Grounded Cafe (take four) - #WhiteNoise #Distortion

Ice raced down Ash’s spine, an old familiar call to attention. He turned his head toward movement in his peripheral, was that two hostiles across the street? Through the undusted window of the Grounded Cafe, Ash caught sight of two shadowy figures creeping across the cracked asphalt. Fog clung to the air like a white parka, casting the figures in a blurry haze. 

Approximately 11 meters, two potential hostiles, he couldn’t make out weapons, but the way they moved indicated non-casual presence.

As he turned his full attention to the two figures creeping along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road, they turned their heads toward him, then dashed behind a parked blue minivan. One peeked out from the van, pointing something his direction.

Was that a gun?

A ghostly whisper of danger, the scent of death hung in the air — tangy copper mixed with the dryness of dust. It was a taste Ash had grown accustomed to during his time overseas. 

His right arm shot to the Glock 10mm at his side, cold steal against his palm.

Sucking in a breath to steady himself, he took a second look— 

They were gone. 

Black mist poured out from under the minivan and evaporated into the early morning air. 

Shaking his head, Ash closed his eyes, counting to ten, silently as he released his breath slowly, letting it pass over tight lips.

Ash released the grip on his sidearm, which he now realized was a tape measure and not a Glock. Ash hadn’t carried a weapon regularly since he left the service (for this very reason, for safety, to ensure the danger was real before he engaged). 

Really, Ash, come on, what danger could there possibly be in Moon-Wolf Hollow, Idaho? He thought. A random teenager shoplifting is the worst case of crime we’ve had in a whole year.

These days, he kept his weapons close, but locked in a case, with the ammunition stored separately, until he was at the firing range or doing a demonstrations, as he occasionally did for local organizations. In some other state, he probably wouldn’t own any, but he lived in one of the last remaining hold-outs of freedom in the USA.

Ash noted that his arm was still holding the tape measure stiffly, he let his arm fall to his side, and wiped the sweat from his hands on his pant leg. Reality settled back onto his shoulders. A glimpse of himself in the glass window revealed a strong gray overtaking the sideburns. Other than a few wrinkles, he hadn’t aged that badly. Some might even say he was still young.

“Hello!” Oh yeah, Mrs. Maverick had been asking him a question, what was it? What was she asking?

“Hello,” She called again. “Ash? Is everything… Okay?”

Ash slowly turned toward, trying to look casual. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Maverick,” Ash said, trying to force an awkward smile into his tense jaw. “I thought I saw- “ what was he going to say that wouldn’t sound crazy? “Nevermind, what was your question again?” 

“I was asking-” her lips tightened, and her nostrils flared, then she pulled at the edges of her bright yellow and orange wool blazer. “Would you be willing to do such a large custom project? Do you have the availability for that in your schedule?” 

Ash pulled a tattered leather notebook from his messenger bag, and flipped through his notes. 

“Honestly,” he replied. I don’t know if I do at this moment. I have several other projects ahead for this next season already. But I might. Let me run some calculations back at my shop, and I’ll get back to you.” Ash forced another smile. 

“Very well.” She nodded curtly, and walked to a table at the other end of the cafe, then sat with a small gaggle of other wealthy bored women. Mrs Maverick was one of many such retired house wive’s that had moved to small town Idaho from some other city.

For the last 50-years or more, the town had a consistent population of 450, give or take a teenager moving away. But the last five years had seen significant growth in the larger towns in the area, and it had spread into Moon-Wolf Hollow, Idaho now. Last estimate was closer to 950, and counting.

Ash turned from his vendor table, against the window in the cafe, and checked to see if anyone else had noticed his momentary lapse of lucidity. 

Jenny was selling her soaps and candles at the table next to him, she was busy wrapped up in conversation with a customer, a little old lady who loved her scents.

James was pretending to organize his ironwork, for the sixtieth time that day, probably to avoid snoring in his camping chair, like he did last weekend.

Craig trimmed his pot-plants at the table on the other side, which was allowed now that Idaho finally caught up with the 21st century and realized it was supposed to be the state of Freedom and not a state where personal morals were shoved down people’s throats. A lot of money on policing and jails was saved by foregoing the persecution of victim-less crimes, and that money was poured into increasing the availability of mental health facilities throughout the state. It was a move Ash had reservations about, but he could see the logic. And it didn’t hurt in his case, as a new facility had opened in town just a few years ago, not that it was staffed at the moment. But, that was a normal small town problem. Craig had given Ash a few pointers on growing himself. He developed a unique selling pitch, by treating them as a form of Bonsai, except you could use the trimming, so to speak.

There weren’t many customer’s this time of day, but it was one of the last opportunities of the season, before the town buttoned up the hatches for the long winter ahead.

Handfuls of folks lingered, a tourist family staying at the motel next door eyed some crochet stuffies made to look similar to famous movie and cartoon characters, most of which Ash didn’t recognize. He never had kids, and wasn’t much of a kid himself in his youth.

A young man with a hoodie typed furiously at a keyboard. 

A woman jabbered away on the phone, failing to pacify the toddler in the stroller to her side. 

Two men spoke in hushed tones at a table not far from Ash. 

A purple and white haze turned Ash’s attention back to the sidewalk outside, a woman in a purple hoodie walked by just outside the window, head buried in her smartphone. She bumped into Hank, the town’s crazy old homeless man who was headed the other direction, into the foggy evening. She didn’t appear to notice him. He gave her a dirty look and kept walking the other way, mumbling to himself as usual. 

The woman sat down at a table just outside the farthest window of the Cafe, he couldn’t make out her face, possibly one of the towns last tourists before the few stores left went into hibernation. 

An orange Maple leaf lazily floated down to the table in front her. She brushed it aside, and it fell inside a pumpkin whose top had been kicked off. The leaf caught on fire from the candle, and slowly embered away. She didn’t take notice of that either. A purple and white vapor swaddled her like a blanket, as she leaned over an open book of some kind. 

Old Hank stared at her from the corner of the building. A small green frog sat on his shoulder. The bottom half of the frog was a mist that disappeared into Hank’s spine. The frog’s red eyes stared at her, then at Ash, and it cocked its head to one side. Then it was gone, in a whisp of grey-green fog that continued to waft around Hank as he walked away out of sight.

Ash didn’t see these creatures on every person, every time, but almost everyone had a mist cloak. Though some people’s mists were more pronounced, while others were barely visible

The town psychic, Genevieve, called it an “aura”, when he explained it to her in a rather desperate confidence one day. “Some of them must have a stronger aura,” she suggested. She was a bit of a quack but he was willing to try everything to at least understand it if he couldn’t get rid of it. 

He’d been to quite a few doctors, and that having born no fruit, he went to pastors, priests, the town psychic, a passing faith-healer, and even a local Rabbi from a larger town nearby. Each of them had their opinions and suggestions. While non of them offered any real relief, the Rabbi was the most gentle and inquisitive of the bunch, more often asking honest and curious questions, and offering few if any answers. But at least Ash felt heard and understood with the Rabbi, who had nothing to sell but time, and a good chat over coffee.

Generally, the creatures came from within a person and would go back into them, like human genie bottles. Not everyone had a creature, but people sometimes did. The Creatures weren’t all alike, either. There were repeats of similar versions, but each seemed unique to the person.

“You don’t fit the profile for Schizoaffective Disorder, as your life and thinking are otherwise quite normative. I would call this Post Traumatic Stress Disorder with Psychotic Features. This is rare, but can happen with serious abuse or trauma, then again, we could have a traumatic brain injury affecting the visual cortex. The mind is still a mystery to us in many ways…”, his latest doctor had offered this explanation before he left the clinic without a town shrink six months ago.

The VA docs tried giving him a mountain of drugs to help him sleep and keep the delusions at a minimum. Nothing really helped, most made it worse. 

When the Federal government forced legalized medicinal THC on all the states as a human right, and Idaho finally gave up on the failed war on drugs and allowed doctors and people to choose their own path in life, his Idaho VA doctor said to try pot, as it was clinically shown to have better results for some people that anti-psychotics. Ash didn’t bother telling the VA doc that he’d already been growing it on his property for several years now. 

The magical medical folks at Big Pharma managed to create a pill form with less hallucinogenic properties and twice the pain killing properties, but it cost too much and his VA insurance didn’t cover it yet, although the decision was before the Senate hearing committee, thanks to PTSD Health advocates. If the Fed would just finish eliminating for-profit medicine, he could try that someday. The only thing he hated more than big government was big pharma and big corporations. 

He liked living in one of the last small towns where people left people alone to be themselves.

For now, Ash started growing it himself a few years ago, his sleep was more regular but the delusions came and went. He could still hear the original diagnosis in his mind.

“As long as you are not a harm to yourself or others, you should be just fine. Think of it as an amusing distraction,” the doctor advised. 

— Ash heard his name.

“Ash-”, Derek the Barist’ called his attention to the present, standing in front of his table with a frosty blending drink, and green whip cream. “Here you go, man. Extra large Java-Chip, almond milk, six shots, with peppermint and crème de menthe. I even through a few extra candied coffee beans on there for you.” 

Derek’s mists swirled around in deep blue and a streaks of orange. Ash couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Derek get angry, even when some tourist was giving him a tongue lashing for being too slow.

“Thanks, Derek”, Ash said as he took the drink gratefully. 

“Always my friend,” Derek said. “How’s business been today?”

“I haven’t sold much, but it’s nice to get out of the house a few more times before the snow makes it hard to leave the property.” Ash took a sip, the cold creamy mint made his mouth tingle, “… this is really good.” 

He set it down. “I mean… I can get the tractor and snow blower out and punch my way down the road when I have to. But 110 acres is a lot to manage, and my house isn’t exactly off the main road.” 

“I get. I don’t know how you guys live that far out of town, my hats off to you for the effort. But I do appreciate how nice it is. Should we have another meeting up there before the roads become impassable?”

“I think we can do that — “ Ash stopped when he noticed Sam walk in, and waved him over to join them. 

“Sam,” Derek gave him a bear hug, “We should have the next Kairos meeting at Ash’s house, before the road become impassable. I can help him get it ready for guests.”

Sam smiled, but he gave Ash a sideways glance. “How are you feeling about this idea? Is it too much? Are you okay, you looked a little tense earlier, through the window.”

Ash felt his gut tighten, Sam had noticed. If anyone would notice, it was Sam. He squinted at Sam, he felt the question scroll across his face, but couldn’t gather the words to ask it without sounding crazy.

“I was in the jeep,” Sam offered.

“Ah,” Ash replied. “I’m alright, I think it would be good for me.”

“Okay,” Sam shrugged. “You bring food, and I’ll bring drinks?” 

Derek squinted at Sam, “As long as you don’t bring that piss water you brought last time!” 

Sam grinned, “I’ll behave and bring something a distinguished gentleman like you would approve of.”

“Then I accept,” Derek shook Sam’s hand, then Ash’s, and then headed back to his coffee machines.

Ash wasn’t sure about all the Bible stuff, but he enjoyed having a crew around him, it reminded him of his team in the service. So he put up with the religious part for the sake of comradery, besides, most of the time they just talked about town stuff, news, or sports.

“Hey,” Sam turned his full attention to Ash. “Did you hear the news?” 

Ash picked up one of his popular Sasquatch figurines, wiggling it in front of Sam, “They finally found Big Foot?” Ash noted that it felt good to smile, he didn’t do that enough lately.

“No, still looking I’m afraid-“ Sam still laughed at his jokes, like when they were kids. “They found a new doctor for the clinic. He just came into town last week, he’s staying at the hotel until his rental cabin is set up. His moving truck comes in tomorrow and he’s bringing some new equipment to town. He said he’ll be ready to start seeing clients by the end of week.”

“That’s good, especially with Old Hank hanging around again.” Ash nodded to Old Hank still outside the window, but now barely noticeable from the corner of the building, peeping at all the people in the shop.

“Yeah, but,” Sam replied, and used an over exaggerated nod back to Ash. “I think this guy might be able to help you.”

“What’s this guy got that the last fifty hasn’t?” Ash asked. 

“This guy is a bid deal or something. I’m not sure where they picked him up, He says he’s here to enjoy a semi-retirement or something. He’s a PhD out of Harvard or Yale or one of those big stuffy places with smart people.”

“Hmm —“ Ash started to form a reply, but lost it. The fog outside was creeping into his head. It had been a longer week than he planned, more sales than he hoped, which was great, but exhausting. “I guess we’ll see. I’ll check in with him after the Oktoberfest this weekend.”

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Shalom: Live Long and Prosper!

Darrell Wolfe (DG Wolfe)

Storyteller | Writer | Thinker | Consultant @ DarrellWolfe.com

Clifton StrengthsFinder: Intellection, Learner, Ideation, Achiever, Input
16Personalities (Myers-Briggs Type): INFJ

Read more →

Grounded Cafe (take four) - #WhiteNoise #Distortion

As I begin writing again, seriously, for the first time since I started my widower journey, I will be posting various rough drafts here. Feel free to consider this an Alpha read...

Ice raced down Ash’s spine, an old familiar call to attention. He turned his head toward movement in his peripheral, was that two hostiles across the street? Through the undusted window of the Grounded Cafe, Ash caught sight of two shadowy figures creeping across the cracked asphalt. Fog clung to the air like a white parka, casting the figures in a blurry haze.

Approximately 11 meters, two potential hostiles, he couldn’t make out weapons, but the way they moved indicated non-casual presence.

As he turned his full attention to the two figures creeping along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road, they turned their heads toward him, then dashed behind a parked blue minivan. One peeked out from the van, pointing something his direction.

Was that a gun?

A ghostly whisper of danger, the scent of death hung in the air — tangy copper mixed with the dryness of dust. It was a taste Ash had grown accustomed to during his time overseas.

His right arm shot to the Glock 10mm at his side, cold steal against his palm.

Sucking in a breath to steady himself, he took a second look—

They were gone.

Black mist poured out from under the minivan and evaporated into the early morning air.

Shaking his head, Ash closed his eyes, counting to ten, silently as he released his breath slowly, letting it pass over tight lips.

Ash released the grip on his sidearm, which he now realized was a tape measure and not a Glock. Ash hadn’t carried a weapon regularly since he left the service (for this very reason, for safety, to ensure the danger was real before he engaged).

Really, Ash, come on, what danger could there possibly be in Moon-Wolf Hollow, Idaho? He thought. A random teenager shoplifting is the worst case of crime we’ve had in a whole year.

These days, he kept his weapons close, but locked in a case, with the ammunition stored separately, until he was at the firing range or doing a demonstrations, as he occasionally did for local organizations. In some other state, he probably wouldn’t own any, but he lived in one of the last remaining hold-outs of freedom in the USA.

Ash noted that his arm was still holding the tape measure stiffly, he let his arm fall to his side, and wiped the sweat from his hands on his pant leg. Reality settled back onto his shoulders. A glimpse of himself in the glass window revealed a strong gray overtaking the sideburns. Other than a few wrinkles, he hadn’t aged that badly. Some might even say he was still young.

“Hello!” Oh yeah, Mrs. Maverick had been asking him a question, what was it? What was she asking?

“Hello,” She called again. “Ash? Is everything… Okay?”

Ash slowly turned toward, trying to look casual. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Maverick,” Ash said, trying to force an awkward smile into his tense jaw. “I thought I saw- “ what was he going to say that wouldn’t sound crazy? “Nevermind, what was your question again?”

“I was asking-” her lips tightened, and her nostrils flared, then she pulled at the edges of her bright yellow and orange wool blazer. “Would you be willing to do such a large custom project? Do you have the availability for that in your schedule?”

Ash pulled a tattered leather notebook from his messenger bag, and flipped through his notes.

“Honestly,” he replied. I don’t know if I do at this moment. I have several other projects ahead for this next season already. But I might. Let me run some calculations back at my shop, and I’ll get back to you.” Ash forced another smile.

“Very well.” She nodded curtly, and walked to a table at the other end of the cafe, then sat with a small gaggle of other wealthy bored women. Mrs Maverick was one of many such retired house wive’s that had moved to small town Idaho from some other city.

For the last 50-years or more, the town had a consistent population of 450, give or take a teenager moving away. But the last five years had seen significant growth in the larger towns in the area, and it had spread into Moon-Wolf Hollow, Idaho now. Last estimate was closer to 950, and counting.

Ash turned from his vendor table, against the window in the cafe, and checked to see if anyone else had noticed his momentary lapse of lucidity.

Jenny was selling her soaps and candles at the table next to him, she was busy wrapped up in conversation with a customer, a little old lady who loved her scents.

James was pretending to organize his ironwork, for the sixtieth time that day, probably to avoid snoring in his camping chair, like he did last weekend.

Craig trimmed his pot-plants at the table on the other side, which was allowed now that Idaho finally caught up with the 21st century and realized it was supposed to be the state of Freedom and not a state where personal morals were shoved down people’s throats. A lot of money on policing and jails was saved by foregoing the persecution of victim-less crimes, and that money was poured into increasing the availability of mental health facilities throughout the state. It was a move Ash had reservations about, but he could see the logic. And it didn’t hurt in his case, as a new facility had opened in town just a few years ago, not that it was staffed at the moment. But, that was a normal small town problem. Craig had given Ash a few pointers on growing himself. He developed a unique selling pitch, by treating them as a form of Bonsai, except you could use the trimming, so to speak.

There weren’t many customer’s this time of day, but it was one of the last opportunities of the season, before the town buttoned up the hatches for the long winter ahead.

Handfuls of folks lingered, a tourist family staying at the motel next door eyed some crochet stuffies made to look similar to famous movie and cartoon characters, most of which Ash didn’t recognize. He never had kids, and wasn’t much of a kid himself in his youth.

A young man with a hoodie typed furiously at a keyboard.

A woman jabbered away on the phone, failing to pacify the toddler in the stroller to her side.

Two men spoke in hushed tones at a table not far from Ash.

A purple and white haze turned Ash’s attention back to the sidewalk outside, a woman in a purple hoodie walked by just outside the window, head buried in her smartphone. She bumped into Hank, the town’s crazy old homeless man who was headed the other direction, into the foggy evening. She didn’t appear to notice him. He gave her a dirty look and kept walking the other way, mumbling to himself as usual.

The woman sat down at a table just outside the farthest window of the Cafe, he couldn’t make out her face, possibly one of the towns last tourists before the few stores left went into hibernation.

An orange Maple leaf lazily floated down to the table in front her. She brushed it aside, and it fell inside a pumpkin whose top had been kicked off. The leaf caught on fire from the candle, and slowly embered away. She didn’t take notice of that either. A purple and white vapor swaddled her like a blanket, as she leaned over an open book of some kind.

Old Hank stared at her from the corner of the building. A small green frog sat on his shoulder. The bottom half of the frog was a mist that disappeared into Hank’s spine. The frog’s red eyes stared at her, then at Ash, and it cocked its head to one side. Then it was gone, in a whisp of grey-green fog that continued to waft around Hank as he walked away out of sight.

Ash didn’t see these creatures on every person, every time, but almost everyone had a mist cloak. Though some people’s mists were more pronounced, while others were barely visible

The town psychic, Genevieve, called it an “aura”, when he explained it to her in a rather desperate confidence one day. “Some of them must have a stronger aura,” she suggested. She was a bit of a quack but he was willing to try everything to at least understand it if he couldn’t get rid of it.

He’d been to quite a few doctors, and that having born no fruit, he went to pastors, priests, the town psychic, a passing faith-healer, and even a local Rabbi from a larger town nearby. Each of them had their opinions and suggestions. While non of them offered any real relief, the Rabbi was the most gentle and inquisitive of the bunch, more often asking honest and curious questions, and offering few if any answers. But at least Ash felt heard and understood with the Rabbi, who had nothing to sell but time, and a good chat over coffee.

Generally, the creatures came from within a person and would go back into them, like human genie bottles. Not everyone had a creature, but people sometimes did. The Creatures weren’t all alike, either. There were repeats of similar versions, but each seemed unique to the person.

“You don’t fit the profile for Schizoaffective Disorder, as your life and thinking are otherwise quite normative. I would call this Post Traumatic Stress Disorder with Psychotic Features. This is rare, but can happen with serious abuse or trauma, then again, we could have a traumatic brain injury affecting the visual cortex. The mind is still a mystery to us in many ways…”, his latest doctor had offered this explanation before he left the clinic without a town shrink six months ago.

The VA docs tried giving him a mountain of drugs to help him sleep and keep the delusions at a minimum. Nothing really helped, most made it worse.

When the Federal government forced legalized medicinal THC on all the states as a human right, and Idaho finally gave up on the failed war on drugs and allowed doctors and people to choose their own path in life, his Idaho VA doctor said to try pot, as it was clinically shown to have better results for some people that anti-psychotics. Ash didn’t bother telling the VA doc that he’d already been growing it on his property for several years now.

The magical medical folks at Big Pharma managed to create a pill form with less hallucinogenic properties and twice the pain killing properties, but it cost too much and his VA insurance didn’t cover it yet, although the decision was before the Senate hearing committee, thanks to PTSD Health advocates. If the Fed would just finish eliminating for-profit medicine, he could try that someday. The only thing he hated more than big government was big pharma and big corporations.

He liked living in one of the last small towns where people left people alone to be themselves.

For now, Ash started growing it himself a few years ago, his sleep was more regular but the delusions came and went. He could still hear the original diagnosis in his mind.

“As long as you are not a harm to yourself or others, you should be just fine. Think of it as an amusing distraction,” the doctor advised.

— Ash heard his name.

“Ash-”, Derek the Barist’ called his attention to the present, standing in front of his table with a frosty blending drink, and green whip cream. “Here you go, man. Extra large Java-Chip, almond milk, six shots, with peppermint and crème de menthe. I even through a few extra candied coffee beans on there for you.”

Derek’s mists swirled around in deep blue and a streaks of orange. Ash couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Derek get angry, even when some tourist was giving him a tongue lashing for being too slow.

“Thanks, Derek”, Ash said as he took the drink gratefully.

“Always my friend,” Derek said. “How’s business been today?”

“I haven’t sold much, but it’s nice to get out of the house a few more times before the snow makes it hard to leave the property.” Ash took a sip, the cold creamy mint made his mouth tingle, “… this is really good.”

He set it down. “I mean… I can get the tractor and snow blower out and punch my way down the road when I have to. But 110 acres is a lot to manage, and my house isn’t exactly off the main road.”

“I get. I don’t know how you guys live that far out of town, my hats off to you for the effort. But I do appreciate how nice it is. Should we have another meeting up there before the roads become impassable?”

“I think we can do that — “ Ash stopped when he noticed Sam walk in, and waved him over to join them.

“Sam,” Derek gave him a bear hug, “We should have the next Kairos meeting at Ash’s house, before the road become impassable. I can help him get it ready for guests.”

Sam smiled, but he gave Ash a sideways glance. “How are you feeling about this idea? Is it too much? Are you okay, you looked a little tense earlier, through the window.”

Ash felt his gut tighten, Sam had noticed. If anyone would notice, it was Sam. He squinted at Sam, he felt the question scroll across his face, but couldn’t gather the words to ask it without sounding crazy.

“I was in the jeep,” Sam offered.

“Ah,” Ash replied. “I’m alright, I think it would be good for me.”

“Okay,” Sam shrugged. “You bring food, and I’ll bring drinks?”

Derek squinted at Sam, “As long as you don’t bring that piss water you brought last time!”

Sam grinned, “I’ll behave and bring something a distinguished gentleman like you would approve of.”

“Then I accept,” Derek shook Sam’s hand, then Ash’s, and then headed back to his coffee machines.

Ash wasn’t sure about all the Bible stuff, but he enjoyed having a crew around him, it reminded him of his team in the service. So he put up with the religious part for the sake of comradery, besides, most of the time they just talked about town stuff, news, or sports.

“Hey,” Sam turned his full attention to Ash. “Did you hear the news?”

Ash picked up one of his popular Sasquatch figurines, wiggling it in front of Sam, “They finally found Big Foot?” Ash noted that it felt good to smile, he didn’t do that enough lately.

“No, still looking I’m afraid-“ Sam still laughed at his jokes, like when they were kids. “They found a new doctor for the clinic. He just came into town last week, he’s staying at the hotel until his rental cabin is set up. His moving truck comes in tomorrow and he’s bringing some new equipment to town. He said he’ll be ready to start seeing clients by the end of week.”

“That’s good, especially with Old Hank hanging around again.” Ash nodded to Old Hank still outside the window, but now barely noticeable from the corner of the building, peeping at all the people in the shop.

“Yeah, but,” Sam replied, and used an over exaggerated nod back to Ash. “I think this guy might be able to help you.”

“What’s this guy got that the last fifty hasn’t?” Ash asked.

“This guy is a bid deal or something. I’m not sure where they picked him up, He says he’s here to enjoy a semi-retirement or something. He’s a PhD out of Harvard or Yale or one of those big stuffy places with smart people.”

“Hmm —“ Ash started to form a reply, but lost it. The fog outside was creeping into his head. It had been a longer week than he planned, more sales than he hoped, which was great, but exhausting. “I guess we’ll see. I’ll check in with him after the Oktoberfest this weekend.”

Subscribe Now - Pursue a No Hiding Lifestyle 

Shalom: Live Long and Prosper!

Darrell Wolfe (DG Wolfe)

Storyteller | Writer | Thinker | Consultant @ DarrellWolfe.com

Clifton StrengthsFinder: Intellection, Learner, Ideation, Achiever, Input
16Personalities (Myers-Briggs Type): INFJ

Read more →

And thus, a new chapter begins, if you'll pardon the pun...

As 12/31/2023 rolls into 01/01/2024, I'm rebuilding my home website at DarrellWolfe.com.

I tried to import all my content, and the file was too large. Maybe I'll just start over? I don't know. For now, let this be my Hello, World post.

After further review, 01/06/2024, I have decided to start over. My older posts can be found at Start Here ~ Darrell Wolfe, Storyteller (darrellglenwolfe.blogspot.com). I may import old content at a later date, or bring forward individual articles. However, I have become an almost entirely new human in the last 5+ years, so I think I will just start over.  - 12/31/2023

**That didn't last long. I always think I'm going to like Word Press, I always end up hating it. Blogger.com for life! ***06/01/2024

Subscribe Now - Pursue a No Hiding Lifestyle 

Shalom: Live Long and Prosper!

Darrell Wolfe (DG Wolfe)

Storyteller | Writer | Thinker | Consultant @ DarrellWolfe.com

Clifton StrengthsFinder: Intellection, Learner, Ideation, Achiever, Input
16Personalities (Myers-Briggs Type): INFJ

Read more →

An Interview with Destiny "Dezi" Miller (female lead Protagonist) #WhiteNoise #Distortion #Fiction

A fictional interview with my female lead Protagonist for Distortion, book 1 of the White Noise series.

As with my other article "An Interview with Dr. Briar (Antagonist) #WhiteNoise #Distortion #Fiction", I am using ChatGPT-4 as the Interviewer, and I am using basic Improv techniques to role-play for my fictional character.

While I had a vague idea of Dezi's Want/Lie, Need/Truth that will help me set up her Character Arch, it was a vague idea. I wanted to flush out what does she really want, and why. 

I had to volunteer some information the interviewer wasn't asking for, because I started wondering myself, "why though?" And I  think we have a fairly well rounded "WHY". 

You will find that this interview is shorter, and the answers more targeted. I already have spent years investigating this character, backstory has changed a few times, and I know who she is in a general sense, I just needed to clarify her story


See more on this concept written by KM Weiland and her post on How to Write Character Arcs. Especially these sections:

PART 2: THE LIE YOUR CHARACTER BELIEVES

The Change Arc is all about the Lie Your Character Believes. His life may be horrible, or his life may seem pretty great. But festering under the surface is the Lie. 

PART 3: THE THING YOUR CHARACTER WANTS VS. THE THING YOUR CHARACTER NEEDS

The Lie plays out in your character’s life, and your story, through the conflict between the Thing He Needs (the Truth) and the Thing He Wants (the perceived cure for the symptoms of the Lie). 

PART 4: YOUR CHARACTER’S GHOST

If there’s one solid rule in fiction, it’s that every effect must have a cause. If your character is in need of undergoing a change arc, then one of your first tasks is figuring out why he needs to change. What happened to him to cause him to embrace this obviously damaging Lie?

So the following interview was to help me find Dezi's Want/Lie, Need/Truth.


Here is the interview thread:

***

To ChatGPT-4:

Prompt: You are an interviewer, I will improv play-act a character in my novel. Her name is Destiny Miller, goes by Dezi. She is tired of doing local fluff piece's and wants to do some real reporting on stories that matter. We're identifying her story arch, what is her Want vs Need, Lie vs Truth, why does she want to do "real" reporting so bad? Go>

ChatGPT 

All right, Darrell, let's dive into the character of Destiny "Dezi" Miller. I'll start by outlining some key concepts, and you can guide the direction further if you'd like more detail. 

Want vs. Need: Dezi's want is to transition from local fluff pieces to hard-hitting, impactful journalism. This desire likely stems from a need to prove her capabilities and make a significant impact in her field. However, her true need might be to find her own voice and understand what stories she genuinely values, not just what she thinks is "real" reporting. 

Lie vs. Truth: The lie Dezi might believe is that only serious, investigative journalism is worthy and that anything less is trivial. The truth could be that every story has its value and that her unique perspective, even on smaller stories, can make a significant impact. 

Motivation for "Real" Reporting: Dezi's drive for more serious reporting could stem from various factors. It might be a desire for recognition and respect in her profession, a personal connection to a larger issue, or a dissatisfaction with the superficial nature of her current assignments. Her motivation can be rooted in a past experience or a mentor who influenced her perception of journalism. 

Would you like to explore any of these points further, or should we delve into another aspect of Dezi's character?

I'll be her, you be an interviewer. 

Great, let's start the interview. I'll be the interviewer, and you'll respond as Dezi Miller.

Interviewer: "Good afternoon, Dezi. It's a pleasure to have you here. I've noticed you've been doing a lot of local stories lately, which have been well-received. But I hear you're looking to shift gears towards more hard-hitting journalism. Can you tell us what's driving this change in your career focus?"

I don’t know… It just seems like all I ever get assigned are silly stories about local shop openings, parades, town events, stuff like that. But I never get assigned anything serious, ya’ know? Like there’s all these big things happening around the area, school funds being misused, battles at the county, and our paper either covers one side of the story to the exclusion of the other, or they turn-down pieces I bring about hard hitting stuff with lame excuses, like, “We’ve covered that…”, but they really haven’t. 

Interviewer: "It sounds like you're feeling a bit frustrated with the limitations placed on your reporting. You're seeking depth and balance in your stories. In your view, what kind of impact do you think covering these more contentious, complex issues would have on your readers and the community?"

I think people really need to know what’s going on. They’re all busy with their lives, and church events, and high school basketball games. They don’t have time to sit in otherwise boring city council meetings, then loop multiple recent events together to see what’s really happening in the city. Many times I’ve heard people complain about how they wish they’d known something was happening after it was already too late.

Interviewer: "That's a very insightful perspective, Dezi. It seems like you're not just looking to report news, but to provide a service to the community by connecting the dots and uncovering the bigger picture. With this in mind, what do you think has been holding you back from pursuing these more in-depth stories? Is it just the editorial direction of your current publication, or is there something else?"

The County Press says they’ve already covered this things in the past, but when I look, I find they haven’t. I’m afraid they’re actually suppressing these stories on purpose because it’s bad for business, tourism, and local officials want it kept quiet.

Interviewer: "That's a serious concern, Dezi. It sounds like you're grappling with potential editorial bias and perhaps even censorship at your current publication. Given these challenges, how do you plan to navigate this situation? Do you see yourself trying to change the system from within, or are you considering other avenues to tell these important stories?"

Well that’s the issue, right? All I ever really wanted to do was to be a reporter. I finally landed a job with a real newspaper, and the only viable paper in this region. But now that I’m inside, it doesn’t look like they want real reporting. In fact, I think they’re actively against unbiased investigative reporting, especially the kind that inspired me to get into this in the first place.

Interviewer: "That's quite a predicament, Dezi. It's clear you have a passion for journalism and a strong desire to report the truth. Facing such constraints, have you considered alternative platforms or methods to pursue the kind of investigative reporting you're passionate about? Perhaps independent journalism, online platforms, or collaborations with other journalists who share your vision?"

I know other options are out there, but it feels like my voice doesn’t matter unless it comes from an authoritative space. Like, who cares what Dezi Miller from podunk Idaho thinks.

Interviewer: "That's a valid concern, Dezi. Building credibility and a following can be challenging, especially outside traditional media platforms. However, your unique voice and dedication to uncovering the truth are valuable assets. Have you thought about how you might leverage your current position to gradually introduce more in-depth stories, or perhaps use your platform to highlight the need for more comprehensive coverage in a way that aligns with your publication's interests?"

I have been told in no uncertain terms, that if I publish outside of my paper, I will be let go. And this is my only income right now. Without this, I’ll have to go back to waiting tables, or maybe I can get a job teaching English at the high school or something. But I worked for this my whole life, how can I walk away now?

Interviewer: "That's a tough spot to be in, Dezi. It's a delicate balance between maintaining your livelihood and pursuing your journalistic integrity. Have you considered ways to subtly shift the narrative within your current stories to include elements of deeper, more meaningful reporting, without overtly breaking your publication's rules? Sometimes, impactful change starts with small, strategic steps within existing boundaries."

I suppose, since The County Press is sending me to these fluff events, I could spend the time getting to know the people, the voices on the ground, get their concerns, add what I can into the pieces while gathering data for the ‘real’ stories I think need to be told? 

Interviewer: "Exactly, Dezi. That sounds like a practical and strategic approach. By using your current assignments to build relationships and gather insights, you're laying the groundwork for more substantial stories. This method also allows you to maintain your position while subtly pushing the boundaries of your reporting. How do you plan to navigate the potential risks involved in this approach, especially with your editors?"

I’ve had a full shouting match with my editor Jameson several times. I’ve threatened to quit on him at least twice. He really likes my writing, he says the press has had more interaction on the website and social media pages since I started. He wants me to accept that I’m doing good work. It’s just not enough. So we bicker about what level of serious I can have. 

It’s just… I was raised by my grandmother. My parents died when I was three. I just want it to mean something. 

Interviewer: "Your dedication and personal drive are truly commendable, Dezi. It sounds like you have a deep, personal connection to your work, stemming from your background and the values instilled by your grandmother. Given this, and your editor's appreciation of your writing and its impact, do you think there's room for negotiation with Jameson? Perhaps you could propose a trial for more in-depth pieces, leveraging the increased engagement your work has brought to the publication."

He’s said many times, “Bring me something I can publish, and I’ll run it.” But whenever I bring him anything “serious”, he turns it down. He claims he is willing to let me have some other stuff, but the only people who’s stories ever get run happen to also be good friends with the city and county elected officials.

Interviewer: "That's quite a challenging situation, Dezi. It seems like there might be external pressures influencing the editorial decisions at The County Press. In light of these challenges, have you thought about how you can craft stories that are both impactful and align with the publication's apparent constraints? Perhaps finding a way to report serious issues while maintaining a balance that satisfies your editor and the publication's network could be a key strategy."

Unfortunately, the real issues he won’t let published at all. And the remaining issues, his idea of balance is far off-center but with center sounding words. 

Interviewer: "It's clear that you're in a difficult position, Dezi, where the ideals of journalism you uphold are at odds with the realities of your workplace. Considering these constraints, it might be worth exploring creative approaches. Could you consider using your platform to spotlight the voices and stories that are often overlooked, even within the parameters of less controversial topics? This way, you're still bringing attention to underrepresented perspectives, while potentially paving the way for more substantial reporting in the future."

That’s the rock and a hard place I’m in. For now, I will play the game. Grandma Miller ain’t raised no fool. But I don’t know how long I can ride that line, I’ve never been known for my patience. 

Interviewer: "Navigating this path with patience and strategy is indeed challenging, Dezi. But it sounds like you have a strong foundation, thanks to your grandmother's influence. While you're 'playing the game,' as you put it, keep an eye out for opportunities to pivot towards the journalism you aspire to do. Remember, every great journalist has faced challenges and had to find their unique path. Your journey is just beginning, and your determination is clear. Stay true to your values and keep seeking those openings where you can make a difference, however small they may seem at first."

That’s what I’m hoping for. My parents died in a car crash. I was supposed to be in that car with them, but I was feeling sick, so they dropped me off with Grandma Miller that night. I should have been in that car, I should be gone. But I’m here. That has to mean something right? I didn’t get a stay of execution just to write about Hazel Daze parades, or the grand opening of yet another mediocre restaurant concept. It has to mean something, right? I need it to mean something… 

Interviewer: "Dezi, that's a profound and deeply personal motivation. Your survival and the path you've chosen in journalism—it's clear that you see this as more than just a career; it's a calling, a way to give meaning to your life and honor the memory of your parents. Your determination to make your work meaningful is not just commendable, it's inspiring. While the journey may be fraught with challenges and compromises, remember that every story you tell, no matter how small it seems, is a step towards that larger purpose you seek. And sometimes, the most significant impacts are made in ways we least expect. Keep holding onto that need for meaning—it's a powerful driving force."

I guess so… I mean. A business opening is meaningful to the person who is opening the business. They put their heart, passion, money, often their entire retirement or savings, into that business. They planned, often for years, and finally executed their dream. There is a story there, for sure. That’s the story I try to tell. The human story. But when I know there are such huge things happening, things that will have ramifications on the community for decades to come, and nobody is letting the people know… that is a burden I just don’t know if I can bear much longer. I may have to go solo, if only for those very people who are investing their lives into those bushiness that will be affected by these other things. The more I get to know those humans, the less comfortable I am waiting to tell the big stuff, because it affects them and they don’t know.

Interviewer: "Your empathy and understanding of the human element in every story, whether it's a small business opening or a larger community issue, is what sets you apart, Dezi. You're right, every story has its significance, and every decision, big or small, affects the community. It's a heavy burden to bear, knowing that there are larger stories out there, untold and potentially impacting the very people you write about in your current assignments. Going solo is a big step, but it could be the path that allows you to report on the stories you believe in, without the constraints you're currently facing. It's a risk, but sometimes, the biggest risks lead to the most rewarding outcomes. Whatever path you choose, it's clear that your commitment to truth and the people in your community will guide you."

Thanks George, you’ve always been a curious and wise monkey. I think I know what I need to do, I just have to set up the dominoes.

Interviewer: "It's been a pleasure talking with you, Dezi. Setting up those dominoes with careful thought and strategy is key. Remember, each step you take, no matter how small, is part of a larger journey towards the kind of journalism you're passionate about. Keep your values close, and trust in your ability to make a difference. I'm confident that with your determination and skill, you'll find the right path. Good luck, and I look forward to seeing the impactful stories you'll tell in the future."

***

I hope you enjoyed the interview,

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Shalom: Live Long and Prosper!

Darrell Wolfe (DG Wolfe)

Storyteller | Writer | Thinker | Consultant @ DarrellWolfe.com

Clifton StrengthsFinder: Intellection, Learner, Ideation, Achiever, Input
16Personalities (Myers-Briggs Type): INFJ

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My AI Avatar?

What AI thinks my author headshot should be:

Subscribe Now - Pursue a No Hiding Lifestyle 

Shalom: Live Long and Prosper!

Darrell Wolfe (DG Wolfe)

Storyteller | Writer | Thinker | Consultant @ DarrellWolfe.com

Clifton StrengthsFinder: Intellection, Learner, Ideation, Achiever, Input
16Personalities (Myers-Briggs Type): INFJ

Read more →

An Interview with Dr. Briar (Antagonist) #WhiteNoise #Distortion #Fiction

A fictional interview with my Antagonist for Distortion, book 1 of the White Noise series.

As a reader of fiction and lover of all good stories, one of the things I find most troubling is movies, books, novels, and stories that have spent an inordinate amount of time building a protagonist with a realistic feel, believable back-story and motivations, only to have him face either a faceless force as an antagonist or a ‘bad-guy’ that comes across as one-note, plastic, and/or shallow.

As I worked through this story the first first time, pre-2018, I kept hitting the wall many authors call the messy middle, the saggy middle, etc. As I have studied the writing craft since then, including great teachers like KM Wieland and Brandon Sanderson, I realized that what I needed was to include the character’s Want/Lie and Need/Truth, and show them making progression in that journey. 

As I explored my Protagonist, and added a second, exploring both, I found that their journey was only half the puzzle. 

If I am going to understand the antagonistic force my protagonists (Ash, Dezi) face, I must understand his (Dr. Briar, antagonist) as well. I must spend just as much time considering his character arch as I do theirs. Except in this case, his character arch will be a negative change arch. We will find his life working well for him at the start, and unraveling as he squeezes his hands tighter around the Want/Lie, rejecting his Need/Truth.

While the following interview will probably never make it into the book in whole, and many details will change, especially where he begins to sound too over-the-top, I think this was a successful practice interview with my fictional character. 

Special thanks to ChatGPT-4 for helping push me while I pretended to be Dr Briar. 

Adapting skills I learned taking Improv from Noah Johnson at Levity Theater Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, https://levitytheatre.com, I decided to fully accept my temporary role as Doctor Benjamin Briar, and let GPT-4 push me as far as we could take it.

* See also my interview with Dezi.

* See also, Earth’s Quietest Place Will Drive You Crazy in 45 Minutes. Inside the room it’s so silent that the background noise measured is actually negative decibels

I hope you enjoy this fictitious interview:

GPT-4 Prompt: 

You will help me with a Fictional Character exploration, interview me as if I am Dr Briar: 

My name is Dr. Benjamin Briar. I hold a Medical Doctorate (MD), PhD in Neurobiology (or some degree appropriate for studying both mental health and the correlation between the brain, biochemistry, and near death experiences <Suggest a more specific degree if appropriate), and several Master's Degrees in various fields, including ancient near east history, and data science. 

My public work has been to work with the homeless and veterans, hoping to find more radical and innovative ways of treating mental illness in all its forms. 

My private, secret, sometimes government funded, sometimes private funded work, is studying anything related to paranormal research, quantum mechanics, and possible links between this reality and alternate dimensions parallel and interactive with our own. I want to reach the beings in this other reality, make first contact, and seek their wisdom. The ancients called them , Anunnaki, and Apkallu. 

Your first starter "Interviewer: Dr. Briar, thank you for joining us today. To start, could you tell us a bit about your background and what initially sparked your interest in researching other dimensions?"

*He is:

• Highly intelligent
• Cautious
• Prone to take calculate risks.
• Pays attention to minute detail and keeps immaculate records, and keeps his physical environment immaculate.
• Driven to make first contact, but why????????

***

Interviewer: Dr. Briar, thank you for joining us today. To start, could you tell us a bit about your background and what initially sparked your interest in researching other dimensions?

When I was 6, a group of us had dared each other to enter an old “haunted” abandoned house. Silly childhood nonsense you understand, even at that age, I was loath to believe in something as silly and illogical as ghosts. 

Well, you see, several of us went in ahead, secretly, through the back to scare the others. As they came up the stairs, we began making soft banging sounds on the walls, scratches, whispering. One of the other boys jumped out of the closet wearing an old tattered clothe. 

The younger boys, one of whom was my brother, screamed and ran down the stairs, tripping over each other. My brother, Timmy, stepped through a weak stair, and fell through to the floor beneath. He landed on his back, and when he caught his breath, he said he couldn’t move. Several of the boys ran away, a few wiser ones ran to get help. I stayed with Timmy. 

His body grew colder, and his eyes grew distant. At several points, he would claim he’d seen our dog Shagbert, who had died the year before. He claimed to have seen great grannie Briar, who he had barely known. He was two when she died. He said she was there to take him home. He looked at me, earnestly, and said “It’s okay, Grannie B is here, I’m going with her.” He smiled, closed his eyes, and he was gone.

After that night, I began to see things in the dark closet, or in an alley. I chalked it up to boyhood imagination. 

But then I met a girl, she claimed to have been given a not-so-imaginary friend by her mother. A friend only she could see. And I never saw him, but I swear I felt him, and then she pointed to where I was feeling the icy cold touch my shoulder, and she said he had his hand on me, and he wanted to help me too, but I had to find him. 

Again, I attempted to shrug this off. 

Over time, I continued to run into stories, many stories, so many that the odds of them all being mass hallucination started running lower. 

Interviewer: That's a truly haunting and profound experience, Dr. Briar. It's understandable how such events in your early life could lead you towards exploring the unknown and the unexplained. These encounters seem to have set you on a path of inquiry that's quite unique. How did these early experiences influence your decision to pursue such a diverse and extensive educational background, particularly in fields that span from neurobiology to ancient near east history?

As much as I tried to dismiss these early experiences throughout my youth and young adult years, they resurfaced in med school. I was doing rounds in the ICUs and CCUs and, contrary to television show outcomes, many patients are beyond our ability to save. I was faced with death more often than you probably want to know.

Many times, nurses are closer to the patients and doctors are busy doing this or that around the hospital, only called in when things go south. My childhood experience drew me to the dying, I wanted to be with them as they took their last breaths. The nurses called me the most compassionate doctor they had on their floor. But truth be told, it wasn’t compassion that drove me to the bedside, it was curiosity. This was an opportunity to apply the scientific method, repeatable results, to my inquiry. I studied the dying, their words, actions, archived the security and medical footage, looking for any sign that this was something beyond brain chemicals. 

I was lucky, my medical practice eventually led me to take a limited number of well-to-do patients, which allowed me free time to pursue my private work. Some of the more desperate, sick, and dying wealthy patients even funded my studies, hoping against hope for magic cures.

In my post-graduate years, I pursued additional degrees in science, ancient history, data science, and anything else that I could use to find answers. I found some like minds in quantum mechanics and theoretical physics, positing a potential of alternate and parallel dimensions.

Then I found studies performed by Dr Steven Orfield, at Orfield Laboratories in Minnesota, regarding an anechoic chamber. In his studies, some subjects experienced various forms of hallucinations, even claiming apparitions would visit them, or voices.

When I duplicated this research in my privately funded labs, I found similar results. 

I began to experiment with any study that showed any promise. I found that combining a special cocktail of DMT and some proprietary chemistry, with the anechoic chamber produced fascinating results. While I found most research confirmed that Solfeggio frequencies were complete hogwash, the idea stuck with me. 

If a negative sound chamber could produce hallucinogenic effects all on it’s own, with no chemical assistance, and chemical assistance was helping me increase this affect, there must be some tie-in to sound on the affect.

For thousands of years, religious bodies around the world have used music, signing, and sound to create religious experiences. 

I began to wonder what sounds might be relevant to my research.

Then while researching other sound-related phenomena, I came across a fascinating study around Extremely Low Frequency (ELF), which was eventually used by DARPA as a sonic weapon to destabilize crowds during riots and enemies during battle.

Then I found Ultra Low Frequency (ULF) was related to a phenomena called the “Ghost Frequency”, in which audio played at 18.98Hz, which is below the level of human hearing, is still “felt” by the body as a chilling eerie feeling.

As I experimented with including frequencies in the Ultra High and Ultra Low ranges, in combination with my anechoic chamber and chemical cocktails, the results were fascinating. 

While I haven’t yet unlocked the key to first contact, per se, I feel as though I must be very close.

Interviewer: Fascinating, Dr. Briar. Your journey from a medically grounded perspective to exploring the realms of sound frequencies and their effects on human perception is quite extraordinary. It seems that your experiences have led you to a unique intersection of science, history, and the unexplored aspects of human consciousness. In your research, particularly with the anechoic chamber and various frequency experiments, have you encountered any unexpected challenges or ethical dilemmas, especially considering the unconventional nature of these studies? How do you navigate these challenges while maintaining scientific integrity and ensuring the welfare of your subjects?

There is the rub, eh? Ethical dilemmas. If I were to tell my subjects what I hope for them to experience, I would taint the results. So, I obviously cannot tell them. And yet, to even potentially have someone contacting another dimension without their knowledge or consent would seem to most, unethical? Right? What’s a scientist to do? 

Interviewer: Indeed, that's a significant ethical consideration, Dr. Briar. Balancing the quest for knowledge with the ethical responsibilities towards your subjects is a delicate matter, especially in such groundbreaking and uncharted research areas. How do you ensure the safety and informed consent of your participants, given the potentially profound and unknown effects of these experiments? Additionally, in your pursuit of contacting other dimensions, what safeguards or protocols have you put in place to manage any unforeseen consequences or risks?

Frankly, we are in uncharted territory. We are dealing with quantum mechanics, quantum realms, higher dimensions of reality than our own space-time, and a myriad of unknowable factors.

But while I am driven to take risks, I am also loathe to risk my research on to a mistake that could cost me everything. We must take risks, but they should be calculated risks, meticulously calculated. As the builders say, measure twice cut once, eh? 

Therefore, I have consulted with theoretical physicists, quantum mechanics specialists, expert mathematicians, and I have participated in thousands of forums. I have even attempted to weed through the paranormal research. While most of that wing is comprised of foil-hat wearing buffoons, there are a few golden nuggets hidden among the weeds. 

I have also placed safety mechanisms, such as they are, within the chambers themselves. I have emergency shut-off switches for the sound systems, emergency openings for the chambers should a subject feel the need to escape the room, flood lights — Oh, did I mention it works best in the pitch black dark? No light in the room? But I have flood lights that auto-turn on if the subject’s physical health shows signs of danger.

Interviewer: That's a very thorough approach, Dr. Briar. It's clear that while you are pushing the boundaries of scientific exploration, you are also mindful of the safety and well-being of your participants. Given these precautions and your meticulous approach to research, what have been some of the most intriguing or unexpected findings in your experiments so far? Have there been any particular instances or results that have stood out to you, either reinforcing or challenging your hypotheses about other dimensions and their interactions with our reality?

Most subjects experience nothing or things we expect from any weekend drug-induced party.

At first anyway, but that’s another story.

A few, a very few, have shown promise. Typically the homeless and veterans have given me the most fruit. But while the homeless population can sometimes seem more predisposed to potentially already having some quantum connection to the other side, they are also too volatile to give decent accounting of their experiences, or any repeatable results.

My most promising research was using special forces candidates provided by the DOD, coming from all branches. The candidates were informed they were serving their country, and if successful, they would be part of bringing new defense tools to the United States of America. They were given no additional details, again, so as not to spoil the research.

We found that the discipline of the special forces mind was keenly able to withstand the shock of seeing and hearing things. Many times, they would not admit to seeing or hearing anything at first, and only body scanners would tell us something profound had happened.

True, a few mishaps occurred, but that is the way of things. Can we really weigh the life and safety of one individual against the world-breaking good first-contact could make? 

Interviewer: It's intriguing that your most significant results have come from special forces candidates, who are trained to handle extreme situations. Their discipline and resilience seem to play a crucial role in these experiments. However, the ethical implications of using these individuals in such experiments, especially under the guise of serving their country, raise some important questions. How do you reconcile the potential benefits of your research with the personal risks and sacrifices these participants are unknowingly taking? And in the cases of these 'mishaps,' as you call them, how do you address the aftermath both for the individuals involved and for the integrity of your research?

What greater good could a person serve their country than helping us make first-contact? Ah! But I have failed to provide context. That’s where my history research comes in to play.

Some of the oldest written records known to Homo sapiens are from the Mesopotamians, including the Akkadians, Sumerians, Ugarits, Babylonians, and their many semitic descendants. They speak of an ancient time in which beings of a higher order came to the early hominids and taught them to think, write, speak, and perform agriculture, blacksmithing. They assume a great civilization was created by the “gods”, and even speak of half-human, half-god beings that served as kings. The ancients called them , Anunnaki, and Apkallu. They are sometimes depicted as fish-men. The Hebrews called the Nephilim and Rephaim, and re-told their story painting Babylon’s proud history as descendants of these mighty kings in a negative light.

I am now convinced that these beings often visit the dying, welcoming them into these plans of reality that transcend our space-time, and that we only need to reach out to them for their assistance to help us re-build the ancient wonders, teach us to think higher, and show us how to be better.

Think of it, no more war, hunger, famine, sickness, mental health disorder, cancer… it could all be wiped away if we would only reach out to these beings to guide us yet again, to help us take the next stage of our evolution.

I ask you, is the life and/or livelihood of a few worth the risk for the many? 

Interviewer: Dr. Briar, your perspective on this is certainly bold and thought-provoking. The way you connect your research to ancient histories and mythologies brings a unique depth to your work. However, the ethical considerations you raise are complex. The potential benefits of making contact with higher-order beings, as you describe, could indeed be transformative for humanity. Yet, the moral quandary of weighing individual sacrifices against the potential greater good is a classic dilemma. In scientific research, the principles of informed consent and the welfare of participants are fundamental. How do you navigate these ethical waters, especially in light of the high stakes and potentially revolutionary outcomes of your research? Additionally, have your interactions with these ancient texts and mythologies influenced your scientific methods or the direction of your experiments?

I am so close, to changing everything we think. Physics, biology, metaphysics, religion, all up for grabs. We can have an entirely new way of life. If a few hundred people are driven to insanity, maybe a few take their own lives to escape the insanity, what is that compared to the breakthrough of a new future? 

Interviewer: Dr. Briar, the ambition and scale of your vision are indeed remarkable, yet the ethical implications you mention are deeply concerning. The value of human life and mental well-being is fundamental, and the potential cost you describe – the loss of sanity or even life – is substantial. In the pursuit of scientific discovery, especially one that could redefine our understanding of reality, how do you weigh these ethical considerations? How do you ensure that the pursuit of knowledge does not overshadow the value of individual human experiences and lives? And as you stand on the brink of potentially groundbreaking discoveries, how do you plan to share and validate your findings with the broader scientific community, given the unconventional and controversial nature of your research?

Have you heard of philosophers like Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill? I see these ethical dilemmas in light of Utilitarianism. The rightness or wrongness of an action is determined by its overall utility. Actions are considered ethical if they result in the greatest amount of good for the greatest number of people, even if they may cause harm or disadvantage to a few. Ending war, famine, disease, and bringing about the next stage of human evolution must take precedence over the lives of a few insignificant people, who on balance will not be remembered by history. History favors the bold, and I am the bold. 

I have kept my research from the scientific community on purpose. They would ask these questions about ethics, and delay my research. They would probably put me on trail like Galileo Galilei for claiming the earth revolved around the sun. My colleagues are usually decades, if not centuries behind the curve, until someone strikes them with undeniable proof. 

I will bring them proof, undeniable proof, I will introduce them to our ancient architects, and then we will usher in a brave new world.

Interviewer: Dr. Briar, your utilitarian approach to ethics, drawing on the philosophies of Bentham and Mill, certainly frames your research in a different light. Your conviction and determination to bring about a transformative change for humanity are evident. However, the ethical considerations you're willing to overlook could be seen as deeply troubling to many, especially within the scientific community. The history of science is indeed filled with figures who challenged the status quo, but it also emphasizes the importance of ethical considerations, particularly when human subjects are involved. 

As you move closer to your goal of making contact with these ancient beings and introducing them to the world, how do you plan to address the potential skepticism and criticism from both the scientific community and the public? Furthermore, in an era where public trust in science is crucial, how do you anticipate managing the broader societal implications of your discoveries, especially considering the unconventional methods and ethical standpoints you've adopted?

When the gods walk amongst us again, all other considerations will become mute.

Interviewer: That's a bold statement, Dr. Briar. The idea of reintroducing ancient deities or higher-order beings into our modern world is certainly a concept that would challenge many established norms and beliefs. If and when you reach this groundbreaking moment, the impact on society, religion, and science would be profound. However, the journey to such a discovery is fraught with ethical, moral, and practical challenges. The way you navigate these challenges will be crucial, not just for the success of your research, but for its acceptance and integration into the broader fabric of human understanding.

As we conclude this interview, what message would you like to leave for those who may be skeptical or concerned about the path you're taking in your research? How would you address those who worry about the ethical implications and the potential risks involved in your quest for knowledge and contact with other dimensions?

Let them worry. They can catch up when I have shown them the truth.

Interviewer: Thank you, Dr. Briar, for sharing your insights and perspectives with us. Your unwavering commitment to your research and the potential it holds for changing our understanding of the world is certainly thought-provoking. As with any groundbreaking scientific endeavor, there will be debates and discussions about the methods, ethics, and implications of the work. Your journey, with its unique blend of science, history, and exploration of the unknown, will undoubtedly be a topic of much interest and scrutiny in the times ahead. We wish you the best in your pursuits and look forward to seeing the outcomes of your research. Thank you once again for joining us today.

Thank you interviewer, this was most helpful. I will have my guards keep you in a cell until such time as I am ready to release your interview to the world. We cannot have you leaking this before I am ready. *he grins*

Interviewer: in a light-hearted tone Ah, Dr. Briar, I appreciate your commitment to confidentiality and the dramatic flair of your approach. However, as an interviewer, my role is to share and explore ideas, not to keep them hidden. I trust that your innovative research and intriguing theories will find their way into public discourse at the right time, under the right circumstances. Until then, I look forward to the day when your discoveries can be openly discussed and debated within the scientific community and beyond. Thank you again for a fascinating conversation.

*Inserting the author now* If this had been a real interview, Dr. Briar probably would have killed the interviewer to keep them silent. He is my antagonist. But I want him to have real goals and drive just like my Protagonist. Is there anything else I should consider for this character's believability? 

***

GPT-4: Final Observations

As an author, creating a compelling antagonist like Dr. Briar involves balancing their motivations, actions, and the ethical complexity of their character. Here are some aspects to consider for enhancing 

Dr. Briar's believability:

1. Backstory Depth: Expand on Dr. Briar's personal history to explain how his experiences shaped his current worldview and ethical standpoint. This can include significant life events, influential people in his past, or pivotal moments that led him to his current path.
2. Rationalization of Actions: Dr. Briar's actions, however extreme, should have a logical basis in his mind. How does he justify the potential harm his experiments could cause? Does he see himself as a misunderstood visionary or martyr for a greater cause?
3. Moral Ambiguity: Introduce situations where Dr. Briar's actions, while ethically questionable, might have positive outcomes or unintended beneficial side effects. This complexity can make him a more nuanced and interesting character.
4. Interpersonal Relationships: Show how Dr. Briar interacts with others, both in his professional circle and personal life. How do these relationships influence or reflect his motivations and actions? Does he have allies, reluctant collaborators, or people he genuinely cares for?
5. Internal Conflict: Does Dr. Briar ever doubt his methods or goals? Showing moments of internal struggle can add depth to his character, making him more than just a one-dimensional villain.
6. Realistic Limitations: Even the most driven individuals face obstacles. What are Dr. Briar's limitations, be they financial, intellectual, or emotional? How does he respond to setbacks or challenges?
7. Public Persona vs. Private Self: Explore the difference between how Dr. Briar presents himself to the world and who he is in private. This can create an interesting dynamic and add layers to his character.
8. Influence from Real Figures: Drawing inspiration from real-life figures in science, history, or philosophy can add authenticity to Dr. Briar’s character. However, it's important to ensure that these influences are integrated in a way that supports his unique character traits and story arc.

Remember, the most memorable antagonists are those who are as well-developed and complex as the protagonists they oppose. Their actions and motivations, while potentially villainous, should have a grounded and understandable logic within the context of their character and the story's world.

***

I hope you enjoyed this exercise. :) DG Wolfe

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Shalom: Live Long and Prosper!

Darrell Wolfe (DG Wolfe)

Storyteller | Writer | Thinker | Consultant @ DarrellWolfe.com

Clifton StrengthsFinder: Intellection, Learner, Ideation, Achiever, Input
16Personalities (Myers-Briggs Type): INFJ

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Grounded Cafe (take three) - #WhiteNoise #Distortion

Fog hovered over the cracked asphalt just outside the window of the Grounded Cafe. Ash’s attention was drawn to two shadowy figures walking down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road. He couldn’t tell through the mist, but they appeared to be looking straight at him, faces hidden beneath misty charcoal hoods. He leaned in to get a better look and the figures ducked behind a blue minivan. 

Ice shot down Ash’s spine, a ghostly whisper of danger, the ever familiar shadow of death.

His right arm shot to the Glock 10mm at his side, cold steal against his palm.

Sucking in a breath to steady himself, he took a second look— They were gone. Black mist poured out from under the minivan and evaporated into the early morning air. He shook his head, closed his eyes, counting to ten, silently as he released his breath slowly over his tight lips.

Ash released the grip on his sidearm, which he now realized was a tape measure and not a Glock. Ash hadn’t carried a weapon regularly since he left the service (for this very reason, for safety, to ensure the danger was real before he engaged). 

Really, Ash, come on, what danger could there possibly be in Moon-Wolf Hollow, Idaho? He thought. A random teenager shoplifting is the worst case of crime we’ve had in a whole year.

These days, he kept his weapons close, but locked in a case, with the ammunition stored separately, until he was at the firing range or doing a demonstrations, as he occasionally did for local organizations. In some other state, he probably wouldn’t own any, but he lived in one of the last remaining hold-outs of freedom in the USA.

Ash noted that his arm was still holding the tape measure stiffly, he let his arm fall to his side, and wiped the sweat from his hands on his pant leg. Reality settled back onto his shoulders. A glimpse of himself in the glass window revealed a strong gray overtaking the sideburns. Other than a few wrinkles, he hadn’t aged that badly. Some might even say he was still young.

Ash turned to his vendor table, against the window in the cafe. He checked to see if anyone noticed his momentary lapse of lucidity. 

Jenny was selling her soaps and candles at the table next to him, she was busy wrapped up in conversation with a customer, a little old lady who loved her scents.

Craig trimmed his pot-plants at the table on the other side, now that Idaho finally caught up with the 21st century and realized it was supposed to be the state of Freedom and not a state where personal morals were shoved down people’s throats. A lot of money on policing and jails was saved by foregoing the persecution of victim-less crimes, and that money was poured into increasing the availability of mental health facilities throughout the state. It was a move Ash had reservations about, but he could see the logic. And it didn’t hurt in his case, as a new facility had opened in town just a few years ago, not that it was staffed at the moment. But, that was a normal small town problem. Craig had given Ash a few pointers on growing himself.

There weren’t many customer’s this time of day, but it was one of the last opportunities of the season, before the town buttoned up the hatches for the long winter ahead.

A few people lingered, a tourist family staying at the motel next door was eying some crochet stuffies made to look similar to famous movie and cartoon characters. 

A young man with a hoodie typing furiously at a keyboard. 

A woman talking on the phone, failing to pacify the toddler in the stroller to her side. 

Two men speaking in hushed tones at a table across the way. 

A purple and white haze turned Ash’s attention to the sidewalk outside, a woman in a purple hoodie walked by just outside the window, head buried in her smartphone. She bumped into Hank, the town’s crazy old homeless man who was headed the other direction. She didn’t even notice. He gave her a dirty look and kept walking the other way, mumbling to himself as usual. 

The woman sat down at a table just outside the farthest window of the Cafe, he couldn’t make out her face, possibly one of the towns last tourists before the few stores left went into hibernation. 

An orange Maple leaf lazily floated down to the table in front her. She brushed it aside, falling inside a pumpkin whose top had been kicked off. The leaf caught on fire from the candle inside, and slowly embered away. She didn’t take notice. 

A purple and white vapor swaddled her like a blanket. Old Hank stared at her from the corner of the building. A small green frog sat on his shoulder. The bottom half of the frog was a mist that disappeared into Hank’s spine. The frog’s red eyes stared at her, then at Ash, and it cocked its head to one side. Then it was gone, in a whisp of grey-green fog that continued to waft around Hank as he walked away out of sight. 

Ash didn’t see these creatures on every person, every time. On most occasions he would see only the mists around each person, the town psychic called it an “aura”, when he explained it to her in a rather desperate confidence one day. She was a bit of a quack but he tried everything to at least understand it if he couldn’t get rid of it. He’d been to pastors, priests, the town psychic, a passing faith-healer, quite a few doctors, and even the local Rabbi. Each had their opinions and suggestions. While non of them offered any real relief, the Rabbi was the most gentle and inquisitive of the bunch, asking more honest and curious questions, offering few if any answers. But at least Ash felt heard with the Rabbi, who had nothing to sell but time, and a good chat over coffee.

Generally, the mists and creatures came from within each person and would go back into them, like human genie bottles. The Creatures weren’t all exactly alike, either. There were repeats, but each seemed unique to the person.

“It’s called PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder”, his latest doctor had said, before he left the clinic without a town shrink six months ago.

The VA docs tried giving him a mountain of drugs to help him sleep and keep the delusions at a minimum. Nothing really helped, most made it worse. When the Federal government forced legalized medicinal THC on all the states as a human right, and Idaho finally gave up on the failed war on drugs and allowed doctors and people to choose their own path in life, his Idaho VA doctor said to try it, as it was clinically shown to have better results for some people that anti-psychotics. He didn’t bother telling him that he’d already been growing it on his property for several years now. Maybe he’d start a small boutique now that it was legal in Idaho.

The magical medical folks at Big Pharma managed to create a pill form with less hallucinogenic properties but twice the pain killing properties, but it cost too much and his VA insurance didn’t cover it yet, although the decision was before the Senate hearing committee for a decision, thanks to PTSD Health advocates. If the Fed would eliminate for-profit medicine, he could try that someday.

For now, Ash started growing it himself a few years ago, his sleep was more regular but the delusions came and went. He could still hear the diagnosis in his mind.

“As long as you are not a harm to yourself or others, you should be just fine. Think of it as an amusing distraction,” the doctor advised. — Ash hear his name.

“Ash-”, Derek the Barist’ called his attention to the present, standing in front of his table with a frosty blending drink, and green whip cream. “Here you go, man. Extra large Java-Chip, almond milk, three shots, with peppermint and crème de menthe. I even through a few extra candied coffee beans on there for you.” 

“Thanks, Derek”, Ash said as he took the drink gratefully. 

“Always my friend,” Derek said. “How’s business been today?”

“I haven’t sold much, but it’s nice to get out of the house a few more times before the snow makes it hard to leave the property. I mean…” Ash took a sip, “… this is really good.” He set it down. “I mean… I can get the tractor and snow blower out and punch my way down the road when I have to. But 110 acres is a lot to manage, and my house isn’t exactly off the main road.” 

“I get. I don’t know how you guys live that far out of town, my hats off to you for the effort. But I do appreciate how nice it is. Should we have another meeting up there before the roads become impassable?”

“I think we can do that — “ Ash stopped when he noticed Sam walk in, he waved him over. 

“Sam,” Derek gave him a bear hug, “We should have the next VA Support meeting at Ash’s house, before the road become impassable. I can help him get it ready for guests.”

Sam smiled, but he gave Ash a sideways glance. “How are you feeling about this idea? Is it too much? Are you okay, you looked a little tense earlier.”

Ash felt his gut tighten, Sam had noticed. If anyone would notice, it was Sam. 

“I’m alright, I think it would be good for me.”

“Okay,” Sam shrugged. “You bring food, and I’ll bring drinks?” 

Derek squinted at Sam, “As long as you don’t bring that piss water you brought last time!” 

Sam grinned, “I’ll behave and bring something a distinguished gentleman like you would approve of.”

“Then I accept,” Derek shook Sam’s hand, then Ash’s, and then headed back to his coffee machines.

“Hey,” Sam turned his full attention to Ash. “Did you hear the news?” 

Ash picked up one of his popular Sasquatch figurines, “They finally found Big Foot?” Ash noted it felt good to smile, he didn’t do that enough lately.

Sam laughed at his joke, like when they were kids. “No, still looking I’m afraid. No - They found a new doctor for the clinic. He just came into town last night, he’s staying at the hotel until his rental cabin is set up. His moving truck comes in tomorrow and he’s bringing some new equipment to town. He said he’ll be ready to start seeing clients by next week.”

“That’s good, especially with Old Hank hanging around again.” Ash nodded to Old Hank still outside the window, peeping around the corner at all the people in the shop.

“Yeah, but,” Sam replied. “I think this guy might be able to help you.”

“What’s this guy got that the last fifty hasn’t?” Ash asked. 

“This guy is a bid deal or something. I’m not sure where they picked him up, He says he’s here to enjoy a semi-retirement or something. He’s a PhD out of Harvard or Yale or one of those big stuffy places with smart people.”

“Hmm —“ Ash started to form a reply, but lost it. The fog outside was creeping into his head. “I guess we’ll see. I’ll check in with him after the Oktoberfest.” 

TBC...

Subscribe Now - Pursue a No Hiding Lifestyle 

Shalom: Live Long and Prosper!

Darrell Wolfe (DG Wolfe)

Storyteller | Writer | Thinker | Consultant @ DarrellWolfe.com

Clifton StrengthsFinder: Intellection, Learner, Ideation, Achiever, Input
16Personalities (Myers-Briggs Type): INFJ

Read more →