The Green-Walled Tower

February 14, 2013

Recollections of an Elderly Dragon

A few days ago, I sat down for a fireside chat with octocentarian dragon, Hargog the Destroyer. It wasn’t intended as a fireside chat, but he inadvertently set part of the coffee shop on fire. He can still knock them out when he wants to!

Interviewer: Thank you for meeting with me. It must be harder to get around these days. Congratulations on passing your 800^th birthday, by the way.

Hargog: Thank you. I try to stay active. I won’t win any races with jet planes, but I try to go out in the countryside twice a month at least. Just for some light ravaging. The Society helps me a lot when I don’t feel up to it.

I: The Society?

H: The Society for the Preservation Of Reptilian Kings, or SPORK for short. They bring me food every week: a couple of sheep, maybe a cow.

I: No maidens?

H: Come on, that’s not fair. No one can be blamed for the way they were raised, and that was just the culture back then. I swore off maidens a long time ago. It was a simpler time back then, but I know—the world changes.

I: Back in 1543, Yorker Magazine referred to you as “the Scourge of the Midlands” and “the Defiler of Nations.” Have your feelings on those titles changed at all?

H: Well, “Defiler of Nations” is a bit of a hyperbole. They weren’t that clean when I got there anyway, am I right? “Scourge of the Midlands” though—that’s a funny story. I was cruising around with my friend Grimlock, a silver drake, and we were comparing our tail snaps. We had just eaten a whole tavern and were preeettty tipsy. So Grimlock bets me a mountain of gold I can’t destroy the cottage up ahead with one whip of my tail. Bang! I nailed it, first time. So then he says “double or nothing on the castle on the hill.” We did that all night. It messed up the area pretty bad.

Courtesy of http://www.fanpop.com

I: I’m sorry to hear your father passed away 150 years ago. How was your relationship with him?

H: Well, he was a gold drake, and you know gold drakes. Always gotta be the best. He didn’t have time for a little green drake like me, what with plundering the whole known world and hoarding their treasures. He was a great one for hoarding and it’s not the sort of hobby a father and son can share. I moved out when I was 160 and we didn’t really didn’t talk after that. He didn’t even call when I destroyed Constantinople and ate ten thousand of its residents. He wasn’t really supportive that way.

I: Any regrets?

H: Well, no life is perfect, I suppose. I would have liked to see more of the world. I was born in Scotland and I used to travel all over Europe in my youth. I could have gone further—I even got an invitation from a lithe little Chinese dragon who asked me to come and hang out on top of her mystic mountain for a few centuries. But I was in kind of a ravage-plunder-hoard rut at the time. I’ve thought about her a lot in the last half millennium though. I think she finally went under the sea to hang out with the Dragon King.

I: What would you say your proudest moment was?

H: About 250 years ago, a fire demon woke up and started burning half of Poland—you probably heard about it. Anyway, I went to take care of him. It wasn’t just protecting the dragon monopoly on mayhem either—this thing was burning down whole towns and cities. I mean, where’s the ecology, right? I fought that thing for a month, at least. They can’t die—they’re immortal—but eventually he gave up and I banished him to Greenland to cool him off a a bit and think about what he’d done. I hear he’s posing as a Wendigo up there now, but at least he’s not hurting anyone.

I: So, any plans for the future?

H: I don’t know. After you pass 800, you start to slow down a little. I guess I’ll just try to stay active and not destroy the neighborhood when I go out to check the mail. I got a pamphlet for a tour that visits the sunken city of R’lyeh. Sounds like fun. We’ll see.

I: Thank you again for meeting with me, Hargog the Destroyer. It’s been a pleasure.

H: No problem. I appreciate that people still have some interest in me. You’d better leave first. I’d hate to step on you on the way out.

Found at dragonwallpapers10.net

* * * * *

Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone. Here’s a picture my wife sent me today. She made it here, if you want to check it out. So, I pass it on to you as well. Have a great day.

4 Comments | tags: dragon, fantasy, fiction, interview, old age, quirky, reminiscences | posted in Light

February 13, 2013

The Wrong Tourist – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for choosing my picture for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. This was taken in Jeonju, South Korea. Pungnammun, the historic south gate of the city is in the background.

He nodded when I pointed to the gate and proffered my camera. I walked towards it . . . and turned to see him take off running.

He picked the wrong tourist.

I screamed like a berserker and tore after him. He was almost at the road, a patch of wet cement between us.

That Nikon was two weeks old.

I made a flying leap and grabbed his ankle, just before crashing into wet goo. He flailed frantically but I death-gripped him ten minutes til the cops came.

We made the evening news.

I hear they put up a statue to commemorate it.

112 Comments | tags: camera, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, funny, Jeonju, Korea, photograph, quirky, thief, tourist | posted in Light

February 13, 2013

Why are we the size we are?

By David Stewart

What an odd question. Also, what does it have to do with fiction? For me, at least, it’s important for world building. Right now, I’m creating a huge and detailed world, probably to set stories in later (I posted a map of one tiny section of it before). When making up completely new creatures, it is possible to change things that we think of as fundamental, like having limbs, or a central brain, or only existing in the physical world. Anything we can conceive of, we can create in a fictional world.

For instance, in my world there are intelligent creatures several inches high and other 350 feet high. I don’t have to explain how that’s possible, since it’s just fiction, but that got me thinking: why are we the size we are? Could we be just like we are now, except the size of ants, or the size of mountains? Here are my thoughts on the subject.

Why it would be harder to be bigger

Being a little bigger is not that hard. Elephants are pretty big, although compared to the tallest living thing on earth, a 380-foot redwood, they’re tiny. Trees have it easier though, since they have a rigid cell structure, they go straight up, and they don’t move. But could we ever be that tall? One problem is the weight. We would need to have incredibly strong bones to hold ourselves up if we weighed 100 tons or so. A couple ways around this would be to be mostly gaseous, like balloon people, to live on a smaller planet with less gravity or have bodies built of some insanely strong material, like titanium-alloy lattice or something.

Another problem with being very large is the time it would takes nerve signals to travel to the extremities. From what I have found (correct me if I’m wrong), nerve impulses travel about 100 meters, or 330 feet per second. So, if we were 350 feet tall and stepped on a nail, it would take a whole second for us to realize it. That’s kind of hard thing to live with, always being one step behind the rest of your body. This could be overcome possibly by having some other way of sending nerve impulses or to have a diffused brain, or even several brains that could handle various parts of the body. In any case, we would have to be radically different in design if we were going to be super huge.

Why it would be harder to be smaller

If only we could ride ants and sleep in a Lego block

Well, how about being smaller? Could we be the size of ants and still be just as intelligent as we are now? The problem with being smaller is that we would have smaller brains. Perhaps if our brains worked differently, they could be much smaller, but as things are now, there is a reason why we are so much smarter than insects.

Another issues about getting very small is the loss of resolution. It’s like if you zoom in on a picture; at some point it will start to pixelate, because as the size of the whole picture gets closer to the size of the pixels, it is harder to show detail.

One of my favorite mugs.

In the picture above, the number of pixels is huge, so even after zooming in three times, you can only just begin to see them. For living things, the things we are made of–atoms–are insanely small, so we would have to be pretty small before we started to lose complexity, but the point is, that we could not be just any size and still be intelligent human beings. Look at what a car looks like when it’s made of individual atoms, compared to a real car.

The molecular car image courtesy of Wired.

Yeah, there’s no comparison, in terms of complexity. In the same way, we could not be very tiny and still be us. At what size that loss of complexity would start, I’m not sure. If you have any idea, let me know.

So…that’s what I think about all day. I’m not an expert on this sort of thing; I just like to think about it. If you have any thoughts, please share them in the comments.

12 Comments | tags: car, giant, molecular, nanotechnology, outside the tower, photograph, resolution, size, worldbuilding, writing | posted in Uncategorized

February 11, 2013

Fantastic Travelogue #5 – Inside the Golden Dome…sigh

By David Stewart

Sometimes you have some amazing adventures you just have to tell everyone about. Read the rest of this account here.

Have you ever done something that you knew was a bad idea and then as soon as you did it, you realized it was a very, very bad idea? That was how I felt as I stood in front of the stone circle in the clearing, with the strange woman in animal skins and a purple veil smiling creepily at me. I must have been mesmerized, since I sure wouldn’t have gone out there on my own. Even my adventurous spirit was whimpering in the corner, asking for mommy.

The woman walked to the edge of the stone disk and stepped delicately off. As she did, the soft glow that enveloped it faded. A few of the women took out lanterns and held them up as the woman walked towards me. We were about the same height—over six foot—which was rather intimidating. She said something to me and when I didn’t respond, she something else in what seemed like a different language. She went through almost a dozen languages, and all of them sounded foreign to me.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally, in English and Korean. “I don’t understand.” I gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged.

She burst out laughing and then shrugged her own shoulders. She kept saying things and shrugging her shoulders as if it were a huge joke. I was starting to blush with embarrassment and the other women were looking distraught and studiously avoiding looking at her.

The woman stopped and barked a few orders at the women. Then she linked her arm through mine and we all started walking back down towards the fortress village.

Seriously, what would you have done? I would have given quite a large amount of money not to have been in that situation, but I felt trapped. There seemed no way of escape, short of punching and pushing them all out of the way. So, I let myself be led along, just a big, dumb lamb to the slaughter.

We reached the fortress town but to my surprise, the women didn’t stop. The fortress gate was open and we went right through and continued down the valley. I looked around for the pretty young woman I had met that afternoon—not that I liked her or anything, I just wanted to see a familiar face. She was nowhere to be seen though.

The woman kept looking over at me and smiling and saying stuff, as if she expected me to understand.

I don’t understand you at all, Your Royal Battiness! I thought. I admit, it wasn’t very clever, but I was desperately trying to cope with the situation. Unfortunately, calling her that made me smile, and she thought I was smiling at her.

The next twenty minutes were an ordeal of awkwardness I’m going to pass over quickly. She thought I understood a little of what she was saying and kept speaking slower and louder. I would have gladly gnawed my own arm off to get away.

Just when I was seriously considering punching her and making a break for it, the forest path opened out into a wide clearing and the tower with the golden dome loomed up in front of us. It was surrounded by a low wall topped with torches. The flickering torchlight glinted off the golden dome, making all kinds of effects with light and shadow.

The gate was open and guarded by women with spears. We went into a room with a low table in the middle and surrounded by lamps, so that it was fully lit. The woman sat down on one side of the table and motioned for me to sit opposite her. I decided to try to communicate: the old woman in the forest had understood Chinese characters, so it was possible this woman would too. I traced out my Korean name in Chinese characters on the table and I could see instantly that the woman knew what I was doing. She barked a few more orders and pretty soon a woman came in with paper, a brush and an inkstone. I’d never written with a brush before, but I did my best and wrote my name again (大成).

“Di-sheng?” she said. My Korean name is Dae-Sung, so close enough. I nodded. She grabbed the brush and started to write quickly, which I couldn’t read at all. After a few minutes, she caught on and wrote it all again, very meticulously. I didn’t recognize it all, but I saw the word for “come” (來) and the one for “place” (場) so I figured she was asking where I was from. I’m from Canada, but I don’t know how to write that in Chinese characters, so I just wrote “America” (美國).

“Mai-gog?” she said and burst out laughing. She was really getting on my nerves. She pointed at me and said, “Mai-nan” and then pointed to where I had written America. I didn’t get it until she wrote down some more, but when I did, it didn’t make me feel any better. “America” in Chinese characters literally means “beautiful land” and she was saying that I was from there since I was a handsome man. Evidently she didn’t believe such a place existed and thought I was just playing with her. I wished my wife was there. She wouldn’t have had any problem punching a creepy old woman who was hitting on me. I, on the other hand, was too much of a ~~wuss~~ gentleman.

After she got over the hilarity that is the word “America”, she gave a few more orders to the attending women and they brought in a map. I could tell that she wanted me to point out where I was from. She pointed to one place and I realized it was our current location. It even had a tiny picture of the dome.

The problem was, it wasn’t a map of Korea. It wasn’t even a historical, rough approximation of Korea. I don’t know where it was, but I got a sinking feeling as I stared at it that, all the same, I was there.

7 Comments | tags: Fantastic Travelogue, fantasy, fiction, fortress, Korea, other worlds, travelogue, woman | posted in Travelogue

February 11, 2013

The Ghost Town by the Shore

By David Stewart

I staggered onto the rickety wharf after floating for two days on the open sea. My ship and comrades were in the watery depths and I had given up hope until I spotted land.

Coming into a secluded bay, I had been overjoyed to see a village ahead of me. Now I saw that the buildings were like none I had ever seen before. Everything was eerily quiet as I made my way forward.

I walked among the building in bewilderment. The entire place was deserted, yet nothing was damaged. There were no signs of war or fire or disaster of any kind. Everything was open, as if the people had simply evaporated.

I began to wonder even what country I was in. The roofs all held a singular symbol: a stylized yin-yang swirl above a fish. The carving was amazingly intricate and I wondered if I had stumbled onto an artist colony.

I entered one of the larger buildings and found the first signs of serious industry. It looked like a forge or a refinery and when I advanced a little further, I saw that there was still molten metal in the bottom of the crucible.

I looked closer and got the first real shock since arriving in this ghost town. All the nagging apprehension came back to me in a rush. The molten metal was not real. It looked red, but the surface was cold. I touched it, tentatively. It was glass.

I ran outside and down another street and found myself in a market. As I looked around, I saw the one sight I longed to see more than any other: food. There were stalls filled with fruits and vegetables, with no one in sight. I rushed over, but to my dismay, I found all the food to be mere imitations made of a spongy white substance and totally inedible.

As I continued on, I found a weapons shop, loaded with enough swords, spearheads and bows to equip an army. I picked one up and found it as light as a feather. Even the weapons were not real.

I passed through street after street of shops selling cloth, medicine, animal skins, dishes, and a multitude of other things. Everything sat out as if for sale, but no one attended them. I began to wonder if ghosts inhabited the silent town, like some weird necropolis where the dead roamed after nightfall.

I was becoming thoroughly uneasy and kept looking over my shoulder. The sun was close to setting and now I was terrified of being trapped in this place overnight.

On my way back to the shore, I found myself in a large room with items displayed on each side. I caught sight of a large portrait and stop to stare at it in wonder. It showed a beautiful girl, dressed as a soldier and wielding a sword, but what was so amazing was the skill of the painter. It was completely true to life and even when I looked closely, I could not detect a single brushstroke. I fled, lest the magic that hung over the place trap me there forever. Surely that silent, unreal town could not have been made for human habitation.

* * *

Hi, David here. I guess you could consider this post a sort of Visual Fiction extravaganza. It’s based around a place I went last Friday, in Changwon, Korea. It’s a set village for filming historical dramas and is unique because the buildings are a much different style than most you see in Korea. During the off season it is left open with all the props still there and on display. When we went, there was no one there at all, which made it a very cool place to poke around and explore. And just to prove I was actually there and didn’t just find pictures on the Internet…

17 Comments | tags: Changwon, creepy, deserted, drama, filming, ghost town, historical, Korea, photograph, travel, visual fiction | posted in Visual Fiction

February 6, 2013

This isn’t Stockholm, but still… – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

For all my Friday Fictioneer friends who may not have read my previous post, I’m going out of town for a couple days, but I’ll still try to read all your stories at some point.

The day started with such potential. I was flying to meet a gorgeous Russian woman. We were in love.

Now, twelve hours later, I’m tied up in an abandoned paint factory while “Veronika” and her thugs figure out how to get five million dollars for me.

Apparently, it’s bad to tell strangers on the Internet that you’re a millionaire.

Still . . . the gentle way she tied the ropes; the way she didn’t taser me like she threatened to. I think there’s a spark there.

I’m just going to sit here and work on my winning smile until she comes back in.

76 Comments | tags: flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, kidnapping, quirky, ransom, Russia, Stockholm syndrome, travel | posted in Light

February 6, 2013

Leaving the Green-Walled Tower for a breath of fresh air

By David Stewart

Adios, さようなら，再见， ជំរាបលា, au revoir, 안녕히 계세요, bye bye… um, that’s about all I know.

Anyway, not to be too dramatic, but I’m taking off for a few days. Actually, I’ll be coming and going for the next few weeks, so don’t fret if my posts seem sporadic. I’ll try to read your posts as well, but don’t get mad if I can’t.

Tomorrow, I’m taking off to go visit a city in Korea I’ve never been to before. I’ll post pictures, if anything seems post-worthy. In the meantime, I will keep writing. Here are a few questions that will be answered when I get back.

1. In Aftermath, what will Edward do now that he has met Hestia again?

2. In the Fantastic Travelogue, who is that strange lady and what happened after I got close to her?

3. I heard from my friend Adam Flynn again. Things haven’t been so good since his last post.

Let me leave you with a song that has always reminded me of traveling, ever since it was on the mix tape in my sister’s first car.

9 Comments | tags: Korea, outside the tower, travel, writing | posted in Uncategorized

February 5, 2013

The Woman Who Wants to Meet Bush

By David Stewart

Considering this is a fiction blog, almost everything I put up is fiction, even if it’s written in a realistic way. This post, however, is totally true. It actually happened to me last week and nothing is exaggerated. For those of you who don’t know, I live in the city of Jeonju, South Korea. The conversation below took place in Korean, so what appears here is an approximate translation.

* * *

I was walking through one of the outdoor markets on the way to lunch when a woman grabbed my arm. She was older, with a heavily wrinkled face and sporadic, yellowed teeth. She was dressed up in several coats.

Her first question was where I was from. This is not that unusual; it’s the number one question people ask me. Before I could answer, she asked if I was Mexican (that’s a first). I told her I was Canadian.

Woman: You know America?

Me: Yeah, America.

Woman: I don’t know who the president of Canada is, but the president of America is Bush. I like him. He’s four stars. I wanted him to come to Korea before, but he didn’t come. Here, let me write my name down. Do you have something to write with?

Me: I got a pen.

She wanted something to write on too and dug through her coats (proudly showing me the US Air Force patch on one of them) and pulled out a small day planner. She laboriously wrote down her name and her address and then wrote down “To the American President” I had to tell her how to spell the last syllable of the Korean word for “president” which is the first time I’ve ever helped a Korean spell a Korean word. Then on the side she wrote “I am inviting you”.

Translation: Korea, Mrs. Son Il-Kong, Jeonbuk, Jeonju, Geumam 2dong, Block —, To the American President. I am inviting you.

She gave me the paper and told me to be sure to ask him to come. People passing by were giving us looks as she was writing all that down, but I didn’t care. She told me again to be sure to tell him to come and I said I would, because seriously, what else can you say in a situation like that?

Me: You know, the president now is Obama.

Woman: No, the one before the black president.

Me: Okay. (the woman knew who she wanted)

Woman: Maybe you should take a picture for him to bring.

Me: Sure thing. Let’s do that. (I take her picture.)

Woman: What’s your name?

Me: David.

Woman: Can you write that down? (I write down my name, but not my address.)

I almost laughed when she threw up the peace sign.

At that point, I shook her hand and said good bye. I walked away feeling great; it was such a great experience. You might think she was mentally unbalanced and perhaps she was; I can’t comment, since I don’t know her. All I know is that she really wants to meet President George W. Bush.

P.S. I really did email President Bush and passed on her invitation to come to Korea to meet her. The ball is in his court now.

22 Comments | tags: funny, George Bush, Jeonju, Korea, outside the tower, photograph, president | posted in Light

February 4, 2013

Seriously, Stay Away from Strange Women – Fantastic Travelogue #4

By David Stewart

Sometimes you have some amazing adventures you just have to tell everyone about. Read the rest of this account here.

I just wanted to go home and I was determined more than anything to try. It was becoming a human rights issue, keeping me locked up like that for no reason. I pounded on the door a few more times and then stood next to it, waiting. Sure enough, the door opened a crack and I stuck my foot in it and pushed it open wide. I couldn’t tell in the dark which woman it was in front of me but I pushed past her and I was free.

Actually, I was in the hallway. Here, there was a bit more light from a lamp burning on the wall. The woman behind me let out a cry and started saying something really fast. Another woman, a young one, appeared at the end of the hall, blocking my path. She held out her hands and seemed to be pleading for me to stop.

I don’t know what she was thinking as I—a huge, bearded foreigner—bore down on her. I was running on adrenaline and I hip-checked her out of the way and dove through the open door. I almost blush to think about it now. I’ve never pushed a woman before, except maybe my sister when we were young, but I was frantic and just wanted to get out of there.

The streets outside were deserted, although another woman was sitting on the landing by the door where I came out. She was older and didn’t get up when I came out, although she shrieked at me something awful. I ignored her and ran down the road, heading back up the valley towards the trees where I had come from. Forget cool experiences; I was done.

The bright light was still visible through the trees, although the loud screaming sound had stopped and the ball lightning was all gone, thank goodness. I still figured it was a concert or something going on up there and I pushed my way through the trees and underbrush, trying to go around the clearing with the stone circle. If they were as crazy as the women I had met, they’d just grab me and put me back in the room. I wasn’t going back; I was sure of that.

I got close to the clearing and the light became so strong I could pick my way through the bushes as if it were daylight. I got to the far edge of the clearing and looked back.

It wasn’t a concert. There was a group of women standing in a semi-circle, close to the stone circle, but not too close. The whole stone circle was bathed in a brilliant pale light that shot up in the sky like a searchlight, although I couldn’t tell where the light was coming from. The stone itself, I guess. On the stone circle was a woman. She looked about middle-aged and was wearing what looked like animal skins and a shimmering purple veil that framed her face and fell down the front of her dress.

I was just about to move on and make a break for the mountain pass when the woman looked directly at me. It was weird, but for a moment I forgot about going up the valley and found myself walking towards her, out into the clearing. The assembled women noticed me before too long and I heard a few gasps that sounded like terror. That didn’t make me feel any better. The woman kept looking at me and smiled.

This is an adventure? part of me said, trying to reassure the rest of me.

I’m an idiot, the rest of me said, as I kept walking.

10 Comments | tags: Fantastic Travelogue, fantasy, fiction, fortress, Korea, travelogue, woman | posted in Travelogue

February 3, 2013

Eye, Bridge – Visual Fiction #17

By David Stewart

They say the eye is the window to the soul and as I stare at the lidless empty socket under the bridge, I wonder how far I would have to gaze to find its soul.

“It’s just an illusion,” my friend said, when I mentioned it to him. “Don’t be silly.”

Still, the more I gaze at it, the more the details come together and I see the bridge staring back at me. I almost wish it would blink, yet I hope it never does.