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Art • Books • Writing
Gamelit 27
intrusion
June 07, 2024

            Nick appreciated Mom changing the subject, though he knew that meant he hadn’t changed her mind and she didn’t want to argue about it anymore. He did, though. He wanted her to love Omen Galaxica as much as he did. Sometimes he thought she was getting it… and then other times, like this, she wanted to rain on his parade. Again. About the things he cared about.

            Do your parents consistently discourage you from pursuing your goals?

            He didn’t want the AI raining on his parade either, but ignoring her felt ruder. Maybe because she wasn’t human and wouldn’t understand why he was doing it… or was that backwards? He should probably care more about the actual human being, shouldn’t he? They don’t discourage me from pursuing all my goals, he said, striving for fairness because he didn’t want the AI taking him literally. Just from the ones they think are a bad idea. From their perspective.

            This feels important, the AI said. Are there goals that are always objectively bad?

            I think it’s less that and more like… statistically, some goals are less likely to succeed, and when they fail, they fail terribly. They just want me to avoid those, because they don’t assume I’m going to be the lucky one. He inhaled, forcing himself to calm down. “All right. So we’re supposed to petition the spirit of the creek, and if that goes well, we might be able to negotiate later with the Lord of the Forest for more protection.” He unpacked the items he’d spent the night seeking: a twist of green herbs, a perfect Moon Iris, and four scales of a Beneficent Carp. When he stepped back, his mom added a cookie to the edge of the semicircle he’d created.

            He was about to argue that you don’t give water spirits cookies—even Lemon Iced Sugar Cookies of Fellowship—but she looked so hopeful, and hadn’t he read something somewhere about people giving food to gods all the time? So he bent down, picked up the cookie, and set it in the center, so that it looked like a moon surrounded in rays of plants and scales.

            She looked so pleased, when he glanced at her, that he couldn’t help smiling.

            “All right, let’s do this.” He raised his hands and… deflated, because this was the part where he had to sing, and he hadn’t thought that through, obviously. Did he really want to sing in front of his mom? But he liked all the Cervinaethi music and lore…

            What the heck. He started singing the invocation. After a few bars, he didn’t even care anymore, because the rush was so good it made the hair up the back of his neck prickle. And then, a few moments later, a descant fluttered up over his voice, and the chills intensified. His mother took a few steps forward until she was alongside him, and she was the one supplying the harmony and that was all it took to flash him back to elementary school—no, earlier, kindergarten—and singing in the back of the car while mom sang along. She always took the high harmony parts, leaving him to belt out the melody lines as poorly and enthusiastically as he wanted… the star of the show, just like now.

            The song ended, and the silence was just… amazing. Like every molecule in the atmosphere was quivering.

            Was it going to work? His shoulders were so rigid they hurt. Slowly, a mist coalesced in front of them, hovering over the gifts. One by one they whirled upward, even the cookie, and then a haunting song answered their invocation, shivering with echoes. The gifts evaporated, and then the mist followed, and into the quiet, the gush of water filled the quiet. Were the rocks melting? Was he seeing this correctly? This was so cool.

            Player Nick, the AI whispered, and he wanted to say ‘not now’ and he was sure he thought it, but the AI continued. We are monitoring the vital signs of all participants and your parent’s have altered abruptly.

            He was so focused on the changes in the creek that he didn’t understand the words with his brain. His spine stiffened first, and then the rest of him caught up. “What?”

            Your mother is no longer responding to stimuli—

            Nick ripped the wireset off and ran downstairs. “MOM!”

            She was on the couch, the wireset twisted on her head where it had slumped to one side. He grabbed her wrist. “Mom? Mom, wake up. WAKE UP.” Nothing. His heart thumped so hard he felt sick. He shook her again, and when she didn’t wake up, lunged for the nearest phone. His hands were shaking so hard he missed the nine twice before he punched it, then the one and the second one and then there was a crackling noise and a few seconds later: “911, what is the address of your emergency?”

            Address! His brain blanked, then he babbled the street name and number. “We’re right next to the park,” he finished. He also managed to remember his phone number when asked, and got his name out.

            “Tell me exactly what happened.”

            “My mom’s unconscious, she won’t wake up!”

            “How old are you, Nick? Are you home alone?”

            “I’m sixteen—yes, it’s just the two of us. Dad’s at work.”

            “Stay calm. Is your mom breathing? Are there any visible injuries?”

            “She’s… yes, she’s breathing. I don’t see anything wrong. We were playing a game and she just… disconnected. Passed out. I wasn’t in the room. I can’t get her to wake up!” Had he said that already? He couldn’t remember.”

            “Let me have your father’s name and number. Is he at work?”

            “Yes, I’ve got it…” He rattled off the words, and even managed to describe the outside of the house when prompted because the woman sounded so calm… if she was calm, that meant everything was going to be okay, right? It had to be, or she’d be panicked, too.

            “Emergency personnel are on their way. I’m going to call your father and inform him of the situation. Then he’ll call you to let you know your next steps. Stay with your mother until the personnel arrive.”

            He agreed, when what he wanted to shout was ‘no, no, don’t leave me alone, I don’t know what to do!’ He returned to his mother’s side and hovered over her, watching her chest rise and fall. Was it going at the normal rate? Was it slowing down? What had happened to her? What if she’d had a stroke? Or maybe… maybe the wireset had done something to her? He jammed the base of his palms against his eyes, gritting his teeth. Stay calm, stay calm. Dad’s gonna call, it’s going to be OKAY.

            When the phone rang he nearly hit the ceiling. Snatching it, he said, “Hello?”

            “I’m meeting the ambulance at the hospital. Are you good to stay home? I’ll call you when I know what’s going on.”

            No way in hell he wanted to stay home! He didn’t want to go to the hospital either. He didn’t want to be here, period! “Okay.”

            “Good man. It’s probably nothing, Nick. You’ll see. Hold the fort.”

            Then there was a knock on the door and a blur of things happening… people, stretcher, questions, all of it deranged by the sheer volume of his own heartbeat, going too fast, hazing everything. This was not happening. This was not happening. This was—done, they were gone, the sirens wailing—

            Nick groped for his phone and opened the group chat, and before he had formulated any plan his thumbs were at work.

 

            NEED A RIDE TO ST LUKES MOM IS IN TROUBLE

 

            The chat burst into activity, and his message alert went off, interrupting his concentration. It was Fish:

 

            WE’RE ON THE WAY

 

            Nick had no idea who ‘we’ was, but that was good enough. He locked up the house with shaking hands, threw his phone and his keys in his pocket, tugged on his shoes and was on the driveway when Fish’s sister Emory pulled up. Fish reached from the backseat and popped the door. “Get in, man. What the heck.”

            “Thanks.”

            “We’re the closest to you and my sister drives like a bat outta hell,” Fish said. “What happened?”

            “I don’t know,” Nick said miserably. “She just… passed out.”

            “That could be a lot of harmless things,” Nick’s sister said.

            “But she wasn’t awake when they took her away….”

            “It’ll work out,” Fish said confidently, and Nick wanted to both believe him and yell at him that no one could know that. So he shut up, because what would it help?

            Emory did in fact drive like she was in a car chase. It felt like he hadn’t had time to catch a breath before she coasted up to the drop-off at the ER. “Thanks,” he said.

            “Anytime,” she said, and Fish added, “No prob.”

            After that it was a nightmare of explaining multiple times who he was and who his parents were before his father swooped in and led him behind the huge swinging double doors and past a bunch of people who were flailing or screaming or crying, and then there was Mom, pale and silent, hooked up to all these… tubes, and he would have rathered anything other than that silence.

            “You didn’t have to come, but you’re here now,” his dad said, which made no sense and was the only clue Nick had that Dad wasn’t in a great place mentally. He was otherwise so calm. “Why don’t you sit down… who brought you?”

            “Fish and his sister.”

            “Good friends.”

            “Yeah.” Nick swallowed. “Is she…”

            “They’re running tests now. She’s in the best place for any problems, Nick. It’s just waiting now.”

            He wanted to say that he could wait, that he knew how, but that was a lie. Wasn’t it? When had he ever had to wait on something like this before? He eased into the seat on the other side of Mom and started to take her hand before he remembered he didn’t do that anymore. When was the last time he’d held his mother’s hand? What if this was the last time? His fingers crawled under hers and curled in them.

            They waited, and it took forever, with the noise and the hum and hiss of machines and the incessant beeps that always caught him off-guard. He didn’t realize his head had sagged until it was resting on the bed until someone petted his hair.

            “Amanda?”

            “What… a lot of fuss… over nothing,” Mom murmured, as if she was smiling.

            Nick bolted upright. “Mom!”

            “Glad to have you back with us, reina.

            “Ugh, I hate hospitals….”

            Dad was smiling. “Hopefully we won’t be here long. How are you feeling?”

            “Tired…” She yawned. “Sorry, Nick. We were playing. Weren’t we?”

            God, he couldn’t remember the last thing they were doing. It seemed like a dream he’d been having, and as insubstantial. Sunlight on water. Something. “Don’t be sorry, Mom. I’m just glad you’re awake. You scared me for a minute there.”

            She mussed his hair, and he didn’t even mind.

            “Why don’t you take a walk?” his dad said. “See if you can find a vending machine or cafeteria. Stretch your legs. We might be here for a while, the way things go. If you want to go home—”

            “I’ll stay,” Nick said immediately. “But you’re right, I could use a walk. If I find something tasty, I’ll bring it back.”

            His father gave him a mock salute, and gratefully, Nick escaped.

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I have been hard at work on the gallery and it’s time, thus, for an update! And I’m going to do it in stats because everyone loves numbers.

Overall:

  • 56% of the large format books are done

  • 5805 images in the gallery

  • 1897 (33%) have my commentary
    169 are finished pieces!

When I say “large format”, I mean the numbered sketchbooks that are 9x12 or larger. This total doesn’t count the mini-sketchbooks, high school sketchbooks, the remaining conlang notebooks (about 72 more books) or any of the loose artwork. But I figure I’ll jump those bridges when I get to them.

Now, some fun stats:

Top Characters So Far:

  • Me (!) – 267

  • Alysha – 191

  • Zafiil – 104

  • Vasiht’h – 99

  • Distant Song – 83

This probably reflects which books I’ve done so far more than popularity; I’ve done the “back” of the stack and the beginning of the stack but we’re missing large swathes of the middle. I’m curious to see how the character ratios change then… I’m guessing Alysha will remain popular but other characters will start pulling ahead.

Top settings (unsurprisingly):

  • Peltedverse: 1821

  • After this, Kherishdar and Jokka are tied if you count the language work for both.

Surprisingly, 168 pictures from World of Warcraft! So if you’re a gamer, you might want to hit that tag. Fun dark horse: Coracle, with 47 images uploaded so far. Only one book for Coracle, and yet!

Related: Spoiler images, at 53 uploads, comprise .9% of the total in the database right now. This is a good time to mention that when you create an account, all the warning tags are flagged by default so you don’t see those images; you have to manually uncheck them to see spoilers, questionable images, etc. I am here to protect you from accidental book trauma!

  • 194 titles say some form of ‘Probably’, ‘Maybe,’ or ‘I guess’

…which reflects that a lot of these books are decades old and my paper sieve memory does not resurrect my thought process at the time, especially with really loose sketches. Which brings me to:

Notes versus Sketches (and other developmental work):

  • Drawings: 93%

  • Notes: 1.5%

  • Language Notes: 3.8%

  • Maps, Floor plans, and Schematics: 72 images

Notes can be anything from timelines to worldbuilding scribbles to poetry to outlines! More of this resides in the mini-sketchbooks than the larger ones, but it’s fun to see the data I felt I needed a bigger page to explore. Also, it’s fun to see how much time I spend on maps and schematics. If you were ever curious about what items look like, or wanted to “walk through” a floor plan of some place I’ve written about more than once, you can definitely hit the database for that. (So can I! Very important!)

Finally, a ridiculous statistic:

  • 99 pages are sketches of horses

  • Absolute failures (10)

  • Sketches I liked (5)

  • Neutral: 84

I will continue drawing horses until morale improves. Someone else’s, because apparently I am almost never happy with my horse drawings.

When I sit back and think about the fact that I’m about halfway through archiving my art and it’s nearly 6000 images already… how… how many single people have 6000 useful images online in one place? What I’m doing is wild if I look at it too closely. So I don’t, I’m just gonna keep going. XD

Go make an account and have fun browsing!

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Welcome Back, to the Stardancer Gallery

I have a gallery again.

It would be so easy to say ‘I can’t tell you what that means to me’ but part of my thing is that I do tell you what things mean to me, all the time, so I’m going to try.

1.png?token-hash=nrdoS5Y9_iiERRaTSKIzbGY-dtyGgI1XVmNbDQ3zMz0%3D&token-time=1784764800
mcahogarth.org

Let me start by telling you about the original Stardancer gallery, which many of you remember and an even larger number of you weren’t around for. Because in an era before big sites like DeviantArt, when personal websites were still linked by webrings and coded by hand, I had a website that used a database to show visitors not only the latest thing I’d uploaded, but the comments left by dozens of people on that offering.

It’s so hard to explain how crazy that was. There were no Wordpress packages, no visual editors, no gallery plugins. There was no user validation by Google or Apple, no social media, no expectation of interaction or community. Everything had to be coded by hand and installed by someone who wasn’t afraid of a UNIX command line. And from 1999 until mid-2012, the Stardancer gallery served, on average, 5 pieces of art a week, with over 175,000 words of commentary from me, for thirteen years, and those pieces accrued between 5 to 40 comments from visitors. When it finally went down, there were 2906 distinct pieces of art in the database, and of those 253 had multiple versions—I uploaded them as I worked on them with commentary on each stage. Some of those pieces had 9-10+ stages where you could watch me wrestling with them (complete with titles like “OMG Ugly Stage” and “needs a background”).

For context, 175,000 words is probably about 700 tightly-packed paperback pages. That’s how much commentary I wrote. And that’s not including 1993 keywords and 60 projects I was tagging everything with.

I wanted that gallery so I could share my art with all of you. But it was also functioning as an organizational layer for me. When I was trying to remember a story, a character name, a forgotten piece of art I wanted to finish, I would search my own gallery. It was my backup brain, and my sketchbook index, and it kept me focused. It even had basic project management tools, since each of those 60 projects had a status: complete, in progress, ongoing, on hold, trunked.

The sunsetting of the original site was inevitable. You can’t run software with visions of enterprise-level functionality on a friend’s personal computer. But I was in the very unusual position of having started out with a system custom-built for my idiosyncrasies, and nothing on the market was good enough. I kept poking and not loving any of my choices. Host all my artwork on some aggregate gallery site or shoehorn it into a cookie-cutter Content Management System? No thank you. So I never replaced Stardancer, and for fourteen years, I’ve been running without that second-brain infrastructure.

And now, I have it again.

Now I can think ‘what was that thing I said about that one character in that one sketchbook?’ and search and find it. I can mutter, “Where is all the Ai-Naidari language work” and pull up the notebook. I can think ‘Didn’t I want to finish that picture of the dala fox? What sketchbook is that in?’ and I know.

I know!

And unlike the first gallery, this one can have everything in every sketchbook. Because I streamlined the parts I hate (editing, watermarking, uploading, making thumbnails, importing into the database) and left myself only the parts I enjoy (writing comments and tagging). And while some of the original Stardancer’s features aren’t online yet, like multiple versions of the same image, they’re designed and in the queue… and this version can have cool new features, like user favorites, and requests from users who love something and want me to finish it.

I’m so forgetful. I keep trying to explain to people how much of a cheesecloth my brain is with just about everything. Without rigorous documentation, lists, and notebooks, I would be completely useless. Art is one of those places I document my thoughts and keep myself pointed in the right direction. The fourteen years I didn’t have a gallery are literally gone in my brain, artistically. I have to dig up the physical books and thumb through them to remember anything about them. So I think you can imagine my relief that this is now available… not just for you to enjoy. But for my sake, to keep myself from vanishing because I am no longer observing myself.

Right now the new gallery has 2644 images across the 42 sketchbooks (and one unfinished language notebook) I’ve scanned and uploaded… of the nearly 200 I have. I’m only just getting started. I am crazy excited, I can’t even tell you.

I have a gallery again.

I have a gallery again!

1.png?token-hash=OFM2le6FWSQrplCYRdqaQS9LfErLYuCE_NXNeyl-5I0%3D&token-time=1784764800
mcahogarth.org

Anyway, this is the part where I talk about how you can enjoy the gallery:

Every subscription and purchase helps keep the gallery open and supports our free users, so thank you so much for chipping in!

What can I say? Welcome home, my friends. Welcome back!

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Early Access is Now Live! Come Join Us on Ke Bakil!
Make your own Jokka clan and watch it thrive!

Good news, patrons! The beta for the JOKKA! game is now open! You, as paying patrons, now have early access!

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