Tag: INTJ

Brief Humor & Check-Ins

Pomposity, Ambulances & Narcissism: A Quaint Tale

Peregrine Arc: An Author's Scratchwork

It is Spring now in North America–in fits and starts with plenty of storms a blowing from global climate change and the hot air that blows in from D.C. I was at an event yesterday for work, acting as the octopus on roller skates handling 20 statues of pristine crystal, helping efforts behind the scenes. At one point, a “VIP-P” (a very important pompous person) came up to me and began half thanking me and my boss for our help with getting her her first big “thing.” What is this thing you ask? It doesn’t matter. For sake of literary appeasement, let’s call it a ring of power. A shiny thing; a most covetous thing. It is part of my job to help these people get these rings. Except these rings are supposed to help society, not puff up people like poisonous blowfish. But I digress…

They met me, face to face at the event, full of flashing cameras, a spread of food, and tablecloths. (It actually wasn’t that fancy and the carpet was badly in need of a cleaning. Definitely an Emperor’s New Clothes kind of atmosphere…) I helped this VIP-P get their ring, their first ring of their career. But to them, as I listened to their speech of half-thanks, they did all the real work–I just pushed the right buttons, it seemed. (If only it were that easy.) They proceeded to talk to me for about twenty minutes, taking my time from doing other things at the event. But I listened, politely, like a jellyfish suspended in water and shocked by accidentally stinging itself and waiting for the pain to subside. And funnily enough, I understood nothing that came out of this person’s mouth. Ever notice how some people’s e-mail language match how they are in real life? The irony is that the person witnessed this with me: “You’re very polite,” they said to a coworker about me that I half-heard as I worked; I was then ordered to listen to her penetrating observations. “Hey, I’m talking about you!” But ironically, they couldn’t see this in themselves. Like in their e-mails, their vocal mannerisms and speech meandered here, there and everywhere except for the point. After awhile, the conversation ended and I was inundated with other people’s questions: “What’s this food? Ooh, it’s a danish. What’s in this one?” and “I need a booklet and they’re out; can I steal yours like I shamelessly steal your energy and time?” And my personal favorite: “We need a flier made before lunch–we have an hour to do that and solve the energy crisis.”

Pray tell, I never learned that if one is behind a refreshment table, busily working on a last minute request on their bosses’ laptop, that you’re also expected to be a culinary chef. How quaint.

This same VIP-P later went around, complaining to everyone at the event (e.g., my colleagues) that their name wasn’t published in the program booklet. Luckily, they didn’t complain to me (I had been the one who supplied the names). I had reported the names of ring bearers (no wedding puns intended) like we reported all the data–by state fiscal year (July to June). This VIP-P fell outside of that timeframe by two months–her moment of fame would be next year. But no tears came from me–I’m sure she would dress for the occasion next year, as the prima donna she was proving to be. The other ring wearers got little yellow bags with a water bottle, a pen, and maybe a few other thingamajigs–tokens of appreciation and recognition. All of the highest quality plastic, rest assured, and could be cashed in at your nearest bank to avoid taking out a second mortgage on your house.

Later, this woman demanded a said bag of goodies from a coworker of mine. He was still baffled by this encounter as he later retold the story to me. I half hoped a dead spider was in the bottom of the bag he gave her, curled up in a corner, as these had been sitting in storage since last year. Highly desirable, indeed.

Quick side bar: Another VIP-P (emphasis on the pompous part) I worked under at a previous job, I heard, got promoted to a very fluffy chair of power and prestige this past week. Made the news and everything. This was the kind of position that comes with a gray cat you stroke while crowing over your power and musing your next move–you know the one. I overheard my boss talking about the news with a colleague of hers at the event. She summarized this person by (and I’ll use a word that rhymes with the actual word): “Yeah, he’s a real Rick. A real Rick.” As lunchtime neared, I felt I was surrounded by Ricks.

As time passed and technical difficulties made us scrap the flier and table solving the energy crisis, lunch ensued and then the rousing speeches began. Oh, goody. (Later I heard the grand pooh-bah of the place thought he was the key note speaker–apparently their narcissism was so large that they didn’t bother to consider any other option. A slight tussle of power ensued that was fortunately smoothed over.) Just when the speeches were reaching a crescendo, and the pompous lady was being called out in a speech for demanding a public apology, I stood up and walked over to two of my colleagues. They were off to one area, hidden behind a wall and had been lingering there for awhile. My coworker was having a seizure, and a very bad one–one my other coworker assumed was brought up by the flashing camera lights and interference with the speaker systems, among other items I won’t share. I ran and got water, and she managed to take her medicine. I ran again and got ice and more water. An officer came, and soon I was standing outside, flagging an ambulance down to ensure they knew where we were. All the while, twenty feet away, the narcissists dined, flashed even more bulbs, and looked at their rings like Gollum looked at his. “My….precious…”

Plague of the Red Death for $300, Alex?

Needless to say, after the event, I was one drained introvert. But don’t worry, the commute home wasn’t filled with a torrential downpour, making it hard to see, whilst on country roads lined with deep ditches on either side. What would make you think that? Thankfully I made it home in one piece.

That is my tale. Some facts are obscured or omitted to hide the innocent (or not so innocent) parties involved. Happy writing and stay away from the VIP-P blowfish. They come in all shapes and sizes and strike when you least expect them to. However, you do have one advantage: if they blow up in front of you–just let them. Eventually they will swell up so big, they will float far, far away…

Brief Humor & Check-Ins

New Seasons: Writing & Life Updates

Peregrine Arc: An Author's Scratchwork

We put away the last of our Christmas decorations today, tree included. Out came Valentine’s Day. New seasons; new changes. Sparkly red hearts, red garland, and heart decals. You pack each Christmas item away carefully, holding the ornaments and tinsel, wondering how your life will be different when you go to unpack them in eleven months. Or at least I do. Time is a complicated, strange thing.

Writing wise, I finished a novella recently, titled The Cellar Door. This started as a short story and developed into a feminist horror tale, set in post-war England in the early 1950s. The main character, Alice, popped into my head one day. I saw her standing by a window, half hidden by a brown curtain, looking outside to a dreary, overcast England. She was in deep thought, with shadows flickering across her eyes. Fellow writer and blogger, Mike Nevin, helped me get the English dialogue and speech right for the English characters and provided other valuable (and patient) feedback, including historical photos and documents. Fingers, toes and elbows crossed that a publisher scoops it up and gives it a big hug. If you know of any good publishers or agents wanting horror novellas, let me know.

Exercise wise: I have biked 75 miles so far this month on my indoor bicycle. It’s a goal of mine this year to take better care of myself and this is one way I do it–clear the cobwebs of my mind and body through pedaling. I have an iFit membership which I’ve found marvelous for this introvert. I tend to put on closed captions to follow along with the trainer, and listen to instrumental music.

Music wise: I’ve been listening to a lot of My Chemical Romance (the Helena acoustic is beautiful and haunting) , Taylor Swift (Anti Hero has beautiful vulnerability), Green Day (love this instrumental of 21 Guns), 21 Pilots (Chlorine) and some other goodies (Lord Huron, Sharon Van Etten, whatever I come across). I downloaded a self-care app recently and one goal I picked was to listen to a song I like every day. Voila.

Spiritual wise: I’ve been doing my daily Bible reading and journaling, and catching-up when I miss days. I have a difficult time reading the OT–it’s an honest depiction of the fall of humanity and the cultural context and history sometimes passes high above my head. It’s both frustrating and saddening. Figures like Jacob, Rachel, and Abraham run past me, saying this and that, doing this, not doing that–and I struggle to piece it together in my 21st century mind. But with patience and effort, and God’s grace, I trust He’ll guide me through this. 2022 was a very difficult year for the Saint and I. I am clinging to Jesus’ robes to continue in strength and faith, and to make changes in 2023. He is with me; He is with us.

Hope you are all well and continue to pursue your own writing goals and journey. For any readers in Ukraine, I am thinking of you and continuing to fly your flag. Take care and God bless.

Brief Humor & Check-Ins

The Sublime Art of Falling on One’s Face (Humor)

Peregrine Arc: An Author's Scratchwork

I tend to ask a lot of questions. I like to poke at things and ask why things are done the way they’re done. I turn contraptions of our society upside down, walk around them hemming and hawing, chewing and spitting out the occasional sunflower seed, and even kick at the tires. In effect, I make people nervous. Especially those silly people who follow rules and leaders blindly. They’ve never learned any 20th century history, most likely.

I’ll stare at rules, laws, meeting agendas, policies, handbooks…anything I’m presented with really, as it’s all fair game for the mind to tackle. I’ll ask for guidance on next steps; ask for the big picture from A-Z. I’ll bend down, check out their undercarriages, peer at them suspiciously, ask them who their leader is while throwing up a Spock hand signal. I’ll chew gum and blink; see if it blinks back in Morse code asking for help and mercy. And then, eventually, I’ll ask the question that has toppled empires, dethroned monarchs, and even stopped people from enjoying their ice cream before it melts on a hot summer day: “Why?” In essence, I can thin your patience quicker than a locomotive running over a shiny penny. Choo choo!

I did this recently with a work task I was assigned; I was volun-told to be the hiring coordinator for an interviewing committee. Swish, swish– the questions went out through the gate faster than Greyhounds chasing the Easter bunny. I watched through my webcam as people’s smiles twitched and their patience frayed like a 1930’s pair of Levi jeans. Eventually I did what I do in awkward situations–I fell on the sword. I said “I know I’m probably driving you nuts with all my questions.” Oh, that was the pebble holding back the Hoover Dam. And over I fell–splat!

The act of falling on your face can be seen as an art. Sure, you’ll look stupid–you might even find’s someone half chewed gum on the floor stuck to your cheek. But the knowledge gained–the conversations to be had with the ants found on the ground. The funny way people look when you’re staring up at them, as they stare at you like a constipated bull frog. It’s a true experience, not likely to be forgotten. And eventually, someone helps you up, dusts off your disheveled hair, and says “Job well done; thank you for your work today.” You see–all those questions paid off, eh?

And then you can lolly-skip your way back home, ice cream and ant farm in tow. Now you’re free. You’re free to ask questions of the seagulls, the sky, animals and God–especially God. So shout it loud, shout it proud–I am a questioner. And I sometimes fall on my face doing it.

Cheers and happy writing.