Akting Out

Legacy of Kain (Crystal Dynamics) was onto something.
I confess that I was never really into the gameplay (I’m not much for puzzle-ridden games), especially in the first Blood Omen. But the story was incomparable, expertly spoken by a top flight cast that included Simon Templeman and directed by Kris Zimmerman.

Legacy of Kain was the first (and only) game I ever played strictly because I wanted to know what happened next. Blood Omen may not have been that impressive, but its follow-up, Soul Reaver, heralded a benchmark for storytelling in videogames.  Here was a character that had chosen the ‘wrong’ thing at the end of the first game, damning a world he now ruled. The story was now told by his doomed first lieutenant, Raziel, voiced by Michael Bell.

Considering that the first Resident Evil’s voice-over became comedic fodder, Soul Reaver’s narrative was so well-executed that behind-the-scenes were made available as extras on the games themselves. Even now, considering where modern Machinima is, the Legacy of Kain series still looks pretty good when placed side-by-side with modern efforts. I can spend whole hours ranting about the story, but if you’re interested, you should really check out Joudas’ playlist on YouTube and see for yourself.

The series, to me, defines what Machinima can be when done right.
I’ve been studying Machinima for years now; since it became popular in the late nineties. I can tell you almost anything you want to know about it, save for how to put one together. I’ve never tried. I’ve been afraid of screwing up.

But I’ve wanted to try for years, and for the first time, I’m in a position to; I have a little money, and my storytelling is gaining ground. Eventually, you have to get off of the bench and play the game if you ever hope to score.

So no more procrastinating; I’m actually going to attempt a Machinima within the next month.
Although I plan to use Realillusions iClone to tell Universal Warrior’s story (because they’ll let me make money off of it), I purchased the Sims 3 to get my feet wet. I figured that if I actually spent money on the ambition, that’ll motivate me to take it seriously.

I’m not going to attempt anything huge my first time around, and seeing Black Widow Garden gave me a lot of inspiration; one can do a decent film without using any voice-over work. I’m going to attempt a music video for either the old Mike & The Mechanics song “Can You Hear Me” or the more recent “Second Chance” by Shinedown.

I’ll make a decision by the end of the week, and I’ll post weekly updates on the production. Wish me luck.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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The sky was turning dark, and it was getting hard to see. The sun was gone, and I could see tiny white lights in the sky begin to appear. I didn’t want to see them; we were still a long way from home, and now we would need to hurry.

I was scared, really scared, but I couldn’t let her know that. I held her hand really tight and kept walking. We were alone out there—everyone else, and there weren’t a lot—had gone inside and sealed up their homes. They were smart.

“Scott… slow down,” she pleaded.

I knew I was walking too fast for her little six year old legs, but I didn’t have a choice. If we weren’t indoors soon, then the Howlers would get us, and I wasn’t gonna let that happen, no matter what. So I kept walking and I tried to keep my voice gentle, just like mom did when she talked to us. “We have to keep going, Maggie,” I urged her along, walking even faster. Then I lied. I know I shouldn’t have, but she needed to hear it. “We’re almost there.”

I looked up at the sky, which was getting blacker by the second. We’re not gonna make it.

No! Had to think positive, like Dad taught us, I remembered. He taught me how to shoot, although I wasn’t very good at it. Still, I kept my other hand on the gun dad had given me, before he went out with the other hunters and never come back. The gun was big and really powerful (I think Dad called it a magnet or magnum or something like that), and it fired these huge bullets. They’d stop a Howler cold, until another one came around and woke it up.

There were no buildings left, although I used to listen when Dad and other grown-ups would talk about the old days, when buildings were so big and tall that they reached all the way into the sky. The Howlers changed all of that; they could rip anything apart with those huge hands of theirs. They never died, either. That’s why there weren’t a lot of humans left…

Maggie tripped over a rock and fell to the ground, and she nearly took me with her. I turned back and spoke to her in a whisper: “Maggie, come on. We’re almost there. We have to hurry. We gotta go!” Howlers could hear everything for miles, and with the night being so close, they’d be out soon. I heard a coyote scream in the distance and I grabbed the gun Dad gave me, but I kept it in my pocket.

“Scott, I can’t, I’m so tired!” Maggie pleaded. “Please can we rest for a minute?”

The coyote screamed again, but I was used to it, so I wasn’t scared. Maggie had never been healthy, and it was dangerous to go all the way to see aunt Deara, but she was the only one who could make her medication anymore. Without it, Maggie couldn’t walk very far without getting tired, and her breathing got all weird.

I got her medication quickly from the pouch at my waist and almost jammed it into Maggie’s mouth. I pushed the plunger, and Maggie started breathing normally again.

The coyote screamed again. It sounded like it was getting closer, and I hoped I was right and it was just a coyote. It sounded like it was coming from just up the block, but it was too dark for me to see.

I pulled her to her feet. We still had a few miles to go—

Another shriek, and this one wasn’t a coyote. The noise was long and gargly, and it came from behind us.

“Maggie!” I whispered urgently, trying not to show my fear. “We gotta go now.”

I could see in her big brown eyes that she knew I was serious. She got up quickly and didn’t complain when I jerked her forward. I pulled the big gun out of my pocket and used my thumb to pull back the lever that meant I could pull the trigger. Any Howler that wanted my sister would have to kill me first.

The Howler screamed again; it was gaining on us. It was only about twenty feet away, but when I turned around, I couldn’t see anything. They could make themselves disappear and look like whatever they were close to. You didn’t see one until it was too late…

I held my sister’s hand and we began to run. We only had a few miles to go, and even as that thing began to scream and I heard the scraping of claws on the ground pursuing us, I had to believe we would be okay. We would be okay.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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What inspires me to pursue this is that I had no medication for nearly three years, thanks to a lack of medical insurance. I knew that keeping my heart rate up, and thus my metabolism high, could be enough to keep the disease at bay—if I was willing to work hard enough.

Well, I’m willing to work hard enough.
That’s the first thing I need to stress; if you have this disease, food is not your worst enemy; ignorance is. Doing nothing and hoping things will change will only lead you to your own funeral, and the trip there won’t be pleasant. If you got it, then you got it, now deal with it.

Many experts (including a couple of doctors I’ve seen) agree that exercise can take the place of medication, and I can live a long, healthy life if I take care of myself. Trouble is, I’ve always been active, I’m getting older, and I can’t push myself like I used to. Still, I have to find a way…

September 22, 2009

My blood sugar was at an all time low of 97 this morning! To top that off, I’m sleeping through the night without making trips to the bathroom, and my pants are noticeably beginning to hang off of me now. I have to credit part of this to the Subway diet; believe me, it works. I eat the Subway Cluv (no double meat) with lettuce, tomato, cheese, onions, sweet peppers, and loads of jalapenos. Fills me up for the rest of the day and it doesn’t make me sleepy afterwards.

I’m going to start posting recipes next week; I credit a lot of the reduction to smoothies for breakfast, low (but healthy) snacking, and light lunches/dinners. The heaviest I eat is BBQ chicken, fettucine alfredo, and a salad. I won’t lie; I come home from work some nights and I do not feel like cooking. Often, I’ll chop up a salad, make up some pizza soup, or bake up some teriyaki chicken wraps (recipes coming). The prep time for most of these is under an hour and the carb count is decent.

Believe that as a type two diabetic, most carbs are not your friend. Your body breaks down carbs into sugar, and as there’s not enough insulin to process the sugar, it slows you down. Your heart has to work harder to cycle through your bloodstream…I’ve been through this before. But I seem to be on the right track.

Now, the downside.
Stark reality; I’m not as young as I used to be, and I can’t push myself as hard as I once could. I still enjoy morning runs, and I greatly enjoy training, but since I get so sore the next day, I find that I have to alternate days exercising. On the recovery days, I really have to watch what I eat. Even then, my blood sugar didn’t get higher than 170…which is still high, but not as high as it used to be. Keeping the disease in check is possible, but requires a lot of patience.

Something else that’s been going through my head lately; there is no cure for type two diabetes. I’ll have it until the the day I die. If I’m lucky, it won’t kill me.
It’s possible to replace medication with exercise (my goal), but what happens if I can no longer exercise?

I hope that’s far off. In the meantime, I can only work with what I have. Until next week.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Dear Everyone,
I’m not going to lie; this has not been a good weekend. I made a quick run to California (the state, not the city) and I’ve been playing catch-up ever since. I realized that a lot of you tuned in, expecting to see Joshua’s story get started, and watch the continuation of Universal Warrior.

Things are a little more on track; Joshua will formally make his debut as #FridayFlash fiction on September 25, 2009. Universal Warrior will continue as Michael finds himself in a very strange place on September 27, 2009.

I’m sorry I let my personal problems get in the way of my writing. I promise not to disappoint next week. Please tune in then, and thanks for following along!
Sincerely,

Avery K. Tingle
Author, Universal Warrior

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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What inspires me to pursue this is that I had no medication for nearly three years, thanks to a lack of medical insurance. I knew that keeping my heart rate up, and thus my metabolism high, could be enough to keep the disease at bay—if I was willing to work hard enough.

Well, I’m willing to work hard enough.
That’s the first thing I need to stress; if you have this disease, food is not your worst enemy; ignorance is. Doing nothing and hoping things will change will only lead you to your own funeral, and the trip there won’t be pleasant. If you got it, then you got it, now deal with it.

Many experts (including a couple of doctors I’ve seen) agree that exercise can take the place of medication, and I can live a long, healthy life if I take care of myself. Trouble is, I’ve always been active, I’m getting older, and I can’t push myself like I used to. Still, I have to find a way…

September 15, 2009

Woke up this morning and went for a three mile run, nearly spraining my leg in the process. Had an 8-ounce smoothie (one banana, handful of blueberries, four strawberries, lowfat milk, and the prep time is under five minutes), and a cup of black coffee for breakfast.

I left my meter at work so I wasn’t able to test until close to noon. By then, I had walked up to work (another half mile) and downed another six ounces of coffee.

An hour after that, my blood sugar was 137. Makes sense, because I keep myself pretty energetic to work, but it’s still higher than I’d like.

Lunch, I went a little overboard at a local Chinese restaurant; chicken lo mein (pasta takes a long time to digest), General Tso’s chicken, Vietnam Garlic Chicken, Chicken Dim Sum (seeing a pattern here?)

I really should’ve made that orange soda diet.

Beyond that, I had one sugar free red bull.

Again, I left my meter at work. Final reading of the day; 152.

I shouldn’t have done lunch like that.
Dinner is critical, because as the night goes on, your heart rate slows down, and your blood sugar rises on it’s own. Closing the night out with two sandwich wraps (sliced chicken/roast beef, American Cheese, tomatoes, green onions, and mild salsa).

Tomorrow is another day. Lesson learned; run more, eat in a more balanced manner. Here’s hoping for better results next week.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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“Diamond Dust” by Frances Gonzalez revolves around a young girl named Max who has lived with a voice predicting the apocalypse since she was four.

Thirteen chapters into this story, what really grabs me is how well-illustrated the environments and character relationships are. Ms. Gonzalez brings Boston to life with ease and vivid clarity, making for a personal and very plausible read. You feel as though you walk directly beside Max, through the outdoor bustle of a shopping center to a symphony performance. The words come together very well, stringing together nicely to paint incredibly vivid imagery.

Equally plausible is the relationship between the characters, especially Max and her mother. A scene I particularly enjoyed was when Max was caught sneaking back into the small apartment she shared with her mother. Her mother’s irritation turning to anger makes one wonder how often Ms. Gonzalez may have snuck in herself, to be able to recall parental reactions with such detail. Also enjoyable is Max in this exchange; although her resistance when opening up with her mother could be dismissed as typical teenage angst, in truth, she’s holding something far more sinister back. But I won’t tell you what it is. You should read this story to find out.

I really don’t have any complaints about this story. Ms. Gonzalez uses a theme on blogspot that makes the story easy to read without straining the eyes. No entry is very lengthy, and the depths of her characters makes you want to know how it will all end out. A very solid, enjoyable read, and I look forward to resuming.

You can find a copy of this review at Web Fiction Guide. If you’re looking for more of the web’s best fiction, you should also check out Muse’s Success.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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This is going to be a rant into cyberspace. You’ve been warned.
I’m not an easy person to know. I’m self-destructive and I push people away relentlessly. I can be mean; I know exactly what to say to hurt someone’s feelings. I don’t like the idea of getting close to anyone.

Why? Because I’d rather go through slow self-castration with a serrated edge than repeat what happened with Julie.

I’ve never been all that popular. I got used to it after I got older, especially after Julie died. It’s one thing when you feel as though the world has shut you out; it’s another thing entirely when you come to believe that you don’t need the world.

One way or another, I’ve been taking care of myself since I was thirteen. When I left home, I never returned (to live). It was never an option. Beyond that, whether or not I was on the street, I found I could take care of myself; I could provide my own food and shelter, I could keep myself clean, and I could get myself to where I needed to go—even if it meant walking for miles.

So why should I give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks? No one could do anything for me that I couldn’t do myself. I answer to no one.

See, this creates a conflict, though; being a father was the best time of my life. Some of my most vivid memories revolve around being a husband and a father. Granted, my marriage was a disaster, but it wasn’t all bad. And the times that were good…they were great.

I don’t want to be alone, I just don’t know how not to be.
My fledgling personal life has paid a heavy price for it. My mood has been in the toilet lately, so much so that it’s even affected my writing. I have no focus. I’m confused.

Wait, it’s not that I’m confused, it’s that I’m scared.  It’s as though everything I’ve ever wanted in life is right in front of me, just waiting for me to reach out for it…and I have no idea how. What if I fuck this up, like every other good thing in my life?

Everything I ever got in life that was worth it, I had to fight for it. This ranges from material possessions to my best relationships. The fight makes it worth it.
What I face now is no different, except I have never been this afraid of losing.

But I’m never going to know unless I give it everything I have, right?

I’m going to try. I have to try. If I fail…then I have to live with it, but I will not fail because I refused to try.
So here goes. Thanks for reading, welcome to my madness.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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With the rage and force of a meteor, she plummeted through the black vacuum of space. Darkness gave way to reddened skies as she struck the ground, hitting with enough force to rouse all of Heaven.

She looked around. Mist rose from the ground.

The screams, the horrible, agonizing screams of those hurt or dying, rose through the ground, piercing her ears again. She clutched her hands to her ears and fell to her knees, desperate to drown them out, if only for a moment. They had grown in number and intensity over the past hour. They could not drown out her own conscience, the eternal voice in her head telling her that she had failed, that they were all dead because of her. The mechanical sirens echoing from down below, a universe over, only indicated to her that many more would be judged that day. Those that were already screaming took the sirens as a sign that help was on the way.

There would be no hope for them. Not today.

She couldn’t bear it anymore. Her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest, and her teeth were clenched so tightly that it hurt.

“GOD!” she shrieked. She knew this wasn’t the way to reach Him; through anger and despair. At the moment, she didn’t care. “ANSWER ME!”

“Ariel,” the gentle, masculine voice was omnipresent, everywhere and nowhere. It would’ve been calming if she hadn’t been so angry. Instead, she stood, fists clenched, shaking, and she looked around. “What troubles you, my daughter?”

“What troubles me?” she echoed, her voice shaking. “Do you not hear them, my Lord?” For the first time, the screams existed outside of her head, flooding Heaven. There wasn’t an Angel—or demon—that was unable to hear it.

There was a thunderous explosion that emanated from the ground, and the screams doubled. Ariel could see in her mind’s eye what had just occurred; hundreds more had just died on Earth. Another plane had crashed into the second structure. Fires not even hell could produce billowed up from the gaping hole in the once-mighty structure. She fought back tears.

“How…” her voice was quaking. Tears flew from her eyes as she turned her head to the sky. “HOW could you let this happen?”

No answer.

“No matter their sins, they did not deserve this,” she continued, trying to raise her voice above the screams and sirens. Her knees gave out, she fell to the ground. “They did not deserve this…”

Her mind was flooded with images of what was surely to come: an endless string of funerals, memorials, grievances, wounds that no counseling would ever be able to heal. “Is it any wonder they turn away from You?” she whispered, knowing the consequences such a question could bring, and no longer caring. “You say You love them, yet You do nothing in their hour of need.”

“My child…” God’s voice finally returned. “It was no mistake that I appointed you Guardian of Earth. You feel their pain as they do; you seek Me even when they will not.”

“Then why?” Ariel managed, her voice cracking. “Why did you not warn me? I could have stopped this.”

“Observe,” God replied.

To Ariel’s left, the fog dissipated. The reflective onyx opened to reveal clear glass; the screams and madness had ceased. She braced herself on her hands, leaning over to see. A gaping crater, four miles wide and twice as deep, now stood where the towers had been. It was no longer blocked off. People walked around it freely, some stopping to observe solemnly before going on their way.

In another part of the world, a teacher educated her class. Pointing to a child’s design on the chalkboard, she said something Ariel couldn’t hear, and the children laughed. The teacher laughed with them.

A man returned home from work that night. His two children ran up to him, embracing him tightly around his knees and nearly knocking him off balance. His young wife chuckled as she watched, gingerly wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck and kissing his cheek.

The world’s law enforcement somberly geared up, securing bulletproof vests around their torsos and buttoning their dark uniforms. They joked with each other. Outside of the building, the flags of their countries blew proudly.

Ariel shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“They will move on, my daughter,” God replied easily. “They are a resilient people. They will recover from this, and they will go forward.”

Ariel still wasn’t sure she understood. God’s explanation brought no satisfaction. “But what of today, Father?”

“Today they must suffer.”

The onyx closed and the fog reappeared. The heavy weight returned to Ariel’s stomach as the screams began anew. “They will never find their way back, will they?”

“They will when they are ready. They are strong, Ariel. They will get through this. But we will never intervene directly; doing so robs them of their free will. And we have no right to do that.”

Ariel lowered her head; as always, no immediate resolution or closure, just a promise that everything would be alright.

“I have shown you what is to come,” God’s voice was more authoritative this time. Now, we have work to do.”

Ariel nodded. “Yes, Father.”

With that, she rocketed into the sky, bound invisibly for New York and the chaos that had been unexpectedly unleashed.

But she had seen.

They would move on.

And in that knowledge, she smiled. It would all work out in the end.

This story is dedicated to the memory of everyone who perished on September 11, 2001. This story is also dedicated to those who continue to survive.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I know I’ve been horribly remiss about the reviews lately. I can say I’ve been really busy (and I have) but the truth is, I haven’t been allocated my time very well.

I also have a bit of a quirk; I don’t like to read the first four chapters of a story before writing a review, because something you dislike about the story or characters may change completely down the road. I like to read as much of it as I can so I can write a thorough review.

So, that being said, here’s the updated review schedule, and I’ll actually meet the deadlines on this one.

If you have a request, please let me know; I’ll add you to the list. Thanks for reading, enjoy the reviews and stories!

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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When I was in my early-to-mid twenties, I was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes. It happened by accident; I was at the doctor’s trying to get cleared for something, they ran my blood work, surprise; no more Reese’s for you.

Of course, being me, I didn’t take it seriously; there are certain foods I’m just not willing to give up. I’ll find a way to beat it. I always do.
Well, it didn’t quite work out that way. Type 2 can be a bitch, unmanaged. You live in the bathroom, especially at night. You can also drain the Pacific and still be thirsty as hell. And you sleep; you sleep a lot, whether you want to or not.

Sometimes you can sleep and not be sure if you’ll ever wake up.

You sleep because your heart is having such a hard time getting blood through your system that the only way it can do so is to shut you down. And if it can’t get the process back up to speed, well…

Type 2 Diabetes is the result of your body’s inability to produce enough insulin to counter the sugar that passes through your bloodstream. The sugar then acts like acid, literally eroding away at your major organs. Left unchecked, it can result in the amputation of your limbs. Amputation follows diabetic neuropathy.

Going from a physically active lifestyle to sleeping fifteen hours at a time was kind of a wake-up call. I was happy to learn that exercise, especially aerobic exercise, greatly countered the effects of this poison racing through my bloodstream.

I began to take it seriously. I was unmedicated for three years—during which time, I actually lowered my blood sugar by more than fifty points by exercise alone. I came to learn that enough exercise can actually replace the need for medication. I can live a very long life if I take care of myself…

I confess that there’s more to it than that…
When I was younger, and I fought, I could dance. I could float across the ground like I was walking on clouds, make my opponent dizzy just by continuing to circle them, and frustrate them by making them miss their every move. A friend of mind once told me he just wanted to grab me and plant me into the ground so he could land one clean shot. It was too much work trying to chase me down. Even more so, my right leg was a tripwire with a cannonball at the end of it. It was a threat from any range, at any distance. I used to taunt people; I didn’t even need my hands. You get close enough to me, and my right leg will take the wind right out of you.

Nothing beats the sensation of flying; leaping through the air and tagging your opponent with three kicks before gracefully returning to terra firma.

Type 2 slows you down. My entire body felt so heavy that when I fought my last battle in Saginaw, I did it using boxing—and got very, very lucky.

I run an average of about seven miles a week now. I can’t leap like I used to, but my body is beginning to remember the footwork again. What few sparring sessions I’ve had, the physical memory is kicking in. I may never be as fast as I used to be, but if I can lighten my body, it’ll make things easier on my heart.

If George Foreman can win the heavyweight crown at forty-five, I have no excuses.

My goal is to be completely off of medication by the time I’m thirty-five. To this end, I’m (somewhat) careful about my diet, I work out religiously, and I monitor my blood sugar.

This category is going to be a weekly journal of my progress. I find that I’m more accountable when people are reading. Beyond that, I’d like to help anyone who’s at risk for getting this disease, or having trouble managing it. I’ll post what I’m eating, how I work out, my blood sugar levels—even when I screw up. For the record, Red Bull Sugar Free is a great energy drink that doesn’t skyrocket your blood sugar.

Feel free to contact me or comment, and thanks for following along.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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