Daylight Day 61-62
Hello pandemic survivors.
My Telstra USB modem just died, and they’re not replacing it. I will buy me some proper internet from a different company, but in the meantime here’s two days’ worth of wonderfulness:
First, the signs that Bella and Edward are in an abusive relationship:
http://io9.com/5413428/official-twilights-bella–edward-are-in-an-abusive-relationship
Second, how the “Twilight” saga isn’t a fab example of how love should be:
http://skepchick.org/blog/2009/11/ew-moon-why-twilight-continues-to-hurt-america/
See you again on Thursday!
And remember kids. . . if your date has fangs, GO HOME!
Daylight Day 60: NaNo, anyone?
Today is the 30th of November, which means two things: frantic writers, and fuzzy faces.
November is also known as Movember, a month in which men (and, arguably, women) attempt to grow a moustache in order to raise money for research into prostrate cancer.
It’s also National Novel Writing Month (or NaNo), in which writers attempt to write the first 50,000 words of a new novel.
Good luck and/or congratulations to all of you.
Daylight Day 59: Guest Author
Tried to reason with the Mums. Big mistake. They were far too busy experimenting with hairstyles to want to hear how to save humanity.
*
Still not EMO, despite ten parents alternately telling me to (1) cheer up or (2) stop being so shallow now the wedding’s tomorrow. Bite me.
—————————————————————–
This week’s guest author is Arush, a VERY young author. Enjoy!
Boldilocks and the Mad Scientists
Once upon a time there were two mad scientists. They weren’t the kind of Mad Scientists
that did experiments on people; they were the kind of Mad Scientists that helped people.
They created many things like talking mirrors so if you ever missed a spot while combing
your hair the mirror would tell you, 45 hour deodorant that lasts for 45 hours if you were
doing a marathon and they also created a walking phone in case you left your phone at
home!
But one day they were creating something very special. They were creating Rub On
Hair potion! They had just finished creating the potion but they had to let it cool down for
2 hours before they could drink it, so they decided to go on a very long walk around the
village while the potion cooled down so they put the potion in the refrigerator and then got
their hats on and started their walk.
The same day, there was a young girl walking on the village path, but you wouldn’t be able to tell she was a girl because she had no hair. This made her miserable because people made fun of her and called her names like ‘baldy’ and many other rude things. Her name also made
her very miserable. Her name was Boldilocks.
One day she was feeling very hungry so she decided to go home and get some food.
After a couple of minutes she couldn’t bear it anymore, she saw the mad scientist’s house
and thought that they could give her food there. She knocked on the door. It swung wide
open. She stepped inside.
This is a very unusual house Boldilocks thought as she walked to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and saw some of the most unusual food ever. Blue eggs, purple drinks and much more unusual things. Well, it’s better than nothing, Boldilocks thought as she took out the eggs and the drink. She sat down and started eating the eggs. The eggs were really slimy but Boldilocks didn’t care because she was so hungry. When she finished the eggs she gulped down the drink. It was very bitter but Boldilocks didn’t care because she was so thirsty. All of a sudden she felt very tired and decided to take a nap in the beds. The beds were all nice and comfy. Boldilocks lay down and instantly fell asleep.
Boldilocks woke up a couple of minutes later from a green blast from the bed. She felt
something softly matted on her head. She got up immediately. What is it? She thought
Feathers? Fluff? Then Boldilocks thought of something else. With her hopes up high
she ran to the mirror. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Hair!” Beautiful
golden hair! She was very excited about finally having hair. But then she noticed
something else, something odd. She looked back at the mirror. Her hair was now 2
times the length of what it was 5 seconds ago! Her legs got very itchy so she pulled up her skirt and saw very long strands of hair dangling from her legs, nearly touching the
ground. She started feeling very scared. The hair kept on growing and growing until she
could see nothing.
The Scientists came back from their walk chatting excitedly about their potion. They
came to the front door when it suddenly burst out with a hairy feeling all over the door.
And then the Scientists saw it. Hair hanging out from the windows, tangled around the
trees. There was even hair coming out of the ground. They looked at each other and
thought the same thing: somebody has touched the potion. They couldn’t run inside so
they decided to let the house fall so they could get to the person inside. A couple of
minutes later the house fell down with a huge BOOM.
The Scientists ran as fast as they could to the person, dodging the golden hair strands
shooting out of nowhere. Then they realised that they couldn’t get through so they ran
into what was left of the shed and got out the Hedge trimmers and started cutting the hair.
After a couple of hours they finally managed to get rid of all the hair. They looked down
at the person and saw a young girl with no hair looking up at them guiltily.
“What are you doing in our house?” One of the scientists growled.
“I was Hungry,” Boldilocks said sadly.
“Do you know what you have done? You could have cost us our jobs! If anything bad
happened to you we would have been in serious trouble,” said the scientists.
“I am sorry,” Boldilocks said and was close to tears.
“Calm down,” said one scientist to the other scientists. “Tell me what happened.”
“Well I was hungry so I couldn’t resist coming in and getting food. After that I went upstairs to sleep. Woke up after a couple of minutes when I saw green lights coming out under the bed.”
Both the Scientists smiled.
Boldilock wondered why they were staring at her like that. Then she saw in the mirror her hair was growing. Not again she thought. She waited but nothing happened. She opened her
eyes and saw hair. Luckily this hair was normal like the other girls at school. This made
her very happy and confused at the same time.
“Wha-“ she began but the Scientists
interrupted.
“That bed you were on fixes any problems you have.”
But she was gone by the time they finished talking.
Boldilocks now lives a very good life and is now a very happy girl. Even better is that
nobody calls her Boldilocks anymore. Now she is called Goldilocks.
Daylight Day 78: The Onion announces new social media
Pi yelled, “Bell! Mum3 is sparkling. We can grab her while she’s EMO and weak!”
I ran out, but by the time we reached her she was fine.
*
Still not EMO, despite a clone of my Mum giving me a smack for being disrespectful. I hate it when that happens.
——————————————————————–
Cher out the more new, more addictive social media tool of today (please note that the Onion is a joke news site):
http://www.theonion.com/content/news/new_noveller_allows_people_to_post
Daylight Day 57: Story so Far
2 Oct
EMO used to stand for ‘emotional’ – the teen subgroup that’s only happy to be sad. Now it’s become a disease eerily similar to vampirism.
*
My name’s Bell. I considered being EMO once, but then I saw a pretty butterfly and got over myself. Got bored and decided to save the world.
*
This is the documentary tale of the brave few fighting to find a cure for EMO (or, failing that, a quick and easy way to kill all those vampires dead).
3 Oct
In Civic, Ed kissed me and sighed. “Oh, Bell. Cloudy days are so deep.”
“Oh no!” I cried. “Ed, tell me you haven’t been bitten by an EMO!”
*
He didn’t laugh once at our preview of “Saw VI”. I yanked him into a rare patch of sun – and he sparkled. My boyfriend had turned EMO!
*
Finally he confessed: “My mum bit me.”
“Your MUM!?”
He sighed, “Sad, I know.”
“Do you want to drink my blood now?”
“Er. . . no,” he lied.
4 Oct
On the news: “The EMO subculture has now become a pandemic. EMO teens can be recognised by their depression, dark clothes, and bad poetry.”
*
I walked in the yard just as Mum set some weeds on fire. “Mum,” I said through the smoke, “Ed’s EMO.”
“That’s nice dear.”
*
My name’s pretty bad, but my brother is Pi. He’s ten and wears a labcoat. I told him, “Ed’s EMO.”
“Hm. Can I do experiments on him?”
“NO!”
5 Oct
“Ed, it’s the holidays. Don’t you feel a LITTLE happy?”
“No,” he said. “Bell, would it be okay if I drank you – just a little?”
“NO!”
*
“Exodermal Melanin Occlusion is spreading fast,” the news said. “Symptoms now include sparkling in sunshine, darkening hair, and whining.”
*
Ed tried to bite me, and I tripped over another EMO as I dodged him. Bruised my knees. Still not EMO, despite my black hair and long fringe.
6 Oct
Still not EMO, despite drenching rain. All the EMOs are thrilled they’re not sparkling today (Ed almost smiled). Bring back the sun!
*
“Cheer up,” said Mum, “I’ve decided to have a wedding.”
“But. . . you’re married.”
“Don’t spoil it. It’s exactly what all those EMOs need.”
7 Oct
I was dying my hair when Ed called. “Want to play EMO baseball with my family?”
“No.”
He cried until I hung up.
My hair turned green. Oops.
8 Oct
Pi asked me for Ed’s old hairbrush, so I humoured him and brought it. He said, “Bell, I think there might be a cure for EMOs!”
*
Still not EMO, although Ed keeps trying to bite me. Awkward!
9 Oct
Mum said, “Don’t you just love weddings?”
“Does Dad even know?”
“Hush,” said Mum.
Our shopgirl wept quietly as she pinned Mum’s dress.
10 Oct
“Do you think a wedding could cure EMOs?” I asked.
Pi snorted and said, “Has Ed bitten you at all?”
“No, we just make out.”
Pi looked ill.
11 Oct
I saw Dad writing a journal and looking mournful. Uh-oh. Still not EMO myself, despite blood-starved boyfriend and lime green hair.
*
“Don’t let ANYONE drink your blood,” said the news. “Authorities recommend hitting EMOs with cricket bats. Stay alert, not alarmed.”
12 Oct
Ed wore an overcoat and hat to school. Our teachers freaked and put him in detention. I think he bit Mr Joh, the science teacher. Awkward!
*
Ed and I wandered the mall and saw heaps of decorations. Ed sighed, “Christmas is so deep. It makes me feel all –”
“Sad?”
“How’d you know?”
13 Oct
Mr Joh burst into tears while telling us about the reproductive cycle of fruit flies. Ed gave him tissues. This EMO pandemic is so wrong.
14 Oct
Maths class was full of sighs and weeping. (Life hasn’t changed much.) I was put on detention for being insensitive about life’s deep pain.
*
The principal ran detention. He looked thirsty. I shrank in my seat. “Tomorrow,” he told me, “come to my office. Bring your school spirit.”
15 Oct
I brought my school spirit and a cricket bat. The principal grabbed my arm but I whacked him and dived under his desk until the bell rang.
*
Still not EMO, despite listening to principal discuss philosophy for the entire lunch hour. Thank you, cricket bat, thank you.
16 Oct
Ed took me to a graveyard for a date. It was crowded. He licked me on the neck, and I kneed him in the groin. “Don’t you love me?” he wept.
*
Still not EMO, despite kneeing EMO boyfriend in the groin. Actually, that was pretty fun.
17 Oct
I said to Pi, “You know how you wanted to experiment on Ed? Go for it.”
“Thank you thank you!”
It was great to see his childish joy.
18 Oct
Ed called and said, “My Mum wants to know how you got that lovely green in your hair.”
“Well, I –”
“Oh, what’s the point?!” he cried.
*
Pi and I snuck over, gagged Ed, and dragged him home. He sparkled all the way. We locked him in the spare room with a saucer of rat’s blood.
Still not EMO, despite Ed’s slurping of his rat blood. He always was a messy eater. Now he stinks too (he owns only one all-black outfit).
19 Oct
Still not EMO, despite Dad cornering me in the laundry to lecture me on the meaninglessness of his existence. Hope we find a cure.
20 Oct
Caught Pi measuring Ed’s fringe. “When do you start experimenting on him?” I asked.
He said, “Soon. I’m gathering data.”
Still not EMO.
*
Pi said, “Should we ungag Ed? Mum and Dad are fine with him being here.”
“No,” I said, “If we did that, he might start talking again.”
21 Oct
Is being obsessed with Ed’s hair a symptom of EMO? Pi was measured it AGAIN. I wish he’d go into the sunshine so I could see if he sparkles.
22 Oct
“Eureka!” Pi yelled from the EMO room. I ran in. Pi brandished his clipboard. “EMO makes your fringe grow!”
“How is that useful exactly?”
*
Still not EMO, even though my boyfriend has better hair than me. On the up side, Pi stood in sunlight for me – no sparkles. Unlike Dad.
23 Oct
“Oh,” Dad sighed, “weddings always make me cry.”
“No they don’t! You always laugh at the priest wearing a dress. Won’t that be fun?”
“No.”
24 Oct
I felt mean and gave Ed his ipod and speaker. He played “Bleeding Love” for twelve hours. Still not EMO, though after that I do want to cry.
25 Oct
Ed’s Mum rang. I said, “Erm. . . Did you want Ed back?”
She sighed and said, “I don’t deserve him. You keep him.”
“Thanks. Thanks SO much.”
26 Oct
Came home from school to find Pi wrestling Ed. They broke apart and looked at me guiltily. “Ed! No biting!” I said.
“Who me?” he said.
*
Dobbed on Pi, but Mum wasn’t concerned. “Healthy exercise is just what EMOs need. What do you think about a red colour scheme?”
“Mu-um!”
27 Oct
Found Ed pinned helplessly under Pi’s ten-year old foot. “This gets easier by the day!” said Pi.
I said, “We already KNEW EMOs were weak.”
Still not EMO, despite my boyfriend getting regularly beaten up by my nerdy little brother. Dad said red is a very emotional colour. Great.
28 Oct
Mr Joh said life is a meaningless series of unconnected events, so there’s no point studying. Finally this pandemic has an up side!
29 Oct
Pi enjoyed demonstrating his ability to restrain Ed with a single finger.
Mum and Dad’s wedding is set for thirty November.
Still not EMO.
30 October
Mum said, “Be my bridesmaid.”
“Sure – but won’t it be hard to keep your guests from biting one another – enclosed spaces, and all that?”
31 Oct
Finally a weekend! No more sightings of Mr Joh and the principal sharing a tissue box. No more in-class essays on HOW I FEEL. Just Ed. D’oh!
1 November
“Can you believe it’s my wedding month already?” trilled Mum.
Dad and I exchanged a glance of woe. I caught myself and checked for sparkles.
*
Still not EMO. How can my hair be so green without falling out? Maybe I’ve become an anti-EMO. If only I could believe that.
2 Nov
Someone with a hand-drawn Red Cross badge came looking for donations today. I’m pretty sure they don’t usually collect blood door-to-door.
3 Nov
The art teacher made us draw self-portraits. Most of the class mixed their paint with real tears. Went home and bashed head against wall.
4 Nov
The newsreader said, “Our alert has been raised to red – a deep, emotional red. You may as well get bitten. What does it matter anyway?”
5 Nov
All TV cancelled in favour of OC re-runs. Pi and I sat watching Ed cry for two hours. His fringe grew visibly. Still not EMO (pretty sure).
6 Nov
Spent our date night feeding Ed different types of animal blood. He likes dog best. I chose not to ask where Pi got it from. Dad likes cat.
7 Nov
Ed played “Bleeding Love” until I smashed his ipod speaker. He said I was unsupportive and tried to bite me. I’ve got to stay alert!
8 Nov
Decided to confirm Pi’s previous experiment, and challenged Ed to fisticuffs. Beat him easily every time. Science is fun.
9 Nov
I asked the school counsellor for advice on helping friends with EMO-related depression.
“It’s not depression,” she said, “It’s TRUTH.”
10 Nov
For English, Miss Winter read “Wuthering Heights”. It was impossible to understand, because she was sobbing so hard.
Still not EMO.
11 Nov
Our French teacher lectured us today on the deep sadness of all European nations. Luckily, she did most of it in French.
Still not EMO.
12 Nov
In History, Mr Theo told us the World Wars were largely pointless. And so was the Industrial Revolution. And everything else.
Still not EMO.
13 Nov
The principal interrupted maths to bite most of the front row. When the sun shone in the window, the sparkles were blinding.
Still not EMO.
14 Nov
Ed said if I loved him I’d let him bite me. He was too weak to try, but I kicked him in the groin anyway. Suddenly my week got better.
15 Nov
Mum hung out washing and my heart stopped. She was sparkling.
“Mum! You’re EMO!” I cried.
She said, “Nonsense. Look again.”
She was fine.
*
“Pi, I swear she was sparkling one moment and not sparkling the next.”
“Impossible,” he said.
I said, “You’re right. It must be the stress.”
16 Nov
“Two weeks to the wedding!” Mum yelled, waking me.
At least I could be certain she wasn’t EMO. Dad drew sad smileys on the invitations.
17 Nov
Mum picked fresh tomatoes for our dinner, and once again I could have sworn she was sparkling. But when I blinked, she wasn’t. Weird.
18 Nov
“Bell! Bell!” said Pi.
I said, “What?”
“You were right! Mum has a natural immunity.”
“Fantastic.”
“I know. We have to clone her!”
“Pardon?”
19 Nov
“I have to what now?” I asked Pi.
He said, “Just ask Dad how often he bites Mum.”
“But –”
“We need to know. And I’m WAY too young to ask.”
*
Still not EMO, despite finding out Dad gives Mum hickies “every day or two”. I certainly FEEL sick. But will their grossness save the world?
20 Nov
I helped Pi get his cloning machine out of the shed. “And you DIDN’T win the science prize for this?”
He shrugged and said, “Nah. Volcanos.”
21 Nov
I got Mum to agree that she wished there were two of her doing all that wedding prep. She sat in Pi’s cloning machine and BOOM! Two Mums.
*
Still not EMO, despite suddenly copping twice as much wedding talk. I wish we could cure EMOs without actually talking to people.
22 Nov
Mum2 refused to get bitten. “Clones are people too. We have rights.”
“We?” said Pi.
That’s when Mum2 introduced Mum3, Mum4 and Mum5.
23 Nov
“Bell,” said Mum, “don’t be upset, but I’m going to be my own bridal party. Won’t it be fun?”
“Are ANY of you EMO yet?”
“Just your fathers.”
24 Nov
Ed’s coming to the wedding, because “it’ll be SUPER deep.” Tissue prices are rising. Still not EMO, despite getting shafted as bridesmaid.
25 Nov
Mum spent an hour crying due to Mum3 fitting her wedding dress better. I definitely saw sparkles. Then she went for a walk and got better.
26 Nov
Dad’s hair was already darkening because of EMO. He dyed it black for the wedding. His fringe is nearly chin-length. Still not EMO.
*
Pi crept into my room at night with a handful of syringes. “We need their blood! The Mums. Any one will do.”
I’m not sure he’s coping.
27 Nov
Tried to corner Mum5 but she just laughed at me. “I know a million more tricks than you, sweetheart!”
Still not EMO, despite my ten parents.
[author moment PS: Happy wedding day to be brother and his fiance 😉 ]
Daylight Day 56: History of RPGs
Dad’s hair was already darkening because of EMO. He dyed it black for the wedding. His fringe is nearly chin-length. Still not EMO.
*
Pi crept into my room at night with a handful of syringes. “We need their blood! The Mums. Any one will do.”
I’m not sure he’s coping.
———————————————————————
First of all, here’s a truly awesome emo picture (which also explains some of the appeal of the emo culture):
RPG stands for role-playing-game – basically a play without a script, where everyone ad-libs the whole thing, and certain qualities (eg strength) are given a fixed numerical value (which avoids conversations like, “I beat you up!” “No I beat YOU up!”) It’s deeply nerdy and utterly wonderful for creative nerds (no-one is funnier than a witty nerd).
This is how my friend explains the evolution of RPGs:
It began, as all these things begin, with nerds sitting around a table with dice. They had cardboard cut-out characters, no costumes, and no life – just dice rolls. There were absolutely no women.
Then the church discovered RPGs, and immediately denounced it as being pagan, naughty, and anti-Christian.
At hearing this, goths the world over investigated role-playing. And suddenly, there were women in role-playing.
The original nerds were stunned at this development, and used their enormous brains to figure out a strategy – ANY strategy – to keep the girls (who were rather bored by sitting around a table rolling dice to see what their characters did next).
And thus, three-dimensional characters were born, with hopes and desires and plans other than, “Kill stuff. Don’t die.”
Thus role-playing in its modern state was brought about by the church.
You’re welcome, everyone 🙂
In related news, the Vatican today denounced the “Twilight” series, saying it’s a “moral vacuum” filled with “deviant” behaviour.
Suddenly I want to read more. . .
Daylight Day 55: Santa and Swine Flu
Mum spent an hour crying due to Mum3 fitting her wedding dress better. I definitely saw sparkles. Then she went for a walk and got better.
—————————————–
This is a genuine news item from a few days ago.
Poor, poor Santa isn’t so jolly these days. He’s in not one, but two high-risk categories for swine flu.
First, he’s covered in slimy, snotty children all day.
Second, he’s overweight.
This has prompted absolutely serious calls for Santa/s to get the swine flu shot, STAT.
Ho. Ho. *achoo* Ho.
Daylight Day 54: The Ultimate Christian Novel
Ed’s coming to the wedding, because “it’ll be SUPER deep.” Tissue prices are rising. Still not EMO, despite getting shafted as bridesmaid.
———————————————————–
Try it. You’ll like it.
http://www.challies.com/archives/general-news/ramblings/the-ultimate-christian-novel.php
Daylight Day 53: Tower Treasure Hunt
“Bell,” said Mum, “don’t be upset, but I’m going to be my own bridal party. Won’t it be fun?”
“Are ANY of you EMO yet?”
“Just your fathers.”
———————————————————–
Where in Canberra was this photo taken from (if you’re the first to get it right, I give/send you lollies)?
I THINK this is the last tower one, so don’t answer if you’ve already won yourself some lollies.
Daylight Day 52: Guest Author
Mum2 refused to get bitten. “Clones are people too. We have rights.”
“We?” said Pi.
That’s when Mum2 introduced Mum3, Mum4 and Mum5.
————————————–
Today’s story is from someone who wishes to remain anonymous. I’ll call him/her Gertrude Versnickered.
Let me know if there are formatting issues, and I’ll correct them.
Idea Man
Dr. Beth Mannix didn’t often feel jealous of other people.
She was a highly successful psychologist, an authority in her field. That very week, her latest book was sitting high in the bestseller lists.
But the man currently sitting in her office seemed to be an exception to most rules.
James Pitt wasn’t much to look at – unusually tall, lanky in the bad way, and with a face that only a camel’s mother could love – but that didn’t matter.
Every test that could be done confirmed that this man was a genius beyond compare.
“I was wondering if maybe we could discuss your childhood experiences,” she began, trying to keep her voice as amiably neutral as possible.
He snorted irritably.
It was obvious that he didn’t think he should be here.
The court had felt otherwise.
“You seem to have been an excellent student – no, an exceptional student – while you were in primary school. What do you think changed when you entered high school?” she asked.
He sighed, as if he was tired of giving the same answer. “Nothing changed,” he finally said. “Except that people began copying me.”
Beth was ready for his response. “On every essay, every single assignment, someone would copy you?”
“Yes.”
She looked him in the eyes. “But, in many cases, the other person could prove that they had written their paper first…”
James shrugged.
“Okay,” she continued, examining the file on her desk. “Let’s talk about the things that have happened since then.”
He continued to stare at his feet, disinterested.
“Your high school grades were extremely low because your teachers believed your work to be plagiarised and marked you according. But, nevertheless, you still managed to get into university after impressing countless people with your intellect. You dropped out almost immediately. Why?”
He said nothing.
“I have here a report from one of your tutors. It says that your work, while highly original, invariably bore an uncanny resemblance to at least one other student’s. It was never an exact word-for-word copy, but generally shared the title, structure, central argument, and much of the phrasing of their work.”
If she was hoping for a response, then she was disappointed.
“After that you became a journalist. You impressed publishers so much with the quality of your work that you were, almost immediately, placed on the staff of some of the most successful publications in the world. You were taken off again just as quickly after it was discovered that your stories were always almost identical to one being written by a rival reporter.
“Again and again and again, James, the same pattern emerges. When you were a painter, a composer, a screenwriter, a biochemist, a sculptor, a novelist, a theoretical physicist, an industrial designer… the list goes on and on… no matter what the field. You showed a truly remarkable talent for it – no one has ever challenged the brilliance of your work, even while they were suing you over it. It’s just that you seem to have a compulsive need to borrow other people’s ideas.”
Beth gave him her most experienced look of compassion. “Everyone I’ve talked to has told that you are an actual genius, James. I’ve seen samples of your work, and I was amazed. You could do so much, you could be an unprecedented success in any field that you want, if you could just learn to keep to your own ideas.
“I want to help you, James. But it’s hard for me to do that unless you admit that you have a problem.”
But no longer seemed to be paying attention – instead, he was staring fixedly at a biro that he had picked off her desk.
Slowly, he began to unscrew the lid.
Beth felt a stab of frustration.
Did he not realise what he was? There were only a few people like him born every century. True Renaissance Men; people who could excel in anything.
And this was her own field of expertise: people with compulsive self-defeating behaviour.
Normally she only dealt with dismal people – like Garry Wilas – she had spent years trying to lift that cackling pyromaniac out of his deranged militaristic fantasies.
She knew that James was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for her, and she wasn’t going to blow it. No matter how much time or effort she had to put into his therapy.
So he didn’t respond well to the direct approach – okay, most didn’t. She’d just have to think of another…
He was talking.
“Terrible design, this,” he remarked casually, surveying the autopsied remains of her pen. “Look, it would be so simple to improve…”
Beth smiled to herself as she listened to his offhand explanation of an alternative pen design. He went deeply into the improvements in function, aesthetics, and ease of manufacture that could result from a simple design change.
If only she could convince him to go with ideas of his own, like this one, then her job would be done.
The rest of their first session seemed to go quite well. Beth had decided to use a casual, conversational style instead, and that seemed to work much better – James opened up a lot more. The subjects of his remarks were remarkably wide-ranging; he even spent a considerable chunk of time talking about how her receptionist could improve her hair style.
On her way home, Beth continued to thrash out a treatment strategy.
The rest of her day had been normal enough – including the long, unhelpful session with Garry in which he had gleefully explained five different methods by which he could kill her using only her stapler.
She was walking up to her front door, key in hand, when she heard a gasp behind her.
“I’m sorry,” the girl smiled shyly. “But you’re Dr. Mannix, aren’t you?”
Without waiting for an answer, the stranger reached into her rucksack and pulled out a well-thumbed copy of Beth’s latest book, Self-Destruct Systems Active! – an overview of self-defeating behaviour.
“Why, yes,” Beth replied, feeling slightly flattered.
The girl grinned shyly. “Um, would it be okay if I asked you to sign it?” she asked, pulling out a pen.
She gushed adorably as Beth signed her book, saying how clever it was and how much it had changed her life and how she was going to recommend it to all of her friends.
Beth finished signing, thinking to herself that everyone should have at least one encounter like this during their lives. As she handed the book back, the girl suddenly got a thoughtful look on her face. “Where do get your ideas from?” she asked.
For a moment, Beth was going to chuckle politely, but she stopped herself when she saw the completely earnest look on the girl’s face.
The question was now such a cliché that it was only ever asked as a joke, but it seemed this stranger was actually asking it seriously, expecting an answer.
Beth stared at her for an instant, not sure what to say.
How could she say where her ideas came from? Where do any ideas come from?
When you were on the verge of sleep, or in the shower, or lying in the tub – whenever your mind was at its most relaxed and receptive – ping! They would just appear.
“Oh, just thinking about different things, I suppose,” Beth finally said, laughing amiably.
A week later, at his next session, James was much more relaxed.
Beth wasn’t.
Her unease had begun the day after their first session. Coming into work, she had noticed her receptionist examining her radical new hairstyle in a little mirror.
It had seemed somehow familiar.
She had been extremely proud when Beth had commented on it, and told her she had thought of it herself. Apparently, the idea had just suddenly come to her the previous afternoon.
Beth complemented her on her taste – it really did look very nice – but, looking at it, she couldn’t help but feel a certain strange shiver of recognition.
Walking down the street the next day, she had seen the new hairstyle again. And again. And again. Eventually, and with careful casualness, she had asked one of the women about it. They had been obviously flattered and had told her that it was their own design. It seems she’d just been on the way to the hairdressers and the idea had just suddenly popped into her head.
That morning, as Beth had been reading her paper over breakfast, her eye had fallen on a photograph of various starlets walking down the red carpet. Their hair was all done up in the same, apparently very trendy, way. It looked awfully familiar.
She quickly glanced away, feeling that same strange shiver, and her eye happened to fall across a small story in the corner. Apparently, the previous week, every major pen company in the world had announced plans to make a slight alteration to the traditional design of their pens. The article described this briefly, explaining the improvements in function, aesthetics, and ease of manufacture that it had been decided would result from this simple change. However, given the remarkable similarity of the planned modifications, lawsuits had now been filed in an attempt to determine who had precedence.
Beth’s attention was suddenly jolted back to the session.
“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling. “What did you say?”
“Oh, nothing important,” James said. He looked off for a second, as if lost in thought. “Oh, I read that book of yours,” he finally remarked.
“What did you think of it?” Beth asked. In spite of herself, she was genuinely curious.
He shrugged. “It was good, well-written… but to be honest, I thought that some of your conclusions were a bit simplistic.” He got that thoughtful look again. “You seem to assume that self-defeating actions are necessarily a learned response, even though a number of neurobiological effects – such as those seen in Lysch-Nyhan syndrome – are known to induce similar behaviour.”
He was silent for a moment, his brows knitted in thought.
Then he suddenly brightened. “Perhaps a better way to view it would be…”
But Beth didn’t hear him. She felt something like an explosion in her mind as, all of a sudden, the most amazingly complete, ground-breaking theory of self-destruction burst into her consciousness.
It was so simple! So elegant! She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t thought of it before!
She was almost gasping, barely able to contain her desire to run to her computer and begin taking down notes.
James didn’t seem to notice, he just went on talking.
Beth forced her mind back to what he was saying, and suddenly froze.
Over the next ten minutes he explained her new theory to her, in great detail and using exactly the same words with which she had thought it. He was very casual in his explanation; after all, it was just the latest of perhaps hundreds of ideas which he had thought of that morning alone.
Beth, very calmly, made an excuse and ended the session early.
Beth had to fight the almost irresistible urge to begin work on her next, revolutionary, book – the one in which she would explain this amazing new theory.
But, instead, she made herself log onto the internet to research something quite different.
The phenomenon is commonly known as the ‘zeitgeist’, a German word meaning ‘Spirit of the Age’. It generally refers to the tendency for new ideas to appear independently of each other in different places at almost exactly the same time.
Beth learned that there had been legal action between Newton and Leibniz over which of them had invented Calculus first. She learned that a week after Einstein published his Special Theory of Relativity, another physicist named Hendrik Lorentz had a paper printed containing an almost identical idea. She discovered that no matter how hard you looked, it was almost impossible to discover who had actually been behind any major invention. Radio, the telephone, jet engines, television, the car… there was never just a single inventor, but rather a large number of people seemed to have almost simultaneously begun work on remarkably similar devices. The final invention was almost always a fusion of all of their innovations.
And it wasn’t just in the sciences that you saw it.
Mark Twain once wrote an article on the phenomenon after noticing that whenever he suddenly had a brilliant story idea, he would later find that one of his friends had the same idea, on the same day. Often the results were the same down to the character names.
Wandering into the realm of pseudoscience, Beth read about controversial experiments in which teaching one rat to run a certain maze caused different rats in different labs to run identical mazes faster. She read about a group of anthropologists who had claimed to have observed that, after a monkey had learned to eat a potato – something that it had never seen before – in a particular way, every subsequent monkey that they encountered immediately and instinctively began to eat it in the that way too.
Even if they lived on a different island.
Beth came across things like ‘Morphogenetic Field Theory’ and ‘The 300th Monkey Hypothesis’ – different, strange names for the same, strange idea. The idea that every species has a kind of ‘group soul’ – an aether in which thoughts, dreams – ideas – could wander free of their creator and be ensnared by the receptive mind of another person.
Beth sat back, her head reeling.
How many new ideas appear in a year? Good, truly original ideas?
A hundred? A thousand?
Could it be possible, maybe, just maybe, that every age had a handful of people like James – brilliant, truly original people – who, somehow, between themselves…
She sighed and switched off her computer, rubbing at her eyes.
She knew that she wouldn’t be able to resist beginning her new book for much longer. She would have to talk to James about it, offer to share credit with him.
After all, it had been his idea…
She gasped to herself as she realised what she had just thought.
Garry Wilas chuckled to himself.
Dr. Mannix seemed to be particularly distracted today, he didn’t think that she’d heard a word that he’d said all day.
Which was probably for the best…
He grinned as his mind slipped back to the story that he’d read in the paper that morning. The one about the ‘quiet, reserved’ man who’d suddenly and for no obvious reason murdered five people, in five different ways, using only a stapler.
That sort of thing was always happening to him – every killing, every attack, every war that he’d read about over the last few years always seemed to bear an incredible similarity to one of his little daydreams.
Why, if he didn’t know better, he might think that people were somehow getting their ideas from him…
Suddenly Garry gasped, his eyes widening, as the most amazing idea suddenly occurred to him.
It was incredible – bigger than everything else he’d ever thought of put together! His breath came in ragged little patches as he began to salivate at the thought of destruction on such a scale…
Why, if an idea like this one ever got out…
Felicity Banks 