Sidereal Times Issue One 💫
Your battles in the ether
Welcome to the inaugural edition of my writing contest — or better said, my celebration of self-expression.
I provided the prompt and asked everyone to share with me their battles. You answered to varying degrees of interpretations and I found it beautiful.
To honor that spirit and my desire, there are no real winners or rankings.
Instead, I will simply highlight what was sent to me with commentary from the judges.
I hope you find the entrants and their words interesting or otherwise worthwhile.
Adolph.
An appellation aimed at me, awarded with affection! Yet, Introductions become minefields, every handshake a potential detonation. Some faces flinch, fear flickering as they fumble with a frightful four-letter word.
Others, oblivious onlookers, offer a shrug and a dismissive, "It's just a name."
Indifferent ignoramuses, they fail to grasp the weight of history hanging heavy, a suffocating shroud around my soul.
Then come the cowering kingpins, paralyzed by a past person. Their voices vanish at the mere mention of my moniker, a chilling reminder of a monstrous monarch with a menacing mustache.
Amidst the battlefield, saints stand strong, sovereigns supporting the soldiers in the skirmish for my name. Saints like the parents who christen their sons - Adolph, not with naivety, but with a defiant spirit! They, alongside a stoic squad of soldiers – others carrying the same name – determined to push back against the tide of prejudice. We ain’t playing a game!
This is not a fight fought with fists. Words as weapons wielded with wit, weaving a web of woe in a world recoiling at the reminder. A tricky tick-tick-tocking TED Talk, a bishop strategically placed in the center, my voice echoing across the hall, reclaiming my name. Then came the book, a slow and steady advance of a rook. Each sentence a struggle, each completed page a victory won. It poured out, an account of living with a name that screamed accusations. I must move on maneuvering my message with my misconstrued moniker.
This ain’t just my story. This is a chronicle, allowing all other Adolphs an avenue and a venue. Each a knight on the chessboard, their maneuvers contributing to the grand strategy. We are not pawns to be sacrificed, but determined warriors flanking the enemy king, hellbent on redeeming the name.
The battle isn't over. With every conversation, a tense standoff broken by understanding, the shadow recedes a square at a time. The stench of suspicion gradually fades as trust blossoms. A wave of relief washes over me as acceptance dawns in their eyes.
The name remains, a constant reminder of the past. But the narrative is changing. It's a name borne not with hate, but with grace, a testament to the human spirit's ability to rise above the ashes, like a phoenix emerging from the darkness.
This is my story, the story of Adolph, not the monster king, but the man who dared to fight for his own damn name. I wear my name like a well-worn pair of Adidas running shoes, propelling me forward in this race for redemption. Saints and kings are on my side, fighting alongside. We are the pawns that will become Queens, the bishops that will checkmate the forces of prejudice.
The battle continues, but with every strategic move, every melody played, we inch closer to victory. The future, awaits, open to the stories we will write. Stories of laughter, music, and the unwavering spirit of a man named Adolph, who refused to be the villain in his own game.
This document may submit, but the fight continues!
Judge One: I very much appreciate how Adolph uses an actual battle and the already metaphoric game of chess as an allegory for his struggle. There was a unique passion to a problem that is simultaneously very visible while also rarely examined behind the words.
I enjoyed the foray onto this battlefield of names, but would be curious to hear more specifically how his name has affected his life.
I also found it somewhat funny how much Adolph’s style feels similar to John’s. I half thought he slipped another submission into the contest using a new name.
Judge Two: Our names are a huge part of our identities. It's where our sense of self begins. It's the first thing we share when we meet someone new. Adolph shines a light on a struggle many of us never think about, and I really appreciate the way this piece peeks behind the curtain, shining light on an experience that plagues them.
What I found in Adolph’s submission was a well-fought pride born out of an internal struggle. He guides us through his own doubt and worries about who he is as a person because of the name he was given.
Rather than running, he confronts the enemy head on and wins the battle by looking to the broader history of the other giants whose shoulders he stands upon.
Judge Three: Introductions are awkward at the best of times. There’s an uncertainty before everyone’s cards are played and we’re still placing bets, waiting for the other player to make the first move.
All that confusion is removed for Adolph. He knows exactly how these situations will play out.
He loses every time.
His name has already dubbed him the villain and he is forever fighting uphill to convince his interlocutor otherwise. Somehow he manages to see that never-ending war as a victory for himself.
I can only respect Adolph’s fortitude for taking such a strong stand for his own self.
The Battles That Haunt Me
His eyes narrowed, the wrinkles deepening as the anger pulsed within him. The woman standing in front of him was foreign at best, mouth twisted in petulance and opposition. Her young face seemed to mock him infinitely. The conversation reeked of injustice.
How dare she speak to him in this way?
This life had given him nothing but decades of hardships, obligations, upheavals. His wisdom crafted a world for her that was unquestionably better than his own. She hadn’t the faintest concept of what it meant to struggle. What it meant to want for anything. What it meant to hold any responsibility for anything.
The fury swelled like an oncoming tsunami and his vision clouded with red.
“You’re a child, and you act like a child,” he spat, not seeing or caring that pain shot through her eyes.
He knew it was the exact right thing to say.
Satisfaction washed through him as the woman recoiled, fueling his rage like the beast of strength it was. Now, perhaps his daughter would understand what she owed him.
***
She hadn’t been a child in a very long time, yet the words reverberated around her skull, duplicating through memories with each beat of her heart. How many times had she heard that she was too young, too naïve, too trusting, too stupid? Forever following in three sets of footsteps no matter how hard she tried to change her path or grow larger feet.
She made a career for herself, a family, a home. She had a child of her own now, who was learning and absorbing and becoming. How could he not recognize the weight upon her shoulders?
She was barely able to handle all of the responsibility thrown her way. All she really needed was support. Even this twisted version, which was all he knew how to give her, came at a cost.
Through the sadness and the pain, her own brand of anger struck like lightning. It was how she was trained. She was his child, after all.
“You’re an asshole,” she replied, tears threatening to spill down her splotched face.
It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it was the wrong thing to say. She said it anyway.
In an instant his aged hand clapped across her cheek, forever imprinting this moment in her life. Her neck snapped to the side and she blinked, understanding that nothing would ever be the same.
The last thing she saw before turning her back forever, was the glint of satisfaction in her father’s angry, narrowed eyes.
Judge One: A lot of people aren’t willing to put their guard down and allow themselves to be vulnerable. This submission shows a slight reluctance to do just that, while also opening up fully at the same time.
That’s a unique little space where the words then become more human. The fear is real and the battle bears ugly teeth and deep scars.
I admire the ability to keep fighting and to share that struggle and the ongoing battle.
Judge Two: The visceral emotions of this submission gripped me to the point where it also made me uncomfortable to think about reliving my own worst memories. We all have moments we’d rather forget — and usually those are some of the ones that define us the most.
Molding that fierceness with its flashing anger into a structured piece of prose took incredible balance of mind and will. Especially with the emphasis on how these battles are ongoing. Victory is often hollow and an echo rings out over and over as years turn the pages and new lives begin.
The writer captured how a few defining moments can shape the future of who we will become.
Judge Three: Trauma is an inherently difficult subject. Remembering the pain of our worst moments sometimes only builds into a more massive mountain of dramatic damage.
More than the fleeting spark of an outburst, what I appreciated in this submission was the passage of time. How a single battle won does not declare the war is ended. No, unfortunately our lives are often nothing but drawn out battles as we fail to excuse our past regrets in shame filled tears.
The moments we force ourselves to relive until we draw our very last breaths.
(Untitled Submission)
We wanted to hear some music, but we were hungry and wanted to grab a bite beforehand. Half a block away was a sign advertising the business as the Village Bistro. We walked in and grabbed an empty table and a waiter appeared and handed us a menu. The slim young man seemed eager to see us and hurried to get the drinks order.
When he returned, I noticed he was balancing the two drinks in one hand as his other arm was in a heavy cast and had obviously been broken in the recent past.
As we sipped our wine and whiskey and ginger, three people came out of the back of the establishment and walked over to a piano in the corner that I thought was only there for ambiance. One went over to it and began to play a few notes. Another picked up a guitar and started to play. They sounded pretty good. Then, the third, a young woman, began to sing. She was fantastic, and we realized we had found our music.
A hush swept over the patrons as first order. Everything became quieter, as all the customers slowed down the consumption of their meals and listened.
The old woman at the table next to ours scowled at the crowd as if admonishing us to pay more attention.
Judge One: At first, I was a little confused about how this story could be seen as a battle, but with a little head scratching and some pondering, I began to see it as a battle against boredom.
Much more lighthearted, but I suppose that is a welcome change after the heavier entries. I enjoyed it for what it was, but would have liked to see more of the struggle and the theme presented in the text.
Judge Two: This piece took a mundane approach to a battle which made it a relaxing change of pace. I found myself speculating over the true intention of the author -- is the battle they felt around choosing the venue (one I think anyone can relate to), or perhaps the sacrifice in compromise, only to be rewarded with the ultimate prize where all boxes were checked off for the meal. The scene is like a painting with how the characters are comfortable in their place.
The words are matched like colors to keep a brisk pace as the emotions are held high. There’s a lighthearted peacefulness to it all that even if it’s not the most obvious depiction of battle, I could see it as an epilogue after a long struggle is finally over.
Judge Three: While it’s impossible to ignore how this submission seemingly doesn’t include a battle or something within the theme, the more I thought about it, the more I came to a certain conclusion.
The battle presented here is found in the subtext of an idealized life being unrealized. The writer crafts an image of how the perfect night out perhaps should be, but the reality of our life is the battle to achieve just that.
I can only hope the writer succeeds in finding even a fraction of the calm certitude found within the confines of the short story.
Full Rotation
With that, Sidereal Times comes to its close.
Be sure to let me know what you thought of everyone’s submissions. This is my first experiment with a special edition or otherwise addition at all to Nightly Noise.
The scale was very small, but that’s okay and makes me feel a bit more comfortable leaving things rough around the edges as I experiment and make mistakes.
After today, I’ll have a much better idea of how to manage Issue Two.
Although who’s to say if that will ever actually happen?
And before I go, I also want to take a moment and let you know that my new book Lux Aeterna is now officially out!
Otherwise, I hope you have a great day and I wish you the best of luck with your own battles.
—JMB
i enjoyed reading what seems like a behind-the-scenes kinda dealio with writing and receiving feedback from different sources. very much appreciated!