A Slytherin? Really?

In a blog post a little while back, Twitter friend A.S. Akkalon discussed being sorted into Ravenclaw by the Pottermore website. In a comment, I proclaimed that I was also part of the Ravenclaw club. We congratulated each other's high degree of nerdom and moved on.

Why Ravenclaw you might ask? Well, frankly I'm not quite personable enough to be a Hufflepuff, not nearly brave enough to be a Gryffindor, and certainly not evil enough to be a Slytherin. Besides, "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure" is a motto I could get behind any day.

If you aren't a fan of Harry Potter, this entire post will probably
seem like nonsense. I apologize in advance for that

As time went on, I was intrigued by the notion of being sorted. My declaration of belonging to Ravenclaw bore no official sanction. I was yet another in a sad line of "self sorters" who were, in fact, nothing more than pretenders.

What Potter fan hasn't wondered and even fantasized about what their time at Hogwarts would be like? Would I be a quidditch captain and seeker and end up in front of thousands of cheering witches and warlocks at the Quidditch World Cup? Would I be a troublemaker and romp the castle grounds, probing its every secret passage like Fred and George Weasley? Would I be a clever, clandestine wizard, poking through the restricted section of the library and creating innovative and original magic?

Knowing there was a website, and one officially sanctioned by J.K. Rowling which seemed to lend it some credence, that would actually sort me into my Hogwarts house, how could I resist? I found myself visiting Pottermore for the first time, greedy to discover something of my Hogwarts future.

So the sorting quiz began...

"Your worst nightmare consists of..." "Which animal would you bring to Hogwarts..." "You most want to be remembered as..." The questions rolled on. Though sometimes I found myself stuck between answers (if I interpret it like this I would answer ___ but if I interpret it like that I would answer ___), I provided the most honest answers possible.

Otis is black but he resents even the implication of evilness

At last I reached the final question: "Black or white?" Hmmm... But what does that mean? Historically black is (perhaps unfairly) correlated with evil, and white with good. From a personal style perspective, however, I am not a fan of white clothing. I am much too adventurous and prone to staining for anything lighter than a tan-ish shade of brown. My closet is lined with black t-shirts. I always wear black sunglasses. My dog is black and, unless I'm even a few minutes late feeding him dinner, it seems hard to label anything about him as evil.

This strangely vague question of black or white seemed laden with gravity, like my entire Hogwarts experience might hinge on simple semantic interpretation. If it was meant to be figurative, a stand-in for the moral condition of my soul, then of course I would choose white. I like to think of myself as a person of good-intentions. I always side with the hero, not the villain. But from a simple electromagnetic spectrum standpoint (and the three simple words in the question's phrasing gave no indication it was anything else) I would have to say black fits me better. 

After too-long deliberating, I chose black and reluctantly hit submit.

The quiz was complete. My Hogwarts schooling career was about to begin. The time had come to find out to which House I belonged.....

SLYTHERIN!!! The Sorting Hat projected into the Great Hall. What?!? How could?!? But I...

I was aghast. I was angry. I was ashamed. Such a torrent of emotion did I experience that I leapt to my feet and paced around my living room until the shock wore off. It had be wrong. There must be some mistake. Somebody hacked into my computer while I was halfway through and supplied some devious, misleading and inauthentic answers. But after a amount of time spent feeling angry and disenfranchised, I had to accept the truth:

The Sorting Hat's decision was final. Like it or not, I was a Slytherin.

My new family crest, I suppose. The evil-looking snake
does nothing to assuage my fear of how I will be
received by my Hogwarts colleagues. As a member
of another house, would you still be my friend?

I was stuck with a vision of myself, wary in the corner of the shadowy Slytherin common room, on the fringe of a pack of snaggletoothed Crabbe and Goyle lookalikes, trying not to draw attention while simultaneously trying not to look like I was trying not to draw attention. Somewhere nearby a Malfoy-figure was holding a gathering of the wizarding world's version of the Alt-right and I felt obliged to voice my occasional disingenuous agreement simply in order to ride my broom under the proverbial radar.

Perhaps, however, if while the Sorting Hat rested upon my head, magically penetrating parts of my mind I didn't even know existed, I should have implored it "Not in Slytherin. Not in Slytherin" and it would have taken enough pity on my cause to throw me in Ravenclaw anyway.

I was consoled somewhat by the letter from my new house welcoming me into the noble line of Slytherin. The great wizard Merlin, the letter informed me, was a Slytherin. This is good. I liked the Sword in the Stone. If we are talking about the same iteration of Merlin, I could potentially get behind that.

So do I have some hidden evil in me that the Pottermore Sorting Hat sensed that even I am unaware of? Or perhaps is it that Slytherin gets an unfair reputation based on a few bad examples? Or is it just a silly website and I shouldn't take it so seriously? I never actually put on the actual Sorting Hat, after all. This quiz that functions as a Sorting Hat stand-in surely is little more than a cheap imitation.

Despite this reasonable logic and my numerous appeals to the magical kingdom for justice, however, I had to accept that I was sorted as well as an American muggle can be.

I am a Slytherin.

NOTE: After this blog post was written, I returned to the Pottermore website, created a different account and re-took the sorting quiz and was sorted properly into Ravenclaw as I was supposed to be all along. But was this cheating? Actual Hogwarts entrants get no such second chances.

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If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. When not dreaming about becoming a wizard, I often write about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph in a novel to giant redwoods, medieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading.

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 

Thou Beef-Witted Deformity!: Fun With the Shakespearean Insult Generator

Let's face, creatively insulting someone is one of the most important skills a writer (and a human) can possess. There's nothing worse than sinking to an overused, cliche invective to slam your hated rival. Such times demand a fresh blade of words to cut deepest.

Enter, the Shakespearean insult generator and the Shakespeare insult kit, a neat pair of internet toys that allow you (in a sort of mad lib-esque way) to generate Elizabethan insults that are sure to draw blood from your foes.

As a writer, the Shakespearean insult generator is also useful to infuse a little verisimilitude into your medieval characters' diction. While many fantasy writers employ modern curse words, mixing in a few authentic-sounding taunts will help you suspend your audience's disbelief .

So let's take a look at a few randomly generated Shakespearean insults and ponder their meanings:

William Shakespeare, the ultimate insultist

Beef-witted deformity

A personal favorite. No need to ponder the meaning of this one, it seems rather appropriate for any number of idle-headed lewdsters I've seen waltzing the thoroughfares of my hometown.

Lumpish milk-livered joithead

A more advanced Elizabethan insult, reserved for those fly-bitten giglets you really want to curse. Mostly nonsensical, this should be reserved for the blobby, lump-resembling pumpions whose brainless antics entice such vile cruelty.

Pribbling half-faced puttock

A perfect one for those brainless oaf types. To pribble means to speak nonsensically and a puttock is defined as "a person likened to a bird of prey in being considered greedy, grasping, or rapacious."

Fensucked fustilarian

You have to love these alliterative insults; they roll off the tongue like bitter honey. This excellent affront for the clay-brained coxcomb of your family, translates to modern speak as essentially a low-ranked sluggard who was reared in a marsh.

Gorbellied sheep-biting skainsmate

This libelous invective has a good deal going on within its four words. Gorbellied means, in essence, "bog bellied" or round bellied. Corpulent might be a good synonym. Sheep biting, while generating a rather humorous and vivid image, requires little explanation. Skainsmate literally translates to "companion in arms" but apparently (according to one source) had implications of prostitution in Shakespeare's time.

Spleeny canker blossom

Another to-the-point bit of scorn that is sure to off-seat your foes. Someone who is spleeny is one "displays too much spleen," which in Elizabethan times meant apparently "fretful, nervous, and not wholesome to one's cause." A canker blossom, on the other hand, has a lovely double-meaning which displays just why Shakespearean language is so effective. First, it refers to literally a flower that has been eaten by canker worms, but also refers to the open sores of an infectious skin disease (often venereal in origin) that resemble these rotting, half-eaten flowers.

Ruttish elf-skinned moldwarp

This slight is excellently thorough. The word ruttish implies an over-tendency towards sexual arousal (perhaps you have heard of elk or deer being in "the rut), elf-skinned implies a shrunken, pale appearance, and moldwarp is just an archaic term for an earth-dwelling creature, particularly a mole.

Earth-vexing dewberry

A less-vicious attack suitable perhaps to insult someone you might usually enjoy but for some reason has earned a moment of ingratitude. Someone who is "earth-vexing" is one who stands in the way of the progress of man and his world. A dewberry is literally a berry, closely related to the blackberry. A diminutive insult even if the object it evokes is rather delicious.

Odiferous cacodemon

A straight-forward insult that embraces a deeper sense of brevity than most on this list. Odiferous means (obviously) smelly, and a cacodemon is a malevolent spirit or person.

Sodden-witted toad

Another concise insult that begs little explanation. Vex your enemies by insulting their intelligence and appearance!

No you have the tools necessary not only to carve up your rivals with words but to sound supremely more intelligent in the process!

Generated your own frothy, flapmouthed insults:

-The Shakespearean insult kit
-Insult Dream's Shakespearean Insult Generator
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When not dreaming up ways to creatively insult people, Brian occasionally writes about other, sometimes more serious, topics like the consequences of building fences between us and our neighbors, or the potentially damaging effects of social media on our culture. He is also a news reporter, essayist and spends as much of his free time as possible working on one or more of his unfinished novel projects which he hopes to one day see on your bookshelf. You can sign up for his mailing list and expect the full expression of his gratitude. Don't worry, all you will get is a weekly email updating you on his most recent musings.

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions

Wondrous Things Uncovered While Moving

Ah yes, moving again (I'll explain why we move so much in an upcoming blog post.) Moving ranks right up there with root canals and bankruptcy for most enjoyable life experiences. Seriously, have you ever heard anyone actually say (and not ironically) I love moving!

Despite the many aspects about moving pretty much guaranteed to ruin your week (aching back, gaps in internet service, fights your wife over the book collection you're not willing to shrink down), there is at least one that can actually be sort of fun: re-discovering all of the weird and crazy forgotten stuff that was buried at the bottom of your closets, the drawers you never open, underneath the bed and in the back of your garage.

Here are a few wondrous things I found while moving:

An essay from seventh grade

No, I'm not a hoarder. My problem is more like a mysterious strain of communicable laziness. Not sure who I caught it from. Who can say why I thought this C- paper was important to keep or how it has escaped detection/purging through at least five different moves over the years. I didn't put much into it then and I can't get through the first paragraph without at least three facepalms now. Seriously, does my writing still sound like that?

Enough dog hair to make a blanket

Hey daddy, my shedding isn't a problem. Aren't I cute when
I read a book?

Otis, my black-lab/wirehaired terrier rescue mutt, sheds like a sheep. We could seriously be missing out on a potential income source in outsourcing his wool to some weaving loom. His coat is thick and seems to shed/replenish at a supernatural rate. Most disturbing is all of the places it turns up like in the bathroom (a place he never goes since he fears baths like Hell itself), in my desk drawers, in the back of the freezer. What? The back of the freezer? Yep...somehow.

My lost cell phone!

I remember clearly the night of panic when this old flip phone disappeared. The tearing apart of everything (so I thought) in the desperate search to find it. The week of terror being cut off from the rest of the world. There are places in my house I probably searched a dozen times. The one place I guess I neglected was the one place it actually was.

That damn James Joyce novel I keep threatening to read

Why? Why do I keep hauling it around and saying I'm going to read it? I'm pretty sure I've taken on the first five pages at least a dozen times. You'd think I'd give up and just donate it to the library.

A dirty sock?

Hmm... Haven't worn that style in about a decade. Let's see...still fits! Guess I'll throw it back into the mix.

A heart-wrenching love letter 

Woe is me! And I always felt so torn up wondering why she never responded. Probably because it was here, underneath a stack of worthless scrap paper all this time. Let me just read a little...oh, God, I was actually planning on giving that to her?

A moldy...what is that anyway?

It must have been a lonely 2 am forgotten snack. Now it's a lump of greenish-blue something or other. Actually, the sciency side of me is strangely intrigued. I king of wish I had a microscope.

A stack of 50 cds

Cds were annoyingly scratchable but I kind of miss the
rainbows that reflect off them

An amazing collection of handpicked music. Sadly, I actually don't own a cd player anymore. So what's in it? Some mixed cds. The complete Beatles collection. Every Rolling Stones album ever made. The Who. Johnny Cash. Miles Davis. Nirvana. Wow! I used to have such great taste in music. When did I become so boring?

My first novel

Love it. Hate it. Ten years ago I had the epiphany I was going to be a novelist and I hammered this 150,000 word mess out in 2 months. Love it for inspiring me. Hate it because it is actually really terrible.

Usually I'd probably pick a near-drowning experience over a move, but it can actually be strangely interesting too. It's like opening a time capsule into your own life. The longer you have been at a place the more irritating the move yet the more intriguing the capsule. You go further and further into you past as you rifle through the detritus of your house. In the deepest corners you might find some laughs, some tears, something smelly. 

Ah crap, which box did I pack my clean clothes in again?

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If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. I blog about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph in a novel to giant redwoods, medieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading.

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions

Writers are Sexy

Mmm...writer... I love the way you hold your...pen.
And how you wear that...fragmentary sentence.
You are so smooth how you...build your imagery.
I can't quit staring at the size of your...brain.

You get me excited when you...place that semicolon.
My eyes are fixed on your...back cover.
The way you say...The End is so breathtaking.
It makes me crazy the way move your...plot.

I start to tingle when you...title your chapter.
It's breathtaking how you tickle my...amygdala.
You have such nice curves on your...letter S.
I just can't get enough of your...complex characters....

Us writers are a nerdy bunch. I'm pretty sure I just proved that with the above...poem? We are more prone to stumbling out for our mail at four pm still pajama clad and cursing the blinding saber of light somewhere above us they call the sun than stunning a roomful of the opposite sex at the latest soiree.

But I love us. More than that, I find us sexy.

People forget the importance of the brain in arousal. Too much focus lies in the flesh. The brain with its vivid, wild imagination. Its ability to focus its vast power into something as infinitesimal as the brush of a fingertip on a single point of skin. Yes, the brain is the most important organ of intimacy.

Good writers draw their power from the ability to manipulate your brain. At the outset of a fiction story, everyone knows they are about to be lied to. An alternate definition of fiction, in fact, reads: "An allegation that a fact exists that is known not to exist." In other words, a lie.

Lie to me, baby....

You probably picked up your last book standing under a sign that said in big letters "fiction," so it's not like you expected it to be real. But somehow, that all-powerful writer tricked you into buying her the narrative. She convinced you to care more for her characters than the person you just bumped into crossing the street. Such talent takes magic.

Sleek, sexy magic...

Who isn't drawn to intelligence, wit, strength? Who ever said they disliked a sense of humor? Nothing is worse than a brainless beauty. It's like a book with a stunning cover but filled with scribbles. Or nothing at all....

Frankly, I would rather pry open a plain white hardback and find Shakespeare.

There's something intriguing about the girl in the corner of the room. You know the one. Veiled by shadow. Quietly watching. Not wearing a histrionic red dress covered in the drool stains of her latest love victims. No, she's quiet but sophisticated. She notices you long before you notice her. She understands the thrill of raw emotion. She knows how to manipulate your mind. Her eyes are brimmed with wisdom and power. Her gaze constantly rakes the room, seeking her next character.

I'm terrified it will be me.

Nevermind that damsel in distress. Meh to the helpless princess. I want a queen. No scratch that. A goddess. One who shapes worlds, molds characters, dictates universes. A goddess with the power to create, build, manipulate, seduce. Even destroy.

Sleek, sexy writer....


Yeah, that just happened. I'm not going to apologize for it. If it made you blush, well, tough it out and move on. That's kind of the way this blog has worked so far; you never really know what sort of nonsense is flying at you next. I don't either, so don't ask. If you liked it, feel free to comment below. If you didn't, feel free to comment below. I'll be your friend forever if you considered signing up for my weekly newsletter. You'll get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these numerous books I've been working on for years, I might send out an email letting you know about that, but that's it! In the meantime thanks for reading.

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions

What I Will Do With My Prehensile Tail

There are many reasons why a prehensile tail would be useful. And fun! Especially if I was the only person who had one. Here are a few of them:

For Balance

A long, prehensile tail would be great for those times when I need a little extra support. Like when perched at the edge of a dangerous cliff. Or perhaps at the end of a vigorous night drinking with friends. Like a third leg, the tail could form a tripod of stability to save me from getting embarrassed or even injured!

As a Conversation Piece
There's no better way to break the ice at an awkward social function than to unveil a glorious prehensile tail, capable of astonishing feats of practical dexterity. While some may find it strange or even creepy, all fears would be quailed when I display its ability to crack open a beer, change the music, or even light a friend's cigar. "So...what's with the tail?" They might ask. "I'm Brian. Let me tell you the story!"

For Multitasking
More than once I've wished I could clone myself. But really a clone is just an annoying identical twin. So in reality, the best way to get more things done simultaneously would be to have another appendage. Like a tail! I could cook eggs and fire up the espresso machine at the same time. Or hold a coffee mug while my hands are full with the latest Stephen King novel. The usefulness of a prehensile tail for multitasking is obvious!

To Tap People on the Shoulder
A long tail would be immensely useful at getting people's attention. It could be done in all seriousness, like over the cubicle walls at the office. Or as a joke, like sitting on the bar stool next to an unsuspecting prank victim. Tap, tap, tap. Who's there? What the?!

For That Part of My Back I Can Never Reach
There is that one swatch on my back that I can just never get to. Whether it's itchy, sore, or just needs a dab of sunscreen, the damn piece of skin is always a tease; the only part of my body I just can't reach. Problem solved with my dexterous and flexible tail!

As Means to Hang Upside Down While I Sleep
It works for bats, why not for me? All that blood rushing to your head must surely make for some vibrant dreams. My only concern is if it lost its grip in the middle of the night, sending me on a headfirst, groundward spiral!

For Climbing Trees (Of Course)
Scientists seem in general concurrence that the main function of a prehensile tail is to enhance the arboreal qualities of primates. Humans have an opposable thumb, which makes gripping tree branches (and just about everything else) possible. There is no doubt, however, that monkeys are far superior at climbing trees due to the practicality of their tails. I want one!

To Show When I'm Excited
Nothing gets a tail whipping around faster than a bit of excitement. Like when my wife tells me dinner is ready. Or when we're loading up in the car to go on a drive. I can imagine that tail would really add an element to the excitement of a lot of things!

For ?
I'm sure as I got used to my new appendage I would discover all sorts of excellent, hilarious and practical uses for a prehensile tail that I'd never thought of before. The mystery of what I might learn is quite possibly the most exciting part of all!

As always thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this whimsical and nonsensical post, found it somehow enlightening, or just plain want to hate on me, consider commenting below. Better yet, sign up for my weekly mailing list. Not only will I love you forever (unless, of course, you actually do want to hate on me), but I will reciprocate by reading, signing up for and actively commenting on your blog (should you have one, if not, I'll brainstorm another way to repay you.) Generally I enjoy blathering on about anything from the novel writing process to Giant Redwoods to the Ancient Maya and more.

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions