In days of yore when i felt like writing but nothing was shaking loose, i’d sometimes use a prompt from one of several websites as inspiration. Sometimes i’d share them at those sites, or, sometimes i’d just post them on the blog. In recent years, I’ve taken to using random image generators as all of those sites have gone silent.

But such was the genesis of Frog Bottom, and it’s what started this one, this image offered and it began with a couple of dudes carrying on a blithe and trivial conversation about the – whatever he is: That was their conversation. However, there were a couple of other factors that brought this to bloom, one invoked by the image, and also, a story i never wrote.

That story involved a silicon-based, alien species, and a character that was so offended that his daughter would be expected to sacrifice herself (long story) that he sacrificed his own skin to save her and blew up the entire civilization. Then he blew up the humans that discovered them, who then errantly conclude that they introduced something to cause the destruction.

Evidently, this is a story that was given more than a passing thought. There was research into what silicon based life forms would look like. There were searches on ammoniac explosives. There was an amusing format laid out because, you know: I like fucking around with formats. The story follows that format for three, full sketched out installments. An entire trilogy’s sketched out – not something i do, you know.

The format, story, the character – just keeps showing up and blowing up – tickled me as very, chuff-chuff, har-har amusing. It was researched, imagined, sketched out, and after all of that, i didn’t feel like writing a word of it…

This led to more windless drifting in calm water, which has pretty much been the case since writing the Nation – another clever-format idea that was received like a carton of foul eggs. There was Psalms, but that was another – clever, clever – stab at telling a story in a specific way. Just a thing to try and nothing particularly compelling. All this to say, that after not writing a story i’d spent a not insignificant amount of time with, i was once again wondering if i’d ever write another one again.

I found, i was surprisingly fine if i never did. So, with that burden shed, i felt like fucking around with a random image, and now we’re back where i started.

However, this is not shared without reason. With the image given, with some of the trite dialogue and suppositions on why such a person might be crossed, i thought of my daughter.

She has been dressing up as various characters since she was young. That began with Hermione, and various Dr. Who characters. If i had only known what this would lead to.

She has since designed costumes for numerous – no-idea-what-they’re-from – characters, the pinnacle (to date), her magnificent, Mollymauk, hand-embroidered cloak. She is often blue, sometimes has antlers, and many weapons have been printed. There is a giant, disintegrating lollypop in my basement. This is a pastime that is as time-consuming, and nearly as pointless as writing, but what she creates and the characters she becomes are truly impressive. I scoff at silly cosplay, but cannot deny, her creations are remarkable.

So, this is why a novel exercise intended as entertainment ballooned into a full story: A story i never wrote still lingered in my thoughts, and the image brought me to reflect on the dedication my daughter puts into her creations. Consequently, cosplay and pointless activities were on the mind.

This is an allegory about writing. Or, it could be about dressing up in funky costumes.

House of Disorder follows the travails of a divorcee that is struggling with a lot of things. He struggles with anger issues, he struggles to keep in touch with his daughter, and he struggles to make ends meet. He lives at the mercy of a friend who has taken pity on him and lets him live in what was once a pool house – a pool that has long since been lost to erosion. And then, he meets a guy dressed like a Viking. Or a wizard. Or king. The first impression didn’t make it clear. As his friend points out – he could have asked.
Curiosity leads them to seek out the wizard-pirate-king to learn the purpose of what he was doing, which eventually leads to attempted murder. The ensuing investigation crumbles the delicate scaffolding of Corbyn’s beliefs, but it does bring understanding to his experience.
As he gets drawn deeper into the world of the mysterious man, the people in Corbyn’s life question why, and wonder if he’s completely lost it, yet it also provides an opening with his daughter.
A jaunty tale about loyalty, artifice, and pointless diversions.