What is a ‘nerd?'

That is the question I have been going over in my head during the last few weeks while trying to put this post together. You may initially think that there is a straightforward answer to this, but if you’re anything like me, any definitives you can find are immediately contradicted by an exception. It’s a sprawling umbrella term used to describe whole groups of people and who those people are changes dependant on who you speak to. I quickly found that what makes an individual a ‘nerd’ is really very difficult, if not impossible, to define. For this reason, I hereby add a disclaimer: the various lists I’ve made below in reference to all things geekery are not exhaustive and will inevitably not cover the whole beautiful range of fandom in all its guises. This is mainly because I am limited by own breadth of knowledge and it’s just boring to read super long lists. So please bear that in mind before drafting your hater letter, you terrific nerd, you.

We are Brutalitops!

This is part one of a two part blog – exciting, eh? ;o) This first part consists of a little bit of fanfic, for want of a much better phrase, detailing the exploits of the Dungeons and Dragons group that I play with. Now, to protect identities and dignities, players are only referred to by their character names, races and classes. Here’s a crib sheet so you don’t get lost!

Random is a tiefling warlock

Freppwench is a dragonkin paladin

Morgana is an eladrin (high elf) ranger

Merrick is a half-elf assassin

Spankador is a dwarf warrior

Moragon is an eladrin rogue

The Dungeon Master is, well, the DM, need I say more?!

Why have I written this I hear you cry? Because it all ties into the next blog that I will post shortly after this one, so please lend me both your patience, and your ears...

We start with how a Dungeons and Dragons adventure using our characters *could* go...

Eabhadh*

'We're the same, you and me'

'Actually, no we're not'

'Yeah, we are'

'No,we're not'

'Yeah, we are'

'No we're not!'

'Okay, okay, we're not...'

'Right'

'But we are'

Judging me, judging you (Aha!)

I've just recently finished reading The Quarry by Iain Banks, his last novel. I put off reading it for a while because I assumed that it would be quite upsetting for me to read, knowing that the story was about a man dying of cancer, written by a man who has recently died of cancer. And not just any man, but someone who was, to me at least, a literary hero. Many authors I love were long since dead before I had even heard of them, so it was nice to have an author who was still about and still writing, although many of his recent books, whilst still saying something interesting about the human condition, did not reach the awesome heights of The Crow Road, Complicity or The Wasp Factory for me. Having said that, The Quarry, is, in my opinion, his best book for a while, which just makes it all the more bittersweet that it was his last. The aspect of the novel that struck me the deepest, apart from the ‘facing your own mortality’ facet, was the complex nature of the feelings that the character who was dying, Guy, had towards his old friends. The way he moaned at and about his friends, his frustration towards them combined with a sense of belonging and nostalgia, was very familiar to me. It felt like a very honest account of what it truly is to love a friend. Because I do get frustrated with my friends, hurt by them, I feel in reaction to their choices as though those choices they were my own. I find it hard to be measured and rational in response to their actions because I’m utterly emotionally invested in them. I hold them to same high standard that I fail to live up to myself. This is not because I see my friends as useless, it is because, to me, they are awesome, and yet they often don’t seem to realise it. They have all this potential and intelligence and ability, and I want them to reach for the stars, and that is why I get frustrated when they underestimate themselves.

A work in progress...

'A writer writes, always.'* Except, that is, when that writer is tired, bored, hungry, at work, excited, upset, stressed, content or distracted by even the slightest thing, such as an unusually shaped orange, or something equally inane.

The problem is that there are literally thousands of things to do other than write, and sometimes, it feels impossible to sit still and concentrate for long enough to do anything constructive or useful. Although I seem to find an inordinate amount of time to play Fruit Ninja, which is neither constructive, nor useful, although it is bizarrely satisfying all the same.

'The night was humid....muggy...cold...dark...squamous?'

Ideology of the Individual

Where do our beliefs come from? To begin with, during childhood, our belief system is likely to be based on the belief systems of our parents, after all, they seem to manage to exist in the big wide world following those beliefs, they must have some idea of what they are doing, surely? This idea that we need to look to others to form our beliefs, particularly in early life, is reinforced by the fact that children, as a rule, are not really listened to or believed as often as they should be. Any beliefs I held as a child were considered, by the adult population for the most part, to be naive or fantastical. I think this is because children are not really considered reliable sources of information, because any real beliefs, from an adult perspective, must surely be learned through years of arduous trial and error. That idea is, I reckon, a half-truth. The beliefs we have developed as adults tend to go through a process of change and renewal as we experience more and they are put to the test, time and again. But we must not forget that children view the world in a far more honest manner, they tend to call things as they see them. That is something we train ourselves out of as we mature, for the sake of other people's feelings or differing perspectives. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it could serve to remind us that children should be listened to. Their perspectives are not necessarily wrong, but without the prejudice of years under their belts.

‘Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary’*

I am at the top of a rollercoaster. I mean figuratively of course, not literally, although that would be cool. I have that feeling in my stomach that you get just before the drop, because that’s where I am, just before the drop.