Category: Uncategorized

              I’ve been an active GameMaster (or DungeonMaster, for those Dungeons & Dragons players) since I was fifteen years old. That translates to twenty years of campaign-writing, map-building, dungeon-crafting, and trap-setting. I’ve written more stories for gamers than I ever have for my novel-writing, and with two novels (not published) and four more in the works, that is saying something substantial.

                I’ve had to deal with subversive players. Truly rebellious players who saw my attempts at giving challenges within a world as a means of just making me frustrated. I’ve been challenged for my views on worlds, my means of writing consequences, and even whether or not a village could handle a single magical item being sold.

                I’ve left my gaming table with migraines. I’ve been drawn into shouting matches with my players over fine points and rules-lawyering. I’ve had to quit an entire campaign because one player decided they wanted to take the party so far away from the main storyline that they created an entire pantheon of gods as a result.

                But for all the frustration and pain, I absolutely love it.

                For all that I am a writer and that I hope to be published, I love being an actual storyteller. This is highly ironic, given that I’m also extremely introverted and shy about speaking in front of crowds. I have a fierce passion for explaining scenarios, for trying new voices as independent people, for giving emotional investment to a given situation. I want my players to become part of the story, not just characters in a momentary chapter.

                I personally hate just giving my players challenges. I get it, the challenges are there to give them a numerical sense of scale. But really? Can I dive into Why the black dragon is harassing the nearby city? Can I give the players context? Can I explain to them what the consequences of their actions are? I believe that doing so makes for better characters, and ultimately better players.

                For this to work, however, I must tell my players that “I’m running a long campaign and I want to have fun, too”. No, I’m not here to just kill the characters. If my players show the same investment, I’m right there with them. If the dice don’t kill them, they’re welcome to ask the questions and see the world I’ve created for them.

                My greatest moments, in my opinion, are when I get to let loose and just tell the party what happens. They tell me what they want to do, they roll for it, and then it’s MY TIME.

                I love being a storyteller. For all that I hate crowds, if given the chance to tell a story, I will tell it to anyone willing to listen. Even if my own social batteries are nearly empty from interacting, I will always step up where I can. It’s a personal reward when, while explaining a scene or running through a monologue, I see the audience riveted by the story.

When this occurs, I feel a connection to my spiritual ancestor of storytelling: Homer.

                I am personally of the mind that Homer, as an individual, did not exist. I’ve always thought of him as multiple people, each using the name as a title for their level of storytelling. While I’m not of that caliber and never will be, I love getting to tell an epic story and seeing an audience be invested.

It’s been a few months, but I believe it’s time I started focusing on my keyboard again. I have to admit, I’ve missed telling my stories.

That said, I’ll be taking a new approach with my story-writing. I’ve wanted to try this a few times but have never had the opportunity. Strangely, the pandemic is helping me realize this goal.

I’ve always wanted to write out a Star Wars RPG campaign in story format, and I can finally do this. The players gave consent to being recorded, because my memory is terrible for this sort of thing.

So, readers, be ready for some interesting Star Wars (Legends) side stories! I’ll post the prologue soon!

Charles Brady Firmin (1988-2021), known to most of us as simply Brady, was a very complex man who would influence those around him through sheer wit and discourse. How he was seen by other people was their own perspective, but for me, he was a good man and a better friend.

I met Brady when he was about 20 years old, in a crowded apartment with the intent of nerdy interactions through Dungeons & Dragons. This should seem fitting by the end of this writing. When I walked into this apartment, greeted by mutual acquaintances and friends, there was this young man sitting at the head of the table who stood up to shake my hand and greet himself.

At that moment, I was 22 years old and reeling from depression, anger, and self-loathing. At that time, I was actively pushing away those few friends I had left. In that moment, I thought I was simply stepping into a several-hour session of debate and acting with people I either did not know or knew well enough to feel uncomfortable around.

Little did I know that, on that day, I would find a friend who became one of my most treasured people. I did not know that I was stepping into thirteen years of almost-daily conversation. I did not know that I was meeting who would become my best friend, and for a period of time, my only friend. I did not know at that time that I was being given only thirteen years to know a good person. I did not know that I was shaking the hand of a young man that would leave this earth in a short amount of time and I would miss him.

Upon meeting and interacting with this young man, I was struck by his sheer intellect. Here was a man I could not lie to, I thought. I had to be on my guard with my points of view and ready to explain my opinions. That was what Brady did to those who were receptive to rhetoric; he challenged them. I do not know why he saw this slightly older, angry person reeling from his parents’ divorce and sabotaging his relationships and thought “I will invest my time in this person”, but he had. That first night at our friends’ apartment, we sat out on the porch and debated both politics and religion. We disagreed, quite strongly, but he was patient with my rhetoric where he was otherwise scathing to our mutual friends in their stronger but ill-formed opinions.

Over the next 2 years, I learned that I had someone I could talk to and lower my guard around. I realized that I had someone I could trust. It would be years before I realized that he most likely saw the same potential in me, as he divulged his own secrets.

Within four months of our meeting, Brady would celebrate his 20th birthday and come out as homosexual. I like to think that he was personally frustrated by my calm acceptance of this admittance; I thought he was gay and had accepted the point at once, whereas several people at the same party gave him the shocked reaction he was expecting. It was probably that I had simply accepted the idea that told him to see me as a friend, but I genuinely hope he had simply liked talking to me. Really, we had more strident conversations over his atheism than his homosexuality. The latter was readily acceptable, but at the time, the former was worthy of discussion.

After this particular party, Brady became a daily occurrence in my life. Be it a sit-down at the local café or an exchange at the table over drinks, I had a fiercely intelligent friend who expected me to bring my absolute best to the discussion. If I faltered, he would call me out on the fact. If I slipped into a logical fallacy, he would bluntly tell me and help me walk back my discussion until I could explain myself better.

But he was always patient with me, where I had seen him reveal scorn to others who were willfully ignorant or steadfastly averse to education. I wanted to be a better person, and he saw that. He made the investment of time and discussion. He became an emotional foundation for me, like he had for so many others.

This is not to say that he did not come to me with his own demons. He was battling depression, self-loathing, alcoholism. He had a very bleak view of the world when left to his own devices. It’s possible that he needed the talks as much as I did.

Brady would take long periods of time to himself, named his ‘social hibernation’. During those times, he’d never answer my calls or texts, and I would not see him out and about. One of those times was well-deserved as he was struggling through rehab. It was during those times that I would learn how much I needed my friend, and I will shamelessly say that I missed him during those times.

After he became sober, he became a near-daily presence in my life. He visited my home through my bachelorhood, engagement, and eventual marriage. He was a cornerstone to my life. He became, as I liked to phrase it, my ‘Girl Friday’. He would visit and share personal moments of his life, delving into the details of his battles with diabetes with science and wit. I like to think that I learned more from my friend than I ever did in my stint at college.

My best friend died on August 17, 2021. He went into a diabetic coma and formed a blood clot that would eventually take his life. He and I did not see each other for over a year beforehand, but he would text or call every day. I will be saving our discussions.

I hope he knew how much I saw him as family. I hope he knew how much he was respected and admired. I hope he knew how much he meant to that 22yr old man who agreed to sit outside an apartment one night and discuss politics. I hope he doesn’t mind that I hope he is wrong with his atheism and that his soul is in Heaven. I hope he knew that he was my best friend for thirteen years.

I will never know. I can only hope.

Goodbye, my friend and little brother. Know that you were loved. Know that you will be missed. Know that we will continue after you. Know that we will tell stories about you.

I’ll miss you, my friend.

I know it’s not good to hold on to ideas that don’t make the cut when it comes to publishing, but I want to make one specific argument on keeping rejected stories: they’re just damn fun to write.

I don’t honestly know how to look at a story idea and not have multiple stories attached to the one idea. When I sent out my submissions, I had planned on building them into more than one short story. In one case, I wanted to write a series of short stories that followed a single narrative. But the submissions did not make the cut with the publisher, so they’ve just been sitting in my Documents folders, gathering digital dust.

I do plan on reworking the story ideas into other ideas, but that’s a ways down the line. For now, I just want to enjoy the ideas as they are, and I’d like other people to them. So, I’m adding on to my Story Writing page!

I have one series in particular that I’ve always wanted to work on, plus a few fan-fics that are just fun story ideas to play with. When I finish a chapter or a short story, I’ll put them up here for perusal.

I get it. I’m in my mid-30’s. Receding hair is a thing in my family.

But still. Wahhhh

                Throughout the day, I am bombarded with political biases, be they right or left, Democrat or Republican, or occasionally a third-party. I will be asked questions and expected to give an opinion. For the most part, these questions come from family or friends, and I feel perfectly fine with answering those questions. Sometimes, I will see something on the social media platforms I visit that are politically motivated, and I will share my opinion on the subject.

                There are moments, however, when I must be careful about having a public opinion about something political. In those times, I must be ‘non-political’ during a time that my country is heavily partisan and vocal about its politics.

                I should note here, thanks to a friends’ observations: this does not mean I am apolitical or do not care about issues. I don’t believe you can be apolitical in our current climate and still be a functioning human being. I care very strongly about my politics. I am also under heavy restrictions where they are concerned.

                I must explain, every time I must refrain from giving an opinion: I must follow the rules of the Hatch Act.

                To provide context: The Hatch Act of 1939 prevents federal officials from endorsing or voicing politically biased opinions when performing their duties as a federal official. Specifically, it applies to members of the executive branch, but broadly, it applies to people who work for an organization with government backing. If you’re in uniform, you cannot give your opinion on political matters, because you’d be giving an endorsement of a bias. This, in turn, would mean that the organization you represent (through your uniform) also endorses your bias.

                Sounds a bit crazy but trust me: litigation can get that in-depth. I was a Union Steward for two years; I’ve used this exact kind of legal language in my grievance negotiations.

                Now, when I am not on-duty and not in uniform, I can speak freely. I usually do and gleefully dive into the discussions that grow from such moments. I am very vocal about my politics, so long as I do not represent my organization.

                (You’ll notice how careful I am about naming my workplace. It doesn’t take much effort to know who I work for but refraining from naming them in this essay gives me the loophole I need to talk about these things.)

                I have to be very patient with customers during working hours to provide facts without seeming politically biased. This is harder than it sounds, since giving such information can, to the customers, put me within a particular camp without me saying anything that is actually biased to one side or another.

                To give you more context, let’s look at the COVID-19 pandemic. As a federal official, I explain to customers approaching me that we must, as per CDC regulations, maintain social distance and wear masks. I have mine at-the-ready for such an occasion. One of my customers told me that I was an idiot for following such regulations, and that I had to be a “dirty liberal nutcase” for doing so.

                I’m used to getting yelled at during my job. People aren’t happy about a lot of things that have to do with my job, and I’m generally quiet and passive about these outbursts. It’s generally best to just let the customer air their grievance so I can thoroughly and logically address their problems. But when this happens, my nerves go on ‘high-alert’ and I make sure to phrase my responses accordingly. As a member of the executive branch, I’m held to a higher standard and all the bullshit that comes with such. It’d be all too easy for me to begin explaining something, have it sound biased, and that customer to have their phone out, recording.

                If that were to happen, I’d be up for discipline at the least, or fired outright. There was a moment when, in a public setting after work, I was in uniform and talking politics with a close friend, and a bystander took out their phone as if to record when I told them, bluntly, to not do so. It is the sort of situation that can make someone a bit paranoid.

                Now, as my organization is drawn further into the media spotlight, I am asked more often to give my opinion on political matters. These questions are earnest. My opinion is honestly sought after, so I don’t fault the person asking. But it puts me in a precarious situation, or as I’ve said to friends, I’m dealing with the existential crisis that is my job becoming political while I am restricted from being so.

                I want to talk about the issues that surround my day-job, folks. I have concerns and worries. Unfortunately, I am held to a higher standard than others and must follow the rules of the Hatch Act. I always tell people “ask me when I’m out of uniform or not representing my organization”. I would gladly dive into the discussions at those times, but only then.

                Until this extremely partisan time is beyond us, I must maintain a non-political stance. I can only ask for understanding during this time.