leg in a skateboarding accident. He favored it for years, even after it healed completely; he couldn't seem to break the habit. Maybe that was a better analogy: even after the wounds had healed, we couldn't stop guarding our scars.
What we still had in common was Tom3, a shared concern for his welfare and an agreement to put his needs ahead of everything else. Adrian wanted us all to be friendly, but Sharon and I had figured out years ago that we couldn't be in the same house and still be civil. In e-mail, easily; over the phone, sure; but in person, it just wasn't reliable. Too close, too intimate, too much the way things used to be. So we remained friendly, as much as we could - and that meant keeping ourselves at a safe distance.
Being a grownup really sucks, sometimes.
When it finally got too hot, we got back in the car and I drove on to the suburban neighborhood where Tom3 lived with his mother and her new husband. I called ahead to let them know we were coming, and was told that they'd have dinner waiting. On the way, Tom3 and I talked about what we'd seen at the zoo, and what we'd liked best. I asked him if he'd had a good time, and he said he had.
"Bladefang liked it too," he assured me.
It wasn't a terribly long drive; half the time it had taken us to get to the zoo, maybe less. And because of the way we'd chosen our neighborhoods, it would take me only a little longer to get from their house to mine, than it had taken to get from mine to the zoo. I had the route committed to memory, a method I preferred to any of the electronic forms of navigation available. Sharon had always thought that was funny, but Tom3 never mentioned it. If he noticed, he didn't care.
The house was a medium-sized two-story structure near the middle of the street. They'd chosen well, I thought: there were several full-grown trees around to offer shade for house and yard, the location gave them access to good schools, and the rest of the street was varied but well-kept.
Tom3 glanced up at the house when we stopped. His face was expressionless -- either blithely indifferent, or perfectly controlled, and I couldn't tell which -- but he hopped out and collected his things from the back seat with no sign of tension. He hadn't packed much; he never did. His bag of clothing was only a little larger than the case that held his game pieces, and probably weighed less. He didn't seem particularly happy or sad about being back home, but then he never seemed particularly happy or sad about visiting me, either.
I followed him up to the front door, where Sharon and Adrian were waiting. Tom3 hugged them both, then slipped past them and disappeared into the depths of the house. He hadn't said goodbye, but that was fine. I didn't like saying goodbye, either.
"You want to stay and eat?" asked Adrian. "We did burgers on the grill, and we've got plenty to go around."
I hesitated. I think I would have liked Adrian, if he hadn't been married to my Ex. As it was, the best I could manage was a sort of distant courtesy. Eating with them would be awkward, and not because of them; because of me. "No," I said, as deprecatingly as I could manage. "Well, I have to get back to work on this project."
Adrian nodded as if he understood, but I saw Sharon's eyes narrow slightly. She might not be bothered by it, but she knew I was lying. "You guys have a good night, though," I added.
I made it three steps down the front walk before Sharon said, "Tom?"
I turned back, and saw that Adrian, too, had disappeared inside the house. Sharon was still standing on the step; now she came forward. "You've seen this game he's playing, right?" It was clear from her tone that she was talking about our son.
I nodded.
"What did you think?" She studied my face. "Is it like the things you used to play?"
I sort of smiled-and-sniffed at the same time. "Yes," I told her. "I mean, not exactly. The games I grew up on had big, heavy, hard-bound books, and no cards -- but we had little figurines, and maps to place them on, and... yeah, it's very much the same thing."
"Okay, good." She looked relieved.
I looked a question at her, and she explained: "One of the neighborhood moms dropped by. She's convinced the game is dangerous and satanic. Said the little statues were actually familiar spirits, and she'd heard one talking to her little girl."
"Heh," I said. "Now it's really like the games I grew up with." I shook my head, remembering...
After a moment, I said: "I heard Tom3 talking to one of his figurines in his room, too - but it was just him, taking turns and speaking for both of them. Roleplaying." I shook my head again, more slowly. "I've watched them play. It's just a game, and it's probably better for his basic math skills than anything the school could come up with. I mean, if it starts interfering with his homework..."
A slight shake of Sharon's head indicated that that wasn't the case.
"...but otherwise, I wouldn't worry about it."
"Great," she said. "And, thanks." She hesitated. "I'm glad you're still in his life, you know."
"Me, too," I said. And, since that was about as much solidarity as we were likely to get, I added: "Good night."
"Good night," she said. We didn't embrace, or even shake hands; we just turned and walked away from each other. Ours was a relatively amicable divorce, and we'd been divorced for five years, now, but some wounds just don't heal. Or, maybe that's not right. I had a friend in high school who broke his leg in a skateboarding accident. He favored it for years, even after it healed completely; he couldn't seem to break the habit. Maybe that was a better analogy: even after the wounds had healed, we couldn't stop guarding our scars.
What we still had in common was Tom3, a shared concern for his welfare and an agreement to put his needs ahead of everything else. Adrian wanted us all to be friendly, but Sharon and I had figured out years ago that we couldn't be in the same house and still be civil. In e-mail, easily; over the phone, sure; but in person, it just wasn't reliable. Too close, too intimate, too much the way things used to be. So we remained friendly, as much as we could - and that meant keeping ourselves at a safe distance.
Being a grownup really sucks, sometimes.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Into the Game 003
In the morning I woke to the smell of coffee: Tom3 was letting me know that he was awake and ready to go. He didn't drink the stuff himself (though he could go through sodas like you wouldn't believe); but I always set up the coffee maker before I went to bed. On weekdays, I also set the timer; on weekends, I turned it on when I got up. Tom3 had started turning it on for me about a year ago, I think as a joke; but now it was one of our rituals, something he always did when he was here.
I found him in the living room, chatting with someone on the computer. He glanced up at my face, then down at the cup of coffee in my hand. Then he closed out his session. "Bladefang wants to go to the zoo with us," he announced.
"We'll have to get another ticket," I suggested. "Could be expensive."
He gave me an eloquent look: Not funny, Dad. Well, I used to be funny. Not anymore, apparently. Or maybe it was just too early.
"You just going to carry him around all day?" I asked. It was a lot less of a problem now, but I'd had years of being trained in my son's penchant for leaving beloved toys behind in ridiculously inconvenient places.
Tom3 blinked. "Oh, yeah," he said, as if I'd just reminded him of something. He stood up and headed for his room, a sandy-haired boy whose build had finally filled in from his last big growth spurt. Which meant he was probably due for another; he'd be taller the next time he came to visit, I thought.
I went to splash water on my face and brush my teeth, and when I came back Tom3 was holding a bit of cord. I watched with admiration as he deftly looped it into a sort of sling for the Bladefang figurine. Then, holding up the ends, he asked: "Would you...?"
I tied the ends together behind his neck, leaving Bladefang to hang on chest like a particularly ungainly medallion. Bladefang was clearly meant to be a statue or figurine, and the overall effect was a bit dorky... but then, Tom3 was my son. If he was little bit dorky, well... he came by it honestly. So, with everybody ready -- myself, Tom3, and Bladefang -- we piled into the car and headed for the zoo.
I found him in the living room, chatting with someone on the computer. He glanced up at my face, then down at the cup of coffee in my hand. Then he closed out his session. "Bladefang wants to go to the zoo with us," he announced.
"We'll have to get another ticket," I suggested. "Could be expensive."
He gave me an eloquent look: Not funny, Dad. Well, I used to be funny. Not anymore, apparently. Or maybe it was just too early.
"You just going to carry him around all day?" I asked. It was a lot less of a problem now, but I'd had years of being trained in my son's penchant for leaving beloved toys behind in ridiculously inconvenient places.
Tom3 blinked. "Oh, yeah," he said, as if I'd just reminded him of something. He stood up and headed for his room, a sandy-haired boy whose build had finally filled in from his last big growth spurt. Which meant he was probably due for another; he'd be taller the next time he came to visit, I thought.
I went to splash water on my face and brush my teeth, and when I came back Tom3 was holding a bit of cord. I watched with admiration as he deftly looped it into a sort of sling for the Bladefang figurine. Then, holding up the ends, he asked: "Would you...?"
I tied the ends together behind his neck, leaving Bladefang to hang on chest like a particularly ungainly medallion. Bladefang was clearly meant to be a statue or figurine, and the overall effect was a bit dorky... but then, Tom3 was my son. If he was little bit dorky, well... he came by it honestly. So, with everybody ready -- myself, Tom3, and Bladefang -- we piled into the car and headed for the zoo.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Into The Game 002
After dinner, the boys went and played in the back yard, and eventually Daniel went home. (He could have stayed over, but his family was attending a baptism in the morning.) Tom3 stayed up a bit later than usual, watching television with Bladefang -- the small tiger-statue balanced on the arm of the couch. I sat on the other side of the room, sketching an outline -- a flowchart, basically -- for my next coding project.
Finally, though, I called it. "Time for bed, me boyo. It's getting late."
Tom3 didn't argue; he just collected Bladefang and went up to his room. I listened until I heard the shower start, then went back to my project.
Later, I heard voices in his room. When I looked inside, it was just Tom3; apparently he'd been speaking for Bladefang, too. "You doing okay?" I asked him.
He nodded. "We're fine," he said, and didn't say anything else.
I took the hint and went away again. There was a time when he would have wanted me to stay in the room with him, but he was eleven years old, now: moving more and more into his own world, leaving his mother and me behind. I remembered the experience well enough that I wanted to give him room to do it.
Finally, though, I called it. "Time for bed, me boyo. It's getting late."
Tom3 didn't argue; he just collected Bladefang and went up to his room. I listened until I heard the shower start, then went back to my project.
Later, I heard voices in his room. When I looked inside, it was just Tom3; apparently he'd been speaking for Bladefang, too. "You doing okay?" I asked him.
He nodded. "We're fine," he said, and didn't say anything else.
I took the hint and went away again. There was a time when he would have wanted me to stay in the room with him, but he was eleven years old, now: moving more and more into his own world, leaving his mother and me behind. I remembered the experience well enough that I wanted to give him room to do it.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Into the Game 001
When I first met Skywyrm, she was a tiny metal statue of snake, smaller than my thumb.
I didn't think much of it at the time. My son, Thomas Black III -- or Tom3, as both of us preferred -- was playing a new game with his friend, Daniel. Daniel had just placed Skywyrm on a card, and the boys were comparing notes and doing math to see whether or not Daniel's Skywyrm could best Tom3's Bladefang in battle. Since this was a far better incentive than homework, I was prepared to encourage his interest... though honestly, the game looked overcomplicated and nearly nonsensical: precisely the sort of thing to attract an eleven-year-old boy's interest. I wondered, vaguely, what his mother thought; she might object, if she knew he felt free to play at my house. I wondered if I should care.
Daniel said, "No, look, tackle doesn't work in the Sky Realm, so it's just Bladefang's base attack." Daniel was a quiet kid; I was glad Tom3 had made friends with him. For one thing, he was never any trouble to have around; he dropped by the house when Tom3 was here, was politely unobtrusive, and kept Tom3 happy and busy. Okay, sometimes he was another mouth to feed -- and eleven-year-old boys can put away plenty of food -- but since the visitation agreement only covered one weekend a month, I was more than happy that my son had found a friend in the neighborhood. And Daniel was small, thin, and blond; I suspected he'd get picked on a lot, if he didn't have friends. So I really didn't mind including him in my weekends with my son.
Tom3 looked unhappy. "But I already played my poison card."
Daniel shook his head. "That doesn't matter, because Bladefang has to tackle before he can poison. If we were battling on Forest or Desert, Skywyrm wouldn't stand a chance, but in the Sky Realm she's got a serious advantage. Right, Skywyrm?"
The upstairs playroom was surprisingly neat. Both boys had brought their cards and game pieces in dedicated cases, and neither had bothered to pull out the other toys... which, admittedly, were mostly left-overs from when Tom3 was younger. I needed to sort them and pass them along, I just hadn't gotten around to it. Maybe I was hoping to recover some of the time I didn't get to spend with Tom3, too.
But Tom3 and Daniel were sitting at the central table, the cards forming a sort of landscape between them. They placed their figurines at strategic points, and calculated the results of the battle according to obscure and enigmatic rules. I stood and watched, and tried to figure out the basis for their conclusions. There was probably some sort of rulebook online, if I knew the name of this game - but since I didn't, I didn't worry about it. It wasn't like I'd ever need to know how to play, after all.
Tom3 scanned his cards, then glanced at the other figures resting in his case. "You win," he said finally.
"...This time," Daniel said, and Tom3 smiled. "Pull a different Realm, or learn Flying Tackle, and Bladefang could do it."
Tom3 said, "Just wait. We'll have you."
I said, "It's time for dinner, guys. Pizza all right with you?"
Daniel was looking at Tom3; Tom3 was looking at Daniel. "Pizza," said Daniel. "Pizza," said Tom3.
"Let's eat," said Daniel, glancing at me almost bashfully.
Tom3 nodded enthusiastically. But before they stood up, they carefully put away their figurines and gathered their cards back into their decks. I remember thinking that this game must be important to my son, because at that age I'd have left everything sitting in a huge mess on the table while I went to get pizza. But once everything was put away, the two boys followed me down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the pizza was waiting.
I didn't think much of it at the time. My son, Thomas Black III -- or Tom3, as both of us preferred -- was playing a new game with his friend, Daniel. Daniel had just placed Skywyrm on a card, and the boys were comparing notes and doing math to see whether or not Daniel's Skywyrm could best Tom3's Bladefang in battle. Since this was a far better incentive than homework, I was prepared to encourage his interest... though honestly, the game looked overcomplicated and nearly nonsensical: precisely the sort of thing to attract an eleven-year-old boy's interest. I wondered, vaguely, what his mother thought; she might object, if she knew he felt free to play at my house. I wondered if I should care.
Daniel said, "No, look, tackle doesn't work in the Sky Realm, so it's just Bladefang's base attack." Daniel was a quiet kid; I was glad Tom3 had made friends with him. For one thing, he was never any trouble to have around; he dropped by the house when Tom3 was here, was politely unobtrusive, and kept Tom3 happy and busy. Okay, sometimes he was another mouth to feed -- and eleven-year-old boys can put away plenty of food -- but since the visitation agreement only covered one weekend a month, I was more than happy that my son had found a friend in the neighborhood. And Daniel was small, thin, and blond; I suspected he'd get picked on a lot, if he didn't have friends. So I really didn't mind including him in my weekends with my son.
Tom3 looked unhappy. "But I already played my poison card."
Daniel shook his head. "That doesn't matter, because Bladefang has to tackle before he can poison. If we were battling on Forest or Desert, Skywyrm wouldn't stand a chance, but in the Sky Realm she's got a serious advantage. Right, Skywyrm?"
The upstairs playroom was surprisingly neat. Both boys had brought their cards and game pieces in dedicated cases, and neither had bothered to pull out the other toys... which, admittedly, were mostly left-overs from when Tom3 was younger. I needed to sort them and pass them along, I just hadn't gotten around to it. Maybe I was hoping to recover some of the time I didn't get to spend with Tom3, too.
But Tom3 and Daniel were sitting at the central table, the cards forming a sort of landscape between them. They placed their figurines at strategic points, and calculated the results of the battle according to obscure and enigmatic rules. I stood and watched, and tried to figure out the basis for their conclusions. There was probably some sort of rulebook online, if I knew the name of this game - but since I didn't, I didn't worry about it. It wasn't like I'd ever need to know how to play, after all.
Tom3 scanned his cards, then glanced at the other figures resting in his case. "You win," he said finally.
"...This time," Daniel said, and Tom3 smiled. "Pull a different Realm, or learn Flying Tackle, and Bladefang could do it."
Tom3 said, "Just wait. We'll have you."
I said, "It's time for dinner, guys. Pizza all right with you?"
Daniel was looking at Tom3; Tom3 was looking at Daniel. "Pizza," said Daniel. "Pizza," said Tom3.
"Let's eat," said Daniel, glancing at me almost bashfully.
Tom3 nodded enthusiastically. But before they stood up, they carefully put away their figurines and gathered their cards back into their decks. I remember thinking that this game must be important to my son, because at that age I'd have left everything sitting in a huge mess on the table while I went to get pizza. But once everything was put away, the two boys followed me down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the pizza was waiting.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Children's Games (Story Idea)
So, I have this idea for a short story. It's basically a father discovering that his son has started playing a new and involved game. In an effort to be a better parent, he decides to start playing himself... and becomes the first adult to discover that some of the more wildly fanciful elements that his son has told him about (talking game-pieces, otherworldly battles, etc.) are true.
...And then he has to decide what to do about it.
...And then he has to decide what to do about it.
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