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Do your research or make a fool of yourself
Thursday, April 17, 2014

When I read the comic The Phantom as a kid there was a story where a rich guy claimed to have found the grave of Cleopatra, the last queen of old Egypt. Since the Phantom himself had relics from the grave and knew that the tomb itself was destroyed, he knew the discovery was a fake and went to Egypt. There the press walks into a newly discovered pyramid by a big hole in the wall and looks at Cleopatra’s sarcophagus standing alone on the floor of a large hall. The Phantom claims it is a fake and gets chased and caught in the major labyrinth systems of the pyramid.

Anyone with any knowledge about pyramids and Egypt’s history can see that the persons responsible for this story had now idea of what they were doing. Yes, I saw this as a kid too.

Pyramids were built to be seen. They have been know and seen since they were built. Smaller ones have been covered by sand over the years, yes, but they were not for pharaohs. There is no way you could discover a new, big pyramid buried in the sand, excavate it in secrecy and place a false sarcophagus inside. Besides, the discovery itself is worth every attention.

Then you don’t break a wall to enter a large hall. Pyramids are basically solid with one or two small chambers inside with tunnels to them. Pyramids do not contain labyrinths and lethal traps.

The tombs in the Valley of the Kings may however. And here is a funny historical mumbojumbo in that Phantom story: Burials in pyramids were abandoned looong before Cleopatra’s death. Since the pyramids were plundered, the pharaohs began to build their tombs in what became known as The Valley of the Kings. Secret work and sometimes built to be lethal for those who entered. The workers were likely killed when the grave was done. This custom was also abandoned before Cleopatra.

So, placing a false sarcophagus in a large chamber within a pyramid no one knew of, claiming it has mazes and traps and then insisting Cleopatra is inside that sarcophagus… You don’t need to own the real mummified snake to know that it has to be a made-up story.

Do your research or make a fool of yourself.

A thought
Saturday, April 12, 2014

I've received feedback on two texts (not published on this blog) telling me that my main characters are unfriendly and gives a bad first impression.

I can't help but wondering if I would have received the same response if the main characters were male.

Toil Tuesday: Image
Tuesday, April 8, 2014


It was a magic mirror. In its glass you could see your dreams. It reflected the imaginary you; the ambitious you; the stargazing you. What you saw in the mirror was not reality.

She knew that, all too well. The ballerina she saw was not her. It was not the woman others knew. It was the daydreaming, longing child her eyes met in the silvery surface. She was a little girl who still had hopes and thought everything possible. The sweet, adorable thing used to look back at her with courage and spirit. As the years went by, the eyes sent her messages of blame and always asked her the same question: why did you stop dancing?

She didn't have any answer to give. Not any that mattered. How could she ever explain to her younger, imaginary self that she hadn't understood what dancing meant to her, before she realized what she lost? That she had slipped out of context and into meaningless dancing, where she no longer understood what she was doing and was all alone among the other dancers. That she then didn't get that she was on a road and was always on the move, approaching new quests as she left others behind. Would the girl on the other side of the glass ever understand that she simply quitted walking along that path, when the shoes suddenly didn't fit?

No, the child would never understand as she couldn't turn back time. The little ballerina would never hear her voice - or anybody else's - urging her not to quit.

Now, all she could do was watching her dance in the magic mirror. Enjoying the imagination.



This is a made-up story.
The photo has no other connection to this story than being an inspiration.
Click on the image for origin and artist.

Face Friday
Friday, March 28, 2014


I wish my parents could settle with a photo instead.

No offence, mister, but you are not the one who needs to sit still. Doing nothing is boring.

Last time I did that, I slumped and got a vacant look. You rebuked me, remember?

I can't think sitting like this. Not at least of anything but sitting like this. And I've done that for quite some time now, mister.

...

You need quite some patience to paint with oil, don't you? Aquarelle colors are easier. They dry faster. I tried oil paints once. Turned into a brown goo. Paint some and leave it to dry before continuing is not possible for me. When I see for my inner eye what I want I just want to get there. Painting china or glass is even worse.

No, I can have patience, as long as I feel I'm working towards my goal. Stopping on the path and do something else while the color dries is hard. Working for hours on a painting is no problem as long as I paint.

Which worries me, because you have worked for a long time now with oil. You are not turning it into brown now are you, mister?

Ten minutes? Sure it must be longer than that? My kingdom for a photographer.



This is a made-up story.
The person on the image has no other connection to this story than being an inspiration with his/her face.
Click on the image for origin and artist.

Toil Tuesday: Story Cubes
Tuesday, March 25, 2014


Once upon a time there was a child who questioned if she was good at anything at all. She thought she was good at eating, but she was told she ate too much, and that was bad. She liked to play with her ball and while throwing was okay she had a hard time catching it again and then it bounced away and more often than not the ball ended up in the street or found its way through someone’s window. She was no good at reading – the small strangely shaped fly poops didn’t make any sense to her. One thing she was good at was sleeping, but as with eating, she did too much of that too. Others made fun of her when they played hide-and-seek, because she could never keep from peeking. Depressed the little child stood there, alone in her room. She wasn’t good at anything. Then she heard her mother playing the piano downstairs and she began to dance to the melody. She felt that this was her call: she was good at dancing. To prevent the grown-ups from telling her otherwise, she promised herself never to show her dance to anyone.



The image is from the Rory Story Cube app.

Face Friday
Friday, March 21, 2014


Do you see the birds?

You do? Really? And you don't mean the birds up there, sitting in the tree do you?

There are so few who can see my birds. I wonder what you have in common, you who can see them. Do you have your own birds, or do you only see mine?

I thought so. So far, I've never met anyone with their own birds. I'm the birdman. Do you know what they are, my birds?

They are memories. Memories that you have forgotten. Do you remember the color of the carpet in your parents bedroom?

It was cinnamon-brown with a curly pattern in tomato-red.

I told you, the birds are memories. In this case your memories. Memories you've forgotten. I can see them under their bird-shape. You can't. You can only see them as birds. Flying away from you, never to return.

Why do you all react like that? Is it important to remember the carpet? No, it is not. You have other things to remember. Things important to you. People loose memories all the time. Trust me. I see birds all the time. I'm sure they continue their lives as before.

No, you don't remember the carpet. You now remember what I told you about the carpet and made yourself an image of it based on that. It is not the real carpet and will never be a real memory of it.

I can't "not tell you". You are one of those who see the birds.

You mean lie? Tell you that they are dreams that will come at night? Or souls flying to Heaven? But it is not the truth. What will we be without truth? The master of memories don't tell lies.



This is a made-up story.
The person on the image has no other connection to this story than being an inspiration with his/her face.
Click on the image for origin and artist.