Nineteen: "Mnemosyne" – I Hate[d] Dogs

A reminder that "mnemosyne" means "memory" in Latin, and it's the tag I use in my blog titles for two reasons. One, because I want to sound cool, and Latin words sound cool. Two, because I talk about a specific memory here.

This time, we'll be talking about dogs, and my rich personal history with them.

I couldn't have been older than four when I had my first major encounter with a canine – a full grown golden retriever. I was with my dad and one of his long time friends, and I believe they were talking and casually playing fetch with the long-time-friend's dog. Of course, at the time, as a little kid around a big dog, I had my respect for the animal, but I was ok with standing out there with them.

Until I started walking away and the Frisbee (as I remember it) flew over my head, and the dog started running towards me. Well, "at" me. And I panicked.

And ran.

And didn't get very far before the retriever lost interest in the fetch object and came after the little kid running away from it (him?... I'm afraid to say cause I don't remember the dog's gender). All told, the harrowing scene which scared my childhood life ended with me on the ground and the dog sitting on top of me.

Not cool.
In fact, I spent the next... eh, eight years of my life? Maybe ten. And I lived in somewhat mortal fear of dogs. If the dog was around, I wasn't. I could not stand to be within the "range" of a dog collared by leash. They were evil, scary creatures to me that I wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

Specifically, I can tell you about my grandparents' dog, which I spent a good amount of time around when we moved back to Atlanta from Dallas, Texas six years back (wow, six years now o3o ). A lively Jack Russell Terrier mix called Lucy.
Um, the only thing worse than big dogs is small dogs. Because small dogs are faster and more agile, which makes them better at trying to kill you when you aren't looking. Usually when we visited my grandparents, Lucy would be tied to a leash, and I never entered the range of that leash, or even got close.
Those oh so frightful times when Lucy accidentally or purposely got loose? Yeah, I'd be running up the stairs in fear of my life.

But, as could only be expected from a story like this, time went on. Eventually, I could get close to her and pet her while she sat. Of course, as soon as she got up or jerked her head for any reason, I'd be gone in a flash, safely out of range.
And then I'd be next to Dad and a loose Lucy, playing fetch and letting her keep her attention on him rather than me.
And I spent time around other more docile dogs.
And by the time I was about fourteen or fifteen, I was ok with dogs. I'm sure maturity (and getting taller) had something to do with it, but I didn't mind dogs.
It wasn't long after that before I came to enjoy them. Lucy and I have now reached the point where, if I am sitting down in a place she can be within reach, she will come and sit in front of me (without me telling her to do anything) and wait to be scratched.
My dad has taught me about caring for dogs and the sweet spots for scratching them and all these kinds of things.
Nowadays, dogs aren't so bad.

Just so long as they aren't sitting on me.

Fourteen: Nicholas Flamel, Alchymist, Part 2A

[This article was written a month or two ago and I can't really be bothered to finish it. Do yourself the favor and never read these books ever. I do promise to return to what makes good and bad stories from a technical angle though. It will be fun.]

Here are some more issues I have with the first story in the book series The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel by Michael Scott.

So this is something that I'll talk about later when I discuss what makes a good story (as opposed to a bad one like I am here). For a story to be engaging, it must have character development. Each character must have a flaw or issue that must be worked through. Take my word for it for now, but I'll give examples in a future blog.

This story has no character development.

Alright, I suppose this could be argued. But seriously. Sophie and Josh have no flaws. They're just confused, and they have every right to be. If I wasn't a critical thinker, I would be confused too.

As it is, the story is also very very very predictable. By the time the heroes are comfortable in the Shadow Realm, I guessed how the battle would end. I was correct. 

When they arrived at the Witch's place in Ojai, I assumed that Dee would talk to Josh and then attack. When Dee goes all necromancer and resurrects the graveyard, I guessed that Josh would save the day.

I was correct.

In my opinion, a good story leaves me scratching my head. I shouldn't be able to make a guess even if I wanted to because it's all so confusing and interesting. In this story, I am disappointed because not only can I make a guess, I'm also correct. It's not even that I assume one thing, and then the author cleverly turns a missed detail around to give me an, "Ahhhh!" moment. Nope. Just predicable BS.

But back to what I was saying earlier. No one has flaws. 

Pernelle is perfect in her little deus ex machina world. 

Flamel is perfect – he's the good guy getting questioned by Josh. He's always calm, always wise, always without mistakes. Seriously, the guy makes no mistakes other than letting Dee catch up to him. But that had to happen so that the story could, now didn't it?

Again, Josh and Sophie are also relatively perfect. They love each other. They deal with the stress normally. They ask good questions. They don't get mad. Not even one of them gets mad.

"But Josh questioning Flamel!" you say. "Surely that's some development." No, that's a natural reaction. And even if it was development, tell me what he learns from it. He spends a loooong time questioning Flamel after this, even Mars.

One thing that started to annoy me by the end of the first book (and continues to annoy me as I read into the third out of five) is something the author Scott is doing just to be cool. 

Did/Do you realize how many times he uses some variation of the line, "'......,' he spoke in a language that had not been uttered in a millennia"?? 

It's as if all these bad guys and gods and legends decided that the, "don't use the ancient languages for as long as you can" contest was over and all of a sudden everyone's speaking ancient Greek dialects and Elder tongues and on and on. For the first time since the dawn of man, apparently. 

Seriously, one use of this kind of thing is fine. Twice is tolerable. Three or more? Shame on you!

Lastly. Remember last time when I mentioned that I thought this book series so far was crap with just a sprinkling of bacon bits on top? What did I mean by that?

Well, bacon bits make anything taste better.

Similarly, there's just enough in this generally lacking series to keep me reading. If only to slam it harder, but I'm still reading. So it's a tasteless series, but not so much as to make me spit it out. Not yet.

However, I am not at all hesitant to yell at the chef a little, as you've seen here.

Book 2, coming soon (later)!