Akting Out

A Triumphant Return To Fighting Game Greatness

For those of who mimicked Scorpion’s infamous “GET OVER HERE” and felt slighted by Mortal Kombat 3, this one’s for us.

No more clumsy run button. No more “Heroic Fatalities”. No more saturated roster featuring palette-swapped versions of Scorpion and Sub-Zero. Netherealm studios resurrects one of gaming’s great franchises with a simple, yet robust control scheme, some of the best visuals ever presented in the genre, and enough blood, guts, and gore to turn even Hannibal Lecter’s stomach. In almost every way imaginable, Mortal Kombat is a success.

This is a deft reimagining of the story, blending the familiar with an edgier storyline. Old-school gamers may remember that the first Mortal Kombat game was actually the tenth in the game’s story; Shang Tsung had been victorious in the previous nine tournaments, thanks to Goro (and we all remember the four-armed, what-the-f*ck-is-that monster Goro). In this new story, Shao Kahn, lord of Outworld, has conquered Earthrealm, massacring everyone in the process. Defeated and broken, Rayden, the series’ god of thunder and protector of Earthrealm, sends a message to his past version of himself.

On the eve of Mortal Kombat’s ninth tournament, the younger Rayden receives this warning, along with visions of the future that will pass should Earthrealm’s warriors fail. Galvanized by these visions, Rayden hurriedly assembles Earthrealm’s warriors, along with anyone else who might stand against what’s coming, and leads them into Mortal Kombat.

Netherealm returned Mortal Kombat to its five-button roots (two punches, two kicks, and a block) and revamps the system from Deadly Alliance. Thankfully, you no longer have to switch stances repeatedly to execute certain moves; weapons are drawn automatically throughout the course of battle. While some characters have extra stances from which they can deliver more powerful strikes, they are no longer mandatory, functioning more like add-ins. Sequential button strikes are still the key to success. Interface is tight and responsive. New to the gameplay are a super meter, which allows players to execute Enhanced moves (think Street Fighter’s EX moves), Breakers (think Killer Instinct’s Combo Breaker) and X-Ray moves (think PAIN). Thankfully, all of these moves are simple to execute, usually requiring two button presses to get things going.

This may be one of the best-looking fighting games ever made. Netherealm demonstrates their mastery of Epic’s Unreal engine by presenting characters that register plausible emotional depth along with gut-wrenching broken bones and bloody mutilation. None of it is drastic, or jarring; when your character gets up a bloody mess because Scorpion just stepped on their chest, it’s believable. The X-Ray moves are the game’s visual standout, aside from the fatalities. As a jaded gamer who has lost track of how many foes I’ve digitally decapitated and dismembered over the years, I still winced every time one of these was executed. Cyrax’s is a good example; with the Powerbomb finisher, you actually see the spine contort and the jaw shatter.
The arenas are so well-executed that they’re almost distracting. One scene I couldn’t get enough of featured priests making a human sacrifice during the battle. Arena fatalities, such as our beloved pit, are back.

The fatalities are back, and they are awesome, there is no simpler way to put it. Thankfully, among the two million game modes Netherealm gave us is a fatality tutorial, which is great for practicing button inputs and distance. Plus, if you want to skip all of the action, this is for you. Kung Lao’s saw fatality is most certainly not for the faint of heart—and it never gets old.

Speaking of game modes, Netherealm has assured that you’ll be playing for months; aside from the traditional climb-the-ladder, the game comes complete with a variety of test-your-might modes, including a roulette-like Test Your Luck. The Story mode, while occasionally feeling hurried, raises the bar for storytelling in fighting games. An extensive quest involving every character in the game, this nine-hour mode provides in-depth looks at some of our favorite characters. You’ll see human versions of Cyrax and Sektor, and learn the truth behind the hatred between the doomed Scorpion and Sub-Zero.

Mortal Kombat is a vivid and stellar reimagining of a defining franchise. For those of us who had waited for its return to greatness, it’s worth the asking price. For those of us who enjoy fighting games and want to see what all the old-schoolers are talking about, it’s still worth the asking price. Here’s hoping Netherealm keeps things going, and we get a Mortal Kombat 2 in the same vein.

Note: This game is rated M by the ESRB. This may be one of the most violent video games ever made. Not recommended for children.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Zeus smirked as he looked right, towards his brother. “Come on.” He goaded, “Say it.”
Odin seemed to scowl, disappointed as he cast a sideways glance at Zeus, and the two began making their way down the stairs. “I will not.” His voice was deep, rumbling, baritone, belying his unassuming frame. “It was not a fair contest.”
“Well, you should’ve considered that before you made the wager.” Zeus countered, their sandals echoing loudly through the great chamber as they made their way towards the small crowd. “But in the meantime,” Zeus pointed at himself confidently with his thumb, “I am the victor.”
“Take whatever small victory you wish, Zeus.” Odin growled, a cocky smile creeping across his face. “It does not change the outcome of our last match…or the match before that one…or the match before…”
“Hey.” Zeus stopped, turning and pointing a finger in Odin’s face. “That last one doesn’t count. The only reason why you won was because you threw the moon at me.”
“And how is your inability to defend yourself my concern, dear brother?” Odin smiled. Zeus slowly lowered his finger; there was nothing to say. Odin tapped him twice on the shoulder. “You trained your pupil well, brother. The victory is yours. But we know who the better of us is, do we not?”
Odin chuckled as he headed towards the small group, Reginald’s mouth still open as he took the entire scene in, awestruck. Zeus followed after a moment, whispering at his brother, under his breath; “Arrogant ass.”

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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“By Yang…” Angelica’s thought was breathless, and she raised a finger, pointing behind the three of them, “…look at that.”
As one, the three turned, and Reginald immediately held up both arms protectively, positioning himself as a shield between the others and what had caught Angelica’s eye. After a moment, it became clear that there was no threat, although the sight was no less frightening.
A large, dead orca was belly-up, slowly descending through the water is it passed them from the right. It had come within a foot of them as it continued to slowly drift towards the Atherean floor. Upon seeing its stomach, Lihua wretched, whipping away and covering her mouth. Reginald scowled, drifting and pushing them all back.
Whatever had killed the orca had ripped its stomach out, exposing jagged ribs and an eviscerated midsection to the waters. Its killer had also been thorough; only a gaping, crimson hole remained where its stomach and heart had once been. It had left a small blood trail in its wake as it had passed them by.
“Amen, take your child back into your bosom, and grant him or her peace, let them never know suffering again…” Angelica prayed. The dead orca was close to disappearing when Jayden’s thoughts Reached them. “We should follow it.”
“Follow it where, exactly?” Lihua snapped. “I think it’s pretty obvious where it’s going.”
Reginald raised a hand to silence Lihua and looked at Jayden. “Why?”
Jayden looked to the vapor-like blood trail the orca had left. “That orca isn’t decomposing yet. It was killed recently. That means whatever did it is still nearby.”
No one said aloud how chilling that thought was, but everyone took a quick peek in every direction to ensure their safety. Reginald was wary; their luminescence only allowed them to see about three feet ahead, and the water was black after that. All it took was the right angle, and they could be torn apart before they knew they were under attack…
Reginald quickly forced the thought from his mind. Blind fear didn’t serve anyone, and Angelica’s enhanced telepathy should’ve made sneaking up on them impossible. “I’m not sure of the point you’re trying to make…” Reginald urged Jayden. “Oh, it’s simple.” Jayden’s smile and suddenly cool attitude made Reginald uncomfortable, “The orca’s not finished. Whatever did that may come back for seconds.”
“Jayden!” Angelica chastised, “That was a living being!”
“Yes, it was.” Jayden fired back, “Right now, it’s the best lead we have.” He looked back at Reginald. “We stay behind it and either wait for its killer to come back for…more…or the blood will draw out others. Isn’t that what you said Bethany said? They went into a frenzy in Jayce’s blood?”
Reginald nodded, surprised that the usual remorse that accompanied thoughts about his family was gone. “Then the orca will lead us to where we want to go. It’ll lead us to the things that killed Beth and the others.”
No one thought anything. The orca had disappeared from sight.
It wasn’t much to go on, but Jayden was right; at this point, it was all they had.
“Angelica.” Reginald finally Reached, “Please stay alert. If anything comes within a mile of us, we need to know.”
Angelica nodded, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. “I’ll watch out.”
“Stay in the dark, stay behind it, and if Angelica gives the word, break off, no questions asked. We’re not here to engage. Are we clear?”
Lihua nodded. “Yes.”
Angelica was already looking down, into the darkness, where the orca had vanished. “”Yes, I understand. I don’t want to engage anything, anyway.”
Jayden was the only one who hadn’t spoken up. Reginald looked directly at him. “We clear, Jayden?”
Jayden stared at Reginald. He said nothing.
“I’m not playing games, Jayden.” Reginald warned.
After a second longer, Jayden nodded. “I’m clear, Reginald.”
The imprint from Jayden’s mind said that he was anything but.
Reginald couldn’t worry about it now, especially if he had been right, and the orca’s killer was coming back for more. “Let’s go.”
Reginald led the way, and the four descended into the Atherean, each one silently hoping not to suffer its fate.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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This is a letter Roger Goodell, Commissioner of the National Football League, sent to all of the fans on Monday, January 3, 2011. It speaks about, but gives little detail, on how the NFL will deal with injured players, and a re-vamped season that only allows for two preseason games and an extended season. Personally, I don’t like the intones of this letter, but I’d love to know what you think. Thanks for reading. –Avery

With one of the most exciting regular seasons now completed and the playoffs about to begin, let me first thank you and all NFL fans for your incredible support. Many fans have been asking me where we stand on signing a new collective bargaining agreement with the players union. Let me update you and be clear at the outset:

I know we can and will reach an agreement.

My goal as Commissioner now is to help our teams and players find a solution that is fair to everyone and ensures that football becomes more popular, accessible, and fun. We want the next decade to be the best yet for our fans, and I’m ready to work day and night to make that happen.

We’ve come a long way. Compare where we are today with 10 years ago. From player accountability to player safety, more and better television coverage, upgrading the in-stadium experience, innovations like the RedZone channel, the Draft in prime time and playing the Pro Bowl before the Super Bowl, we are focused on doing what’s best for the players, teams, and fans. My priority is and always will be the game and the fans who love our game.

The NFL is great because fans care deeply about it. Economic conditions, however, have changed dramatically inside and outside the NFL since 2006 when we negotiated the last CBA. A 10 percent unemployment rate hurts us all. Fans have limited budgets and rightly want the most for their money. I get it.

Yes, NFL players deserve to be paid well. Unfortunately, economic realities are forcing everyone to make tough choices and the NFL is no different.

These are not easy negotiations, but the outcome can be positive. If both sides give a little, everyone, including fans, will get a lot and the game will improve through innovation.

Even in difficult economic times, a new CBA presents us with the opportunity to secure the future of our game. You may ask how will the NFL look under this vision?

A significant change would be to resolve fan complaints about preseason by modifying our 20-game format. Fans tell us they don’t like the quality of the preseason games, and we’re listening. An enhanced season of 18 regular season and two preseason games would not add a single game for the players collectively, but would give fans more meaningful, high-quality football.

Our emphasis on player health and safety is absolutely essential to the future of our game. We are strictly enforcing rules that protect players from unnecessarily dangerous play, especially involving hits to the head. We are changing the “play through it” culture to a “player-first” culture to ensure that if a player has a head injury, he doesn’t play again until his health is certain. We are also addressing the potential wear-and-tear on players in the way they train in-season and off-season.

It’s not just the health of players that concerns us. We must ensure the health of the league. That includes a new system that properly compensates proven veterans and retired players by shifting some of the outrageous sums paid to many unproven rookies. Earlier this year, Sports Illustrated published a list of the 50 highest-paid American athletes that included five 2009 NFL rookies. Every other athlete on the list was a proven veteran. In 2009, NFL clubs contracted $1.2 billion to 256 drafted rookies with $585 million guaranteed before they had stepped on an NFL field.

Don’t get me wrong: top draft choices will continue to be highly paid. All we’re asking for is a return to common sense in paying our rookies. Other leagues have done this and we can too.

These improvements and more will lead to better football, plain and simple. A forward looking CBA that is fair to players and clubs will lead to a great future for the NFL and our fans.

My job is to represent the game — the fans, teams, players, coaches and business partners. Protecting the integrity of the game and ensuring it thrives is a responsibility I take very seriously.

This is about more than a labor agreement. It’s about the future of the NFL. We have to improve and will be relentless in our quest. The commitment to our fans is to make the NFL experience even better in the years ahead. With a responsible CBA, we will fulfill that vision.

Happy New Year and enjoy the playoffs.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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“Why do you do it?” It’s a question I’m asked more than any other (the second being what brought me to Missouri from California). From the outsider’s perspective, it’s a fair question; it hurts like hell, and it seems infantile, two grown men (or women) trying to beat each other into submission. At the end, you’re left beaten, bloody, bruised…and loving it?

Yeah, maybe we are a little crazy.

I’ve studied martial arts for more than twenty-five years, and I’ve yet to articulate why we put ourselves through this. Last night, after getting my bell rung by a former semi-professional boxer, I think I may have found a way.

First of all, I’m not a fan of street fighting. Two (or more) people banging away on each other in an uncontrolled environment isn’t something I enjoy. It’s violence that serves no purpose and could’ve been avoided, had the parties involved been smart enough to think things through.
Sufficient training teaches you to avoid, and then diffuse these situations altogether.

So, why do those who can, fight?

1). You Never Stop Learning.
I love to learn. I love the learning process, I love the experience, and I love the accomplishment. You can study one style of martial art forever and never grasp everything there is to know. You can never stop improving; there is no limit to how far you can go.
I’m also fascinated by the education; Capoeira, which I’ve studied for about five years, was originally founded as a method for slaves to defend themselves against their captors. The theory of the style was that the foot, supposedly the hardest part of the body, needed to connect to the head, which was considered the weakest. As slaves were traditionally chained, learning to use their feet in self- defense was mandatory. To prevent their captors from learning what they were up to,ey were up to, they disguised the style as a dance. No joke.
I find Capoeira not only compliments Tae Kwon Do nicely, but it’s great for cardio and rhythm training.
You never quit learning.

2). Discipline
In its original form, a lot of martial arts were meant to take life. Some styles were developed specifically for killing.  Krav Maga is a great example of this; it was taught to soldiers who had to kill their enemies quickly and silently, usually in close quarters.
A lifelong practitioner’s knowledge of human anatomy can rival that of a surgeon’s. As martial artists, we’re trained to do everything in our power to avoid a confrontation (I’m admittedly weak on this point), but if we’re forced into something, we cannot give into anger. Doing so means we will either cripple or kill our opponent.
I think the best aspect of the martial arts is not the power it endows, but the discipline it ingrains. Anybody can fight. Not everyone can walk away.
I confess; when fighting, I’ve done real damage to my opponents. Sometimes, it was to put them down, sometimes, I did it just because it was what the crowd wanted. I wasn’t justified in any case, and I should’ve paid more attention when I was training.

3). Unification
Imagine for a moment what would happen if you were able to unify your mind, body, and spirit towards a single objective.
You punch; in a single moment, you’ve told your fist exactly where to strike, to put your whole body into it for extra damage, and to lock your arm at the elbow for impact’s sake. You’ve conditioned your mind to hit hard enough to knock the other person back, to convey to them physically that you can hit them much harder if you like. If your spirit is in the punch, your opponent will feel it. I have a hard time articulating how the spirit factors in; you have to feel that for yourself.

When you’re able to channel your mind, your body, and your spirit towards a single objective, you will find that very few things can stand in your way. You learn how to do this from your first day of training, and as you progress, you learn to apply it to everyday life. The unification is what other people sense when they’re in the presence of someone who has devoted their entire life to studying the martial arts.
I know how to do this, but I haven’t figured out how to harness it full-time yet. I have yet to rise above the lure of fighting’s brutality.

Now, given these three things, you may understand what draws some of us to the martial arts, but it doesn’t explain why we fight.

Human beings are naturally competitive. We pay big money to see people who what they do best, against each other. Hell, we put big money on the outcomes.

Fighting is no different.  We compete to determine the best.

Going a bit deeper…
Trust plays a huge role in it. You have to trust that the person will not hit you hard enough to (severely) hurt you, and you have to trust that they will stop when you tell them too. When you’re sparring someone, you may be putting your life in their hands. My strongest friendships are with those I can trust with my life. My closest friends are former opponents.

This kicks off my next point; beneath whatever reason you may be fighting, there’s almost always respect. Win or lose, you have to respect someone who is willing to take your best shot and ask for more. I don’t see that kind of respect in everyday life. Between fighters, you don’t have to ask; it’s either there or it isn’t. You just know. Chances are it will be there by the end of the altercation.

This may be just me, but I love the moment-to-moment. I live by my instincts, and nothing exemplifies this more than a good match. The earlier point I made about Unification; when you’re sparring/fighting, you have to trust in yourself that you will react appropriately in the right situation. You can plan in advance, but if you hesitate in the moment, you lose. The punch comes; you block. You don’t think about blocking, you just do it. You do it because you’ve spent so much time training yourself to respond that way. When the same works for your opponent, it can be beautiful to watch—and experience.

I’ve just spent about a thousand words on my favorite subject, and truthfully, I could probably write a book. Studying martial arts can open your mind up to unbelievable experiences, and give you ways to control yourself—and the world around you—that you can’t even imagine.

I love to learn, because it makes me better. I love the physicality of the martial arts, I love the trust that comes from fighting a friend (before you think I’m too out there…remember when you were a kid, you had beef with someone, you guys went outside and knocked each other silly, and were best friends from there on out?). I love the power you can achieve and the discipline to wield it.

I love the idea that our bodies can be more dangerous than anything we create.

This is Why We Fight.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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It’s another night in Elkton, Michigan. Winter is setting in; meaning it’s not safe to go outside if you’re not used to it. Lake effect means nothing until you’ve experienced it. The wind rushes off the dangerously cold water, penetrating every layer of clothing, reaching clear through to your bones and then gripping with arctic certainty.

Luckily, we’re inside, and it’s a comfortable, moderated sixty-eight degrees. Brian, my husky, well-fed best friend is on the worn loveseat across the room. He sits back lazily, one leg outstretched while the other hangs carelessly off the edge. I have to lean over occasionally to make sure he’s still awake. He is; he’s just not saying much. He never does. At six feet, two inches tall and weighing in on the other side of two fifty, he doesn’t need to say much. He’s not fat; he’s built like a linebacker and hits twice as hard.

I’m in an equally worn recliner that long since quit reclining. I’m nodding in and out of a Dukes of Hazzard marathon that was Brian’s idea; he picked up the entire series on DVD and wanted me to help him break it in. I watched the show as a kid, but as an adult nearing thirty, I’m watching two country boys tear up the country in an orange 69 Charger. What did I see in this?

Oh yeah; Daisy. And I love the General Lee.
Brian and I used to clown how my affection for the General Lee would be enough to revoke my token-black-guy status. If my love for muscle cars won’t do it, I often say, it’s my penchant for enunciating my words and undying love for all things Star Wars. That, and I say things like penchant.

There’s another side to me, though.
I’m a little surprised by the buzzing at my waist; reaching for my phone, I glance at the ID before flipping it open and answering. Kristy.
I don’t even get to say hi.
“Marcus!!” Her uncharacteristically panicked voice screamed over the earpiece. Instantly, Brian is sitting up. “Please! He’s never been like this…please come get me!”
“What the fuck are you doing?!”
Rage seeps in; I know that voice, approaching in the distance, over the phone.
“Kristy? Are you in Caseville?” I manage. Brian sits forward intently.
“YES!!” She screams. I feel relieved. I know exactly where she is. “MARCUS, PLEASE! Hurry!”
“Bitch! Who’re you on the phone with–”

Click.

Line goes dead.

Exhaling slowly, I lower the phone. It remains in my hand as an uncomfortable silence lingers between Brian and I. We connect on the fact that women and children are not to be abused. That connection makes our next exchange poignant and defining of our friendship.
“Let’s go get her.” He says.
“Yeah.” I nod, getting to my feet, putting my phone in my pocket. “Let’s.”
It’s a rehearsed routine we’ve never done before. In silence, we put on our coats and tie our shoes. He tosses me my fingerless gloves from across the room. I secure them tightly on my hands (I always likened putting on my gloves to someone taking the safety off of a gun) and tighten the nylon do-rag on my head.

We exit the house, heading to his old, beaten up, reliable F-150. It starts after a fashion, and we’re soon on the way to Caseville. Neither of us mention that it’s below thirty out here.
The ride to Caseville takes twenty minutes and is uneventful. The ride back will be anything but.

Chad’s—Kristy’s-soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend—house is a testament to architectural genius, a small castles among other homes. It looks like a looming monster in the dead of night, lightless and uninviting. It doesn’t stop us.
We park a block away and silently make our way to the house. I survey three stories from the exterior and note that there are no other cars in the driveway besides Chad’s. No resistance.
“Take the back.” I whisper to Brian as I approach the front door. Without responding, he vanishes into the darkness, off to the left. Resolved, I make my way to the front door as logic feebly tries to make it’s argument.
You don’t have a key…
Don’t need one…
Instincts have taken completely over as I step onto the porch and thrust my foot through the front door, which opens wildly, swinging into the house and threatening to close, stopped by my hand.

The house is illuminated, large, and vacant. Openings ahead of me at the stairs and from the rooms at both my left and right make me uneasy; too much to cover. “Kristy?” I call. Nothing.
Again, instinct takes over. I head to the right.

I enter a beautiful, full kitchen, complete with a bar. To the left, cowered in the corner, is Kristy. Her face is red from crying—she has a black eye, I’ll make him pay for that later—but otherwise, she’s fine. She cowers even further as I approach. Only when I speak does she seem to loosen up. “Kristy.” I say in my gentlest voice. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She whimpers, looking up to me. She quickly gets up; I grab her hand, and we’re heading for the front door–
Chad is entering the kitchen. Tall, skinny, clean-cut, the presence of privilege is replaced by abstract horror when he locks eyes with me. We’ve met before. I warned him what would happen—jokingly—if he hurt her.

A large, shiny butcher’s knife is in his right hand.
Rage takes over. What were you going to do?
Time slows. I push Kristy behind me as he brings his hand up. I step inside of him, pressing my back to his stomach as both of my hands clasp his wrist. For a moment, he struggles, but a sharp, downward motion on the wrist sends the knife clattering to the ground. With everything I have (which is a lot) I turn around and drive my fist squarely into his jaw. The force is enough to rip his arm free of my grasp.
Oh, don’t go to bed yet.
I pursue. He resists, but it makes no difference; his money has gotten him out of everything, and I dismantle people for a living. He doesn’t have a chance. Foot in his stomach, his groin. My fist under his chin, my elbow at the back of his spine. Hold him like a sack of potatoes, teach him how to fly.

He can barely move. He hurt her.
Kick, delivered sharply to his ribs. He moans. He struggles. Again, a kick. He moans, but lacks the strength to struggle. Another kick. And another. I can’t hear anything else, feel anything else…I’m dizzy. Another kick.
“Marcus.”
Brian stops me from doing something very bad.
Reality sets back in. Chad’s breathing. Otherwise, he’s not moving. For a moment, I consider finishing the job…no.

Like three thieves in the night, Kristy, Brian, and I race from the home and back to the truck. We push Kristy into the backseat and Brian does an excellent job of getting us the hell out of there legally.
The ride is silent for three minutes when time slows again.
At first, it’s just tell-tale, ominous, red-and-blue flashing lights in the rear view mirror.
Then the wailing siren, and the car pulls up directly behind us.
“Tags up to date?” I ask Brian.
“Yup.” He says, keeping his eye on the rearview.
“Got your license?”
“Yup.” He’s already reaching for his seat belt. I look back to Kristy. “You better buckle up.”
As soon as her belt ‘clicks’, Jeff brings the F-150 to angry life, flooring the gas pedal. The cop clearly isn’t ready for it and quickly recedes in the rear view.
If I look at the speedometer, I’m freaked, and yet I do it anyway. Holy shit, he’s pushing ninety.
Brian doesn’t blink; he keeps his eyes on the road, both hands on the wheel. If he’s afraid, we can’t tell. The needle dances past the hundred mark and the cop is starting to close the distance.
“Hold on.” Brian says. He’s not afraid.
I leave my dinner behind as he slams the breaks and twists the truck into a tight right, pulling us off the road and into…a field?! You gotta be kidding me.
He kills the lights and tests the suspension, bringing the truck down to about eighty as he barrels into the tall field. About a quarter mile in, he stops, kills the engine, and turns around. Either he has ice in his veins, or he’s done this before.

Sure enough, deputy do-right blows right past the field, continuing on his way.
Kristy surprises me by suddenly lunging forward and embracing me tight enough to make breathing a challenge. She’s shaking and crying; I can’t tell if it’s from happiness or fear until she speaks. “Thank you.” She whispers. “Thank you.”
I look to Brian, who simply nods. I shake his hand, and let the new memories form. Tomorrow we will have something to answer for, but tonight, she’s okay, and that’s what matters.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Last year was the first NaNoWriMo I ever participated in. It was also the first one I ever won. If you had told me that this was where I’d be one year later, I never would’ve believed it.

Someone (who I will thank in a moment) liked my work enough to encourage me to get into web-fiction. Another friend suggested that I try my luck at freelance writing, and one year later, here I am.

When I first envisioned Uprising, it was meant to serve as hype for the Last Campaign. You know, hype up one story by writing another?
I really bit off more than I could chew, I admit it. Suddenly, I have to worry about deadlines, website management (I really hate wordpress sometimes) and suggestions from (gasp!) actual fans. I write that, and I say it out loud, and it still blows my mind; my story has fans.

Universal Warrior: Uprising concluded late last week. Over nearly fifty chapters, the story has thus far achieved a total of more than one thousand, five hundred individual views and a smattering of comments.  Unexpectedly, a number of requests have come in for hard copies of the story—and I’m seriously considering updating and publishing the novel. But we’ll talk about that later.

I wanted to take a quick moment and extend my sincerest gratitude to everyone who tuned in every week, stuck by me during my downtime, and took my imagination in places I never thought it would go. I want to thank every single one of you who read this story from beginning to end, because as trite as this may seem, if you’re not reading, I have no reason to write, so thank you for giving me a little bit of your time each week.

I also want to take a little time to thank some people who helped me get to where I am going.
Kenneth Jamieson, for turning me onto Twitter, hand-holding me through the internet, performing my website maintenance, the advice and guidance, and most importantly, the ten-year friendship.

Chris Tejeda, who first encouraged me to pursue a professional writing career, and everything else.

Dianne “Keikomushi” Owenns, for being my first real fan, for her tireless promotion of Universal Warrior, and because Jamendo, podcasting, you in general, kick ass. J

Alan Baxter, for all the retweets, the chance to appear on his blog, the good conversation, and the guidance when it comes to martial arts.

Samantha Buschkopf, who was there at the turbulent beginning, who I’m blessed to have as a friend today.

And last, certainly not least, Molly Greider, for reasons too many to numerate.

Also, quick shoutouts to my mother, Paula Henry, Dorothy Cardwell, Jessica Cazier, Frances Gonzalez, Abner Senires, Laura Eno, Raymond Williams, and Tammey Sweezer for the advice, asking for copies of the book, or just being there. The brightest souls I know. J

Thanks to everyone. There’s more to come, but for now, I’m going to enjoy a nice, looong break. Till the Angels return.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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One of my real-life heroes is Muhammad Ali.
I used to wonder what he was thinking; the day he refused induction. He had to know it would cost him something. I don’t think he knew it would cost him nearly everything; they took the Heavyweight crown from him and revoked his ability to fight, robbing him of his prime years. We never got to see the best Muhammad Ali had to offer.

But in the end, he did what he did because he believed he was right. He believed that he was doing the right thing.
At thirty-two, Ali fought one of boxing’s most thrilling matches (The Rumble in the Jungle, we’ve all heard of it). He couldn’t move like he used to, and he was facing a champion that hit so hard he could literally lift men off of the canvas.

I think about the intervening moments between rounds, when Ali realized that his old tactics wouldn’t work. If he wanted to win, he would have to wear his opponent down. He would have to absorb the blows of a man who could dent bags with his punches.

I’m a fighter, and I can’t imagine taking even one of those shots.  I’ve been hit hard enough to hear something snap in my head, I see things in triplicate for a moment…so I wonder what it was like to deflect those blows off his body round after round—and then keep going back for more.

Until, finally, in the eighth round, when George Foreman had nothing left, Ali unloaded on him. After a decisive two-punch combo, Ali had beat the odds and regained the world championship.

You may ask yourself what kind of mentality it takes to do all of the things he did?
Will you stand by your values even as you lose everything?
Do you have anything in your life you are willing to die for?

It’s easy to think that you would, and you do, until you’re actually faced with the proposition.

I’ve been hit—physically and by life—pretty hard, and I can honestly tell you that I would still come back for more if I could. If you have not your principles, then what do you have? What are you worth if you will stand for nothing?

Rare are people who will truly stand up for what they believe in when they’re actually faced with losing something. You may not understand it, but you have to respect it.

From a fighter’s perspective, I am in awe at the man’s determination to come out on top, no matter what he faced, and no matter how much stronger his opponent was.

USA Today recently celebrated “50 Years on the World Stage” for Muhammad Ali. I just wanted to add my own tribute.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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We’ve been reading about the war in the Middle East for nearly twenty years. When you read the words on paper (or on a screen, as technology progresses), your mind paints a picture based on the description. Stimulating, but not entirely suitable for the ADHD (Attention-Deficit-Hey!-Dog!) generation.

For years, people have been looking for a way to accurately depict what’s happening in the world. Thanks to intrepid journalism and some pretty daring filmmakers, we’ve been on the ground floor for some of the Armed Forces skirmishes. We hear and see snippets of what they go through…but unless you’re there, chances are the memories don’t last.

So how do we create unforgettable, brutally real, yet relatively harmless experiences that accurately show what soldiers—and people—around the world are going through? How do we take what some would rather ignore and make it impossible to turn away from?

Infinity Ward found a way.
I don’t traditionally play first person shooters (Red Faction: Guerilla Warfare, which I found enjoyable, was my first one since Halo 2), but I try to investigate anything that generates as much hype as Modern Warfare 2 did. The outset of the game warns that some levels might be deemed offensive and wisely gives you the option of opting out of these missions. Figuring that I’m about to experience a bunch of racial slurs against Muslims and death-to-America propaganda, I choose to play through the offensive missions.

And I promise you, I’ll never forget what I played through. Neither will you.
I don’t want to spoil it, but if this title is even a hint of what soldiers (and people) are going through around the world, then I have a newfound respect for our armed forces and a great swell of sympathy for those who live in fear of this kind of thing—which happens almost every day, it seems.

This game is so intense that I often found myself pausing just to walk around and catch my breath—because I wasn’t breathing, during the game’s more intense moments. But beyond its stellar gameplay, Modern Warfare 2 is a shining example of what video games can do for storytelling when properly executed. In fact, I firmly believe that just as books were eventually translated to film, video games represent the next arc of storytelling, and perhaps the most potent medium of this generation.

The scene in question succeeds not just for flawless execution, not because the game gives you the option to bow out (you will not want your kids anywhere near this, I promise), but because the scene is horrific without being tasteless or exploitative. And following this scene presents a very realistic possibility of what might happen should episodes like this be allowed to continue in the real world.

What we experience on foreign soil in this game is nothing compared to what happens when the war comes home. And best believe, in this game, it does come home.

Why do we expose ourselves to stories? Why do we flock to heroes, villains, and everything in between? What is it about Batman, Superman, Wolverine, Harry Potter, Edward/Jacob/Bella, Link, Leon Kennedy, or Kain/Raziel (pretty good summary, I think) that causes us to return to the medium of our choice over and over again?

Personal opinion; these people, with their powers, wits, guns, magic or all of the above, involve themselves in danger and intrigue that we can only dream of. They deal with the same moral decisions we face but at much higher levels, with much more devastating consequences (Batman broke a moral code to assassinate Darkseid in DC’s Final Crisis). Most importantly, they do what we can’t; even if the cost is great, they get closure. They beat the bad guy. Justice wins, and in the end, I think that’s what a lot of us wants. The good guy wins, the bad guy goes to jail or hell or whatever.

But in books and movies, we only get to see and passively follow along. In Batman: Arkham Asylum, we got to be the Dark Knight and experience life from his point of view. No book or picture can rival that, although if it weren’t for those, we wouldn’t have the video game.

Reading and watching these soldiers in action is nothing compared to what Modern Warfare 2 accomplishes.

If we really love drama so much that we will sink millions of dollars into franchises just to keep them going, maybe video games can do what few other titles in other mediums have; as they immerse us in their stories and force to experience things we probably couldn’t handle in real life, maybe we can begin to prevent our own self-destruction. Instead of condemning video game violence, we should realize that a lot of this is inspired by real life. Maybe we could use the multi-million dollar video game business to learn from our mistakes, as well as tell better stories.

Cause zombies could rise up, and Skynet could take over the world. You just never know.

But in the meantime, I applaud Infinity Ward for their courage and execution and hope to see others follow suit. Titles like this not only justify the sixty dollar price tag but advance the interactive medium.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I’ve been studying martial arts for more than twenty years, and yet, I can’t find the words to articulate everything it’s done for me.  I’ve used it in every aspect of my life, and continue to do so. It’s the purest and most complete system I’ve ever encountered.

I’m not someone who bullshits or plays games with people, something that often gets me into trouble. Martial arts is the same way. You have no excuses. You’re either skilled or you’re not, and if you’re not, then it’s plainly your fault, and you know it. In the end, you’re the practitioner, and you decide how far you go.

I think the world works better when there are no excuses.

I also find martial arts incredibly addictive. You never stop learning or improving. At the same time, the more you learn, the deadlier you become. Knowing that you have the ability to take a life with your bare hands is both intoxicating and humbling. And yet, knowing this, you ask yourself every time you raise your hands, and you bring that deadly power to bear; is this worth it?

To me, this is why the emotional impact of martial arts is far greater than the physical one; we do not train to fight, we train to reign in our emotions and diffuse situations in which we might become violent. We do this because violence is a last resort; if we must become violent, someone could quickly be crippled or worse.

In one fluent motion, you exhale. You thrust your right arm forward. At the last second, you tighten your hand into a fist, shifting your right hip into the blow for extra power. You crash your fist upwards into someone’s ribs. The ribs give beneath your blow, splintering upwards. The lungs and heart are shredded. The person dies painfully, slowly, at your feet.

Or you can just walk away.

And yet, the only way to test ourselves is by challenging each other. This is what I’ve always enjoyed the most of.

I have a couple of good friends in the area that I can do this with. Every so often, we get together, and we fight.

There’s a huge amount of trust involved, yet another reason why I gravitate towards the martial arts; I do not trust easy. Sparring requires a tremendous amount of control and trust, knowing that your ‘opponent’ is as skilled as you are, but will not lose their temper and elevate it to bloodlust if you get a lucky strike in. Sparring requires more trust than almost anything else I’ve ever done.

Getting tagged (hit) means that your defense is not good enough, and it gives you something to work on. If you are taken down easily, then your center of balance is off. If blocking his/her moves begins to wear you down, you should shift to dodging rather than blocking until you can condition your arms (kickboxing is good for that). Always something new to learn, and I enjoy that too.

There is a style for every occasion. If you want to learn how to defend yourself non-violently, there’s judo and aikido, which specialize in throwing your opponent off balance without doing too much damage. If you want to learn flexibility, grace, and offense, tae kwon do is for you. If you want to learn all of these, plus rhythm and dance, look into Capoeira. If you want to learn to regulate your breathing and gain better control over your body, Tai Chi and Kung Fu are for you. I have found that Chinese styles are better for mental and spiritual development (although styles like Tai Chi Chuan are both beautiful and offensive) while Japanese and Thai styles are more suited for people who want to learn straight out fighting.

What I take form the martial arts is a way to keep my type two in check. It gives me a constructive way to deal with rage. It allows me to feed my creative side (anyone read Universal Warrior yet? Shameless plug inserted). It allows me to see people a little differently (body language is everything) and it gives me something I can never stop learning.

Every time I thought I learned all there was to know about a style, I found a new level. I’ll never keep getting stronger, and there is no limit to how far I can take my skills.

This excites me. This is why I’d rather be fighting.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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