Constructing Family Trees

You know what’s a crazy project to work on? Fictional family trees. It’s extremely time-consuming, but also fascinating and educational. In many ways, it changes how you think about generations and time.

Take the tree I’m working on right now, for example. It’s for a character who is the 9^th individual in their line of succession – although they are only the 7^th of their name. So, I figured I needed at least 9 generations, and that it would be somewhere in the range of 400-500 year time-span. Boy was I wrong.

After building out the main family line – oh, and by the way, family trees just keep getting bigger and bigger as they branch off! – I started putting in the years, and tracking the line of succession, and I ran into a massive snag. If a parent lived a long and full life, their child wouldn’t be ruling until they were seniors! Not only that, but there was the potential that the seat of leadership could pass over an entire generation. On the flip-side, a shorter-lived ruler with no heir could result in their sibling inheriting – meaning that two people in the same generation could hold power, meaning that – unless I rebuilt the family tree – I had to steal that position from a whole other generation.

Well, I eventually sorted the whole mess out, balancing the leadership and generations, and was amazed to find that my 9 generations all fit snugly in a blanket of 200 years. Only 200! Through this, I learned that generations squeeze far closer together than I had ever anticipated – if only because I didn’t sit down to do the math ahead of time.

And remember how I said the family tree just grows and grows? I was erring on the side of keeping family sizes small, even going so far as to end entire branches. Yet, over the span of 200 years, a family that started with one couple grew to have 63 individuals in it (including spouses)!

So, naturally, now I’m off to finish naming 63 people, and giving them all birth and death dates. And all I can say is, thank goodness for noble households who like to pass on names through the family.

Check out my YouTube channel where I tell the stories of my D&D campaigns.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

Also, make sure you check out my wife's blog and her website.


If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Make it Your Own

            One of the ways I survived the school system was by taking assignments and making the suit myself. I was always an incredibly odd person, and I tended to find projects boring and stifling. Most of them were along the lines of “Read these books and then tell us what they say in your own words”, which is stupid. It’s intended to prove that the student has learned from the material, but it’s really reaching how to find creative ways to reword things so you don’t plagiarize.

            So, whenever possible, I found loopholes that would allow me to make projects truly my own. In tech class, when instructed to make a boring mousetrap car, I made a mousetrap car that was conveniently a sword once I took the wheels off. In drama, when told to write a play about a situation that could actually happen, I time-traveled it back to a medieval setting so I could actually write something interesting. However, my crowning achievement in this was when I was 16 and I was instructed to make “visual essay”.

            This was in my Introduction to Sociology, Psychology, and Anthropology class (try saying that ten times fast). We were to research a nation of our choice and prepare a visual display that presented the information – the example we were given was a mobile with snippets of information balanced and hanging from threads. We were then to make a presentation on our research, and there were bonus marks for bringing in a snack from the researched culture.

            I started off annoyed at this project, but then an image for a project started to form in my mind – and I became delighted by it. I was pushing the boundaries a little, but that’s when I did my best work. Instead of choosing a country I was particularly interested in, I chose one that fit my vision: Fiji.

            Then I started to construct a paper mache palm tree. A 6 foot tall paper mache palm tree. It took a very long time, even with the help of my parents. From the tree hung several paper mashe coconuts. It was completed the night before the presentation.

            The next day, I stood before my class, with them and the teacher gaping at this monstrosity beside me (and munching on the Fiji-related coconut-based snack I’d brought in). I pulled out a knife, and cut open the paper mache coconuts, revealing inside the points of information and pictures on the required research topics. It was one of my strangest projects, and will always be one of my favorites.

            The favorite part of the story, though, came when the marks were being handed out. The teacher handed me my grading paper, saying that it was a really neat project, but there was no visual presentation of the information like there was supposed to be. I just looked confused and said, “The information’s all there in the coconuts.” She paused for a moment, a look of dawning realization on her face, then calmly changed the mark to 100%.

            And that’s how it came to be that I created a 6 foot tall paper mache palm tree. It sat around the house for years after that, until someone finally had the heart to get rid of it. But, in the intervening years, that tree did have one more glorious moment in the sun (so to speak). It was the middle of the winter, with some snow freshly fallen, and I looked at the tree in the house beside me and said to my friend, “You know what I’ve always wanted to do, ever since I made that thing...?” And he said, “Let’s do it!” And that’s how one of my favorite pictures of me came to be.

            I call it “Tropical Canadian Vacation”.

Check out my YouTube channel where I tell the stories of my D&D campaigns.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

Also, make sure you check out my wife's blog and her website.


If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

New Month, New Project

            The end of the Dungeons and Dragons campaign I shared a couple weeks ago was only the start of another story. That game actually had the potential to last much longer, however an increasing interest in D&D at the board game cafe where I play led us to believe a second game needed to be started. That meant we needed a new Dungeon Master.

            That Dungeon Master is me.

            After several months of planning this, I announced that I was ready to commence a new game starting in November. At the same time, other members of the group got new jobs that interfered with the regular game time. It was decided that, rather than most of the players dropping out of the game and being replaced, the game had to come to an end.

            And now, this past week, a new game started. However, that’s not what I’m here to talk about today – I’m here to tell you about the project I’m starting alongside it.

            I have started a YouTube channel called Once Upon a Tabletop. On this channel, I intend to tell the story of my D&D campaign, week by week, as it is played. I have no idea how it will go, but I have high hopes for it. At the very least, you’ll now be able to listen to (and watch) me prattle on – although, personally I think my written ramblings are preferable.

            So, for those of you who enjoy stories, here it is: Once Upon a Tabletop. What story will be told? I honestly have no clue. I’ve created a world – now it’s up to my players what they’re going to do with it.

Check out my YouTube channel where I tell the stories of my D&D campaigns.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

Also, make sure you check out my wife's blog and her website.


If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

The Legend of Minecraft

            Today I shall share with you the results of a project I started back at the end of December. While it’s true that I was working on this over the past seven months, because of the on-and-off nature of the time I spent on it, I feel it’s safe to say that the work itself only took a month or two.

            The project started when I decided to play through my collection of Zelda games – something I do once every few years. However, I was having trouble convincing myself to start playing the first one. The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past is a game from my earliest gaming days, back when the Super Nintendo was the hottest system on the market. As a result, I’ve played it so much that I pretty much have it memorized.

            I wanted to do something that would make this play-through of the game more interesting – and to make it last more than a couple days. So, I came up with the idea of combining it with another game: Minecraft. As I played through the A Link to the Past, I was going to build the world map in Minecraft.

            And now, at long last, it’s done.

            When I first started it, I was considering making not only the world, but the insides of the buildings and dungeons as well. However, I quickly discovered that this would be impossible: as with many video games, the buildings were bigger on the inside than the outside. Besides, I was beginning to understand the scope of the task I had undertaken. I wasn’t certain I would ever complete it, when at the end of my first session all I had was this:

            Of course, starting is always slow. The second day went much faster as I learned the rules I needed to follow to convert the 2D world into the 3D one. I had thought it would be easier, as both games were built on a block-like grid, however in the original game they were able to place objects halfway between two squares – something it was impossible to do in Minecraft. So, I had to take some artistic licence. By the end of day two, I was quite happy with the progress I had made.

            From there on, my rendition of the map steadily grew as, piece by piece, it came together.

            I did find I had to make a number of adjustments to the map, just to make it hold together. I needed to stretch a small section of the world so that it the rest of the world would pass behind Hyrule castle, rather than through it. As it was, the back of the castle had to be a sheer drop. However, the most annoying part was when I built Kakariko village, only to find that – what with all the ledges dropping ground level – the game designers had, thanks to the 2D nature of the game, created an Escher-like world. Luckily I had enough space to build a steep hill and connect the sections of the world as they were meant to be.

            In spite of the struggles, I was delighted with the results of my work. I was building locations that would be instantly recognizable to anyone who had played the game.

            When I completed the Master Sword’s grove....

            ... I knew I had come to the final, and most challenging, part of my task. This was the point where I would find out if I was going to complete this project, of give up on it. Death Mountain: the mountain that looms over all of Hyrule. And I have to admit, I came close to quitting when I had built most of the mountain only to discover that I had to move the whole thing (I don’t use mods or commands, so it was all done one block at a time).

            But, I persevered – and when part of the mountain still overlapped somewhere it shouldn’t, I improvised and made it make sense.

            Welcome to the The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past’s kingdom of Hyrule, Minecraft style. Or, as I like to call it, The Legend of Minecraft.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

Also, make sure you check out my wife's blog and her website.


If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Unstoppable Creativity

            You’d think I would have learned by now. Because I haven’t, I’ve now broken my cardinal rule. That’s right, I’m working on more than one book at a time.

            It may not seem like such an important rule. Loads of people work on more than one book at once, so why is it such a big problem? Well, it’s a problem because it gives the writer an excuse to not finish a project. The Dark Lord of the Alliance of Worldbuilders is a prime example – he’d written 100,000 words or more in a single month (wow!) and yet, to my knowledge, he had never completed a book (we all give him a hard time about it).

            Now, in my case, I couldn’t help starting a second project. As I mentioned a few blogs back, I’m currently working on rewriting a project. Apparently, after seven years of writing every day, rewriting isn’t enough of a creative outlet for my brain. After a while, an idea surfaced that I couldn’t resist – so now, here I am, splitting my writing time between two projects when I should be focusing on one.

            It just goes to show that creativity is a habit. Once you get into it, you just have to keep going.

            Feel free to take that as encouragement to build a creative habit – or a warning to avoid doing so. Whichever suits you best.

            Either way, know that you can’t stop the creativity. Creators must create.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

Also, make sure you check out my wife's blog and her website.


If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Artistic Judgement

            One of the fun (here, fun means “horrible”) things about being an artist – no matter the medium – is an inability to judge the quality of your own work. Or, rather, we can judge our own work, but we do so on a scale of Dreadful to I Guess It’s Kinda Okay.

            When I was just out of high school, and still fairly new to making chainmaille, I made a project that was my then-crowning achievement. It was a chainmaille vest made using a pattern known as elf-weave – one of the most complicated chainmaille weaves in existence. The shirt has over 100 hours of work in it, and looks great. But it has a flaw in it. Somehow, while I was making it, I managed to combine two rows into one, losing half a row.

            Even though the flaw isn’t visible to anyone not looking for it – and someone without excellent pattern recognition skills is unlikely to spot it – it is very hard to see. But to me, the creator, that tiny flaw is a horrible oversight, all but ruining the shirt.

            Talk to any artist and they’ll tell you similar tales. Ask them about a specific project and they’ll be able to tell you every flaw in minute detail. This line is out of place, that note was performed slightly off, and that part that goes in should have gone out but it couldn’t be fixed without destroying the whole thing.

            Each new created piece of artwork that manages to meet the artist’s approval is the best piece they’ve made to date – in fact, it’s so good, it makes all the previous pieces rubbish. Not that it’s any good....

            I think that this harsh self-judgement is part of what pushes artists forward, encouraging them to strive to improve their craft and make more projects. But, at the same time it’s disheartening, because nothing is ever good enough. People may shower our work with praise, but can’t they see that flaw right there? They must be lying.

            What is it that makes a creator so hard on their work? Seeing all the minute details that they had to be aware of in order to create it. An outside observer – even other artists – didn’t painstakingly draw each line, write each word, or link each ring together. As such, they look at the whole – the completed project. They don’t see the mistakes, because they have no idea that they are mistakes. They’re too busy being distracted by everything that was done right to notice what was done wrong.

            A valuable lesson that all artists should learn is how to step back from the project and observe it without their artistic lens. It is true that we must always strive to better our art, but sometimes we need to step back, look at the whole, and appreciate what we’ve accomplished. Otherwise we may forget how well we’re doing and give up.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

Also, make sure you check out my wife's blog and her website.


If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Different Obvious

            When I was in grade 10, my English class read Lord of the Flies. I can’t say I remember all that much about the book, but I do have a very distinct memory of the projects we presented in front of the class.

            We were split into groups and each group had to do a presentation on the same set of questions. I don’t know if all the other groups handled the project the same way, but my group split the questions up, making each member of the group responsible for presenting the answer to their questions.

            The questions I took asked me to define what, in the book, was the Lord of the Flies and the Monster that was frequently mentioned. I chose the questions because the answer was so clear and obvious to me.

            When it came time for the presentations, my group went last. So, before making my presentation, I first heard the question answered by several other people. I was astounded – every answer presented was almost exactly the same. They boiled down to, “The Lord of the Flies is the pig head the boys put on a stake, and the Monster is the dead parachuter stuck on the cliff.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Everyone had the same answer but me.

            When I stood up to present my answer, I started by saying, “Well, my answer is a bit different than what others have said.” I then proceeded to explain how the Monster, while personified by the dead parachuter, was a representation of all the fears of the group of boys stranded on the island. Meanwhile, the Lord of the Flies was all the anger, hatred and violence that was awakened in the boys by their need to survive and their desires to do whatever they wanted. This was, of course, given visual representation by the bloody pig head on a spike, swarming with flies.

            I remember the class staring at me, dumbfounded. I don’t recall if the teacher’s expression was shocked or impressed – and I have no memory of the mark I received on the project.

            But I did find a deep understanding from that experience. You see, to me, the answer my classmates gave was too simple – they were facts pretty much stated in the book. What was the point in even asking those questions if there wasn’t something more? But others stopped at that answer, because, yes, it was obvious.

            However, to me, my answer was just as obvious. It was simply more abstract, but it had to be what the question was asking about. On the other hand, the stares I received told me that what was obvious to me hadn’t been obvious to others.

            From that, I learned that different things are obvious to different people – and that, generally speaking, when people find something they believe obvious, they stop. It’s obvious – why would they think about it further?

            I learned that, just because something is obvious, that doesn’t mean it’s obvious to everyone.

Something being obvious doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

Also, make sure you check out my wife's blog and her life coaching website.


If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.