An image of one's self

Now, in my opinion, you create this image of yourself. Maybe other people don't or can't see it the same way you do, but maybe that doesn't matter. For example, I'm a hockey fan, but only recently. Likewise, I've only recently started to play hockey, and I'm not horrible at it, but I think Ty Conklin could kick my ass and he's a goalie. Regardless of my skills, I cheer for the Edmonton Oilers, my home team. I'm born and raised in the City of Champions, and I have to say my starting year of watching hockey was an excellent one.

The Oilers barely squeaked into the playoffs, gaining the number 8 spot and thus playing the Detroit Red Wings, ranked number 1 of the 2005-2006 season. Well, long story short, we eventually kicked their asses and moved to the second round against the San Jose Sharks, then to the Western Conference Finals versus the Might Ducks of Anaheim. Finally, we dragged out the Cup Finals against the Carolina Hurricanes to game 7 where we ultimately lost 3-1. Still, very close and very fun.

This year the Oilers lost their chance to make the Playoffs long before the regular season ended, but our rivals, the Calgary Flames are currently battling it out with Detroit. The rivalry between our two teams is strong, but I'd rather see the Flames win over an American team, especially since they're an Albertan team. Unfortunately, if they do make it past the first round and in the unlikely event all the way to the Cup Finals, they'll be bragging about that until the Apocalypse.

I have a friend down in Calgary whom I just recently sent a short story about hockey. It touches upon conflicting values and the image of one's self, if discreetly. The question I ask myself is taken more seriously this year than it would have been last year. Have I betrayed my own image?

The answer? Probably not. It's just a game, and it's just a short story. Yet, if my coworkers knew about it, I would probably never hear the end of it.

Now I digress. The story is to follow. Post a comment or two on it, or about this post. Or both. Or Not.

Hockey

He could hear the crowd roaring and chanting even from the locker rooms. He could remember the times he chanted along to the crowd from bars, from home, from anywhere there was a TV and sound. “LET’S GO OILERS!” they all said. And there were a lot of them. It was a sellout crowd for Rexall Place as usual; over 13,000 people were crammed into the stadium, eagerly awaiting their beloved team to take to the ice.

His friends were among the crowd waiting for the hockey players, some had season passes, while others had bought tickets just to see him play tonight. “You alright? You look like you’re going to puke.” The team captain asked.

He slowed his breathing a little and looked at his captain. “I haven’t been this nervous since I was drafted.”

“Relax, you’ll do fine out there. I need you to do fine out there. Back me up like always, and show me some of that skill that got you your hat trick last game.”

The team jersey looked so natural on the captain, and every other player in the locker room. But it seemed out of place on a rookie like him. He wasn’t one of those kids who played hockey since he was born; he had only recently learned to stop properly. It wasn’t his first dream to play in the NHL and be signed for a nice contract, but it had certainly crossed his mind like everyone else’s. It was certainly a factor contributing to his mounting nervousness.

But another reason stood out in his mind. This game would decide who would take the last spot of the playoffs. Being the team in the number 8 spot didn’t mean much when it came to the playoffs; many teams had beaten the regular season’s number 1 team and moved past the first round.

They shuffled out of the locker room, listening to the announcer over the speakers. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome back to Rexall Place for the last game of the 2007-2008 season, and the last Battle of Alberta!”

He was about to step onto the ice when a thought flashed through his head. It wasn’t the first time it came up, and it wouldn’t be the last. Jerome Iginla turned around expectantly and waved for him to step into the rink.

“I wonder what it would be like if the Oilers signed me?”

It didn’t matter right now. Iginla took his spot on the right wing, he took his left wing, Miikka Kiprusoff stood ready to block any and every shot that came his way past Dion Phaneuf’s defense. The puck dropped, and he was damned if he was going to blow his team’s chance to win a second Stanley Cup just because he was an Oilers fan.

The game started with high-octane action. Yelle poked the puck back to Phaneuf who passed it to Iginla. Jerome deaked out Sykora and Hemsky, skating over the blue line. He followed quickly, brushing past Staios’ attempts to block him. Roloson kept his eyes on the puck, watching as Iginla used a backhand pass to get it across to the rink to the open left winger.

Everything slowed as he received the pass, skated a few more feet, watching the goalie shift to face him, and then brought his stick back and lowered his center of gravity. The puck was cradled perfectly in the curve of the blade as he rifled a shot off. He could hear the crowd go silent as the puck lifted a few inches from the surface of ice, he could hear the breathing of Staios, now right behind him, he could hear the sounds of Iginla skating forward to be ready for a rebound shot if necessary.

But as the puck flew towards the net and the goaltender, he wondered ever so briefly if he was placing his friends in an awkward position. To cheer for a member of the Calgary Flames while in Edmonton, surrounded by people you knew, people you worked with, lived with, conversed with, in the City of Champions it was almost unthinkable.

And then Roloson made his move to block the shot aimed right for the five hole. The first shot of the game, less than 20 seconds into the first period, would it be saved, or would it give the Flames an early chance to pull far ahead of their rivals?

His eyes closed as the puck passed the crease and the next thing he knew Iginla and Yelle were hugging him, a motion made awkward from the chest pads they wore as they skated back to center ice. But the question would haunt him every time he or another member of the Flames took a shot.

Finger Eleven Discography

Because I'm so lame on a Saturday night.

To Tip in the Quicksand, you must first Tip and Shudder while you're Awake and Dreaming because you're Above the Condenser of Thin Spirits that take a Glimpse of a Costume for a Gutterball while dancing in the Temporary Arms of a Swallowtail.

But when you face The Greyest of Blue Skies for the First Time it'll Drag You Down to My Carousel and make you Sick of it All like the dedication For the Ocean that will Broken Word will Suffocate on and all your Bones + Joints will be Famous for Walking in My Shoes until you Stay and Drown.

Out of 10 Finger Eleven knows the Other Light brings Complicated Questions that make you Stay in Shadow for Good Times to get those Absent Elements for your Thousand Mile Wish to have Conversations with The Last Scene of Struggling like a Panic Attack followed by Therapy that shows you One Thing like your Obvious Heart.

And when it's Them vs. You vs. Me with only a Paralyzer for Falling On you know that I'll Keep your Memory Vague because I Lost My Way in this So-So Suicide and now sing the Window Song for a Sense of Spark that comes from Talking to Walls while trying to Change the World so you Gather + Give because this fight is Them vs. You vs. Me and really it's an Easy Life.

The words in bold italics are the titles of the Finger Eleven albums, and the bold words are the tracks on each album. So whaddya think?

I come before you today

not as a writer, but as a reader.

I've been interested in reading since I knew how to read, which was long before I got interested in writing. Mostly what I read were published works in papers, magazines or books. You know it has to be somewhat decent, having to pass by editors and publishers alike who have visions of what you should write whether you like it or not. And then I started writing myself, and that's when all hell broke loose.

Up until about 2003 or early 2004, the stories I wrote were fairly bad, the plot was probably the only exceptional about them, but the way it was executed drained everything out of it. Characters were flat one-dimensional nondescript people, and good guys always won with few or no problems, and bad guys lost. It took a man to break me out of the wall I had found myself inevitably a part of. Ramza Lionheart, self proclaimed Black Swordsman, if by any remote chance you're reading this, I just want to thank you for everything you've done. Or really, for that one review you left me ... or maybe it was a response to a review I sent you. Regardless, it certainly opened my eyes.

Reading his works was nothing short of amazing. He had the talent, the brains and the imagination to pull off complicated story lines, humor and action quite well. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he made it onto the publishing scene and shattered it like he tends to do. He and I stayed in contact for a while and then things happened and we went our separate ways.

While searching for a way to plug a DVD player into a TV through only a coax port, I discovered a CD with an unfinished story from 2002. Over 4 years old, it had lain in wait, patiently waiting to be finished. Well, it'll have to wait a little longer I'm afraid, but reading it after such a long time, it gave me a good chuckle. It was a classic example of how I always wanted the good guys to win, all of them. In some ways, DragonBall Z helped that mindset grow, because of the Dragon Balls, good guys who died could be wished back. But in watching other shows, people who died stayed dead.

How's this for a polar opposite? Yoshiyuki Tomino, creator of the Gundam saga, ended up earning the nickname "Kill 'Em All" Tomino for the number of named character deaths in Zeta Gundam and Victory Gundam. Reportedly he was in a depression when he made those two series, and he even wants to strike V Gundam out of the UC Timeline because he's over his depression and doesn't like it. Now I've watched both series (as well as most Gundam out there) and have seen the reactions garnered from killing everyone off.

You can't please everyone right? I sent "This Is War" to a friend of mine and she loved it. Other people found it mildly depressing. The choice I now have to make is how far am I willing to go? Which people am I trying to please? But that's actually going off topic from what this started out for.

Back on topic now. Ramza nuked my writing world, and I changed for the better. I used to frequent Fanfiction.net, perusing through the stories and seeing all of the ideas, some which were enticingly original, and others which were carbon copies of crap (no this ain't going to be an alliteration speech like V's from V for Vendetta). Late last night I came across a collection of short stories or drabbles which perked my interest.

It had to be the most original thing I've ever read this year, and probably most of last year. I sent her a PM over FF.net which apparently blew her away. All I did was let her know how good her stories were and that I'd be looking forward to reading more.

Sometimes you get a message that changes your world. It happens in more ways than one. The way I changed her world is completely different from how Ramza changed mine. Positive reinforcement. I simply spoke my views as a reader.

My current project "The Paradise War" starts out well enough. The problem I'm worried about is I'll fall into old habits that die hard. That is my main downfall as an author.

I've come before you today not as a writer, but as a reader. Take a couple of minutes and encourage talent. Life isn't always about you, sometimes it's about the other person.