I have long been a fan of orcs. First as the perfect bad guy for D&D games, and later as heroes and anti-heroes in fiction and games. I readily admit that my preference is for the "Warcraft" model of orcs. They are alien and powerful, and the lore in that world makes them very cool in my eyes. However, that's just a preference, and I really enjoy most of their incarnations (though the early "pig-face" orcs from old-school D&D is bothersome).
IN an effort to expand my enjoyment of orcness, I have read a lot of fiction concerning them. recently, I read the first book of Morgan Howell's Orc Queen trilogy, King's Property. I have to say, no book has so engaged me in a long time. I read the 350+ page book in a matter of about four days. That's quite a feat for me. It was an amazing read, with engaging characters, fantastic lore and easy on the eyes prose. It was even further amazing when you realize that even after completing the book, the world is very slim in description. Unlike the overly fleshed out worlds of gaming fiction, or even Tolkien's Middle-Earth, the world this story takes place in seems very limited. Which works well, considering that the main character's experience in the world is extremely limited, so it really helps keep the story in the proper place. I am eagerly awaiting book 2 from the library.
It also inspired some creativity in me. I brushed off an old orc book of mine that was floundering at around 14,000 words. I deleted the last two pages of prose so that I could take the story in a completely different direction from where it was headed. I think what I have come up with now is much more interesting.
Additionally, I recently read a snippet in Writer magazine where an author suggested reading with a writer's eye. So, as I was reading this book, I took mental notes of what worked and why. What made the story and characters interesting. It was very enlightening. And every tidbit of knowledge seems to help.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Used Book Forays
Money is tight right now, but we like to afford ourselves little pleasures (and I mean "little" as in cheap ass) just to stay human. One of the few guilty pleasures my wife and I share is a love of books. So, we often peruse used book stores for good deals on books we may never read. A few days ago I got a copy of Death Dealer 4: Plague of Knives. I am now only missing book 3 Tooth and Claw and I will have all four of them again. I've read them all but they are so fantastic I want to have them to read again.
Yesterday Connor and I went to the store looking for some specific military sci-fi books (I'm in a mood). Unfortunately, they didn't have any volumes of Larry Niven's Man-Kzin Wars, or Jerry Pournelle's WarWorld series. And nothing else they had appealed to me. But I did pick up a couple of items. I got Tarnsman of Gor by John Norman, the first in a series. This series is always on peoples' lists of "Sword & Sorcery must reads" so I figured I'd give it a go.
I also picked up an old D&D based novel, Greyhawk Adventures 3: Master Wolf by Rose Estes. I had this book a long time ago, but never read it. The first two in the series were written by Gary Gygax, God rest his soul. But they weren't that good. This one seems a bit better, and it's nice and lite, which is what my brain tends to like. I get bored quickly with books if they blather on too much.
Lastly, I picked The Celts by Elona Malterre. It says on the cover "An Epic Novel of Ancient Ireland." How cool is that? I'm Irish and I love the Celts. So, I figured it was sure thing. Well, after I bought it, I decided to read the back cover. I suddenly got suspicious, and when I got home I researched some reviews of the book. Yep, it's basically an Historical Romance novel. Not sure why it was shoved into the Fantasy/Science Fiction section. Eh, my wife might read it. And it was less than $2, so screw it. Heck, I might even read it someday.
All told this addiction has cost me a whopping $6 this month. Not too shabby.
Yesterday Connor and I went to the store looking for some specific military sci-fi books (I'm in a mood). Unfortunately, they didn't have any volumes of Larry Niven's Man-Kzin Wars, or Jerry Pournelle's WarWorld series. And nothing else they had appealed to me. But I did pick up a couple of items. I got Tarnsman of Gor by John Norman, the first in a series. This series is always on peoples' lists of "Sword & Sorcery must reads" so I figured I'd give it a go.
I also picked up an old D&D based novel, Greyhawk Adventures 3: Master Wolf by Rose Estes. I had this book a long time ago, but never read it. The first two in the series were written by Gary Gygax, God rest his soul. But they weren't that good. This one seems a bit better, and it's nice and lite, which is what my brain tends to like. I get bored quickly with books if they blather on too much.
Lastly, I picked The Celts by Elona Malterre. It says on the cover "An Epic Novel of Ancient Ireland." How cool is that? I'm Irish and I love the Celts. So, I figured it was sure thing. Well, after I bought it, I decided to read the back cover. I suddenly got suspicious, and when I got home I researched some reviews of the book. Yep, it's basically an Historical Romance novel. Not sure why it was shoved into the Fantasy/Science Fiction section. Eh, my wife might read it. And it was less than $2, so screw it. Heck, I might even read it someday.
All told this addiction has cost me a whopping $6 this month. Not too shabby.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Writing Sample: Take 2
Ok, after getting some good feedback, I went in and rewrote some of the weaker portions of the previous writing sample. Below is the result. Again, honest critiques are appreciated.
***
Agenor wasn’t a particularly strong youth. At least not among the orclings he lived with. He was a “halfbreed”, born from a union between an orc and a human. It was not a loving union. His mother had been a human slave. But when she died giving birth to Agenor, his father, a proud warrior named Jukar, had dismissed the baby almost entirely. Subsequently, Agenor had been taken in by Issin, an old crone and former midwife of the village. She was respected, yet not overly so. Her taking in of Agenor had been accepted as it seemed to get the boy out of the way, as well as keep the mouthy crone quiet by giving her something to do.
For all of his past fifteen years, Agenor had suffered indignations at every turn. It had become a way of life for him, and he had found little ways to cope. He made a few friends, but no one willing to stand up for him. Consequently, he had been in many fights. Usually on the losing end, but occasionally getting in a good hit or two. In recent years the fights and harassment had slacked off. These days, when he found himself in a situation, it was usually serious, and he was in for a beating. So, when Agenor ran afoul of Ishnakk and his cronies, he knew what to expect.
Orcs have a tendency to settle disputes with their fists as children. Later in life they use weapons, but the principle remains the same. Beat your opponent until you win the argument. And that is just what Ishnakk was proceeding to do to Agenor, despite the fact that the offense for which Agenor was being blamed was obviously contrived. However, that didn’t matter to anyone but Agenor. And even he knew it would be useless to argue the point. He either needed to take his beating, or to fight back.
This fight was proving to be just like every other one. He had gotten in a couple of punches, but Ishnakk, who was much larger than Agenor, seemed unaffected. His lip was split, but beyond that, the halfbreed hadn’t left any noticeable mark. This thought occurred to Agenor as he sat on the ground, the result a particularly nasty blow he had just taken in the mouth. But this time, this realization that he was ineffectual caused something to snap in his mind.
His brain seemed to burn behind his eyes. He had heard tales of the berserker rage. How the vision swam in red, and the chest heaved and burned with anger. And he did feel something like this. But there was something more. Something that went beyond blind rage, as if he was tapping into a well of power he never knew existed. And it felt euphoric.
Ignoring the blood trickling from his split lip, and surged up with a roar. This caught all of the gathered orclings by surprise, especially Ishnakk, who did nothing to avoid the savage punch that Agenor landed on the orcling’s nose.
The halfbreed had felt the punch come from his toes. He used the leverage of his upward momentum to bring his right fist up with as much force as his body could muster. Though a product of pure instinct, and perhaps a little luck, it was a masterful punch, worthy of the most seasoned brawler. As it connected, Agenor’s feet were firmly planted on the ground, his body balanced, and the muscles in his arm uncoiling like a spring. There was a sickening crack as Ishnakk’s stunted nose caved beneath the blow, and his head was snapped back with a fount of blood spraying into the air. Ishnakk staggered back a step, and sensing the advantage, Agenor stepped forward and threw another punch with his left fist. This one landed just to the side of the broken nose, and the halfbreed felt a pang as his knuckles connected with the heavy cheekbone of the orcling. But he didn’t relent. Even as Ishnakk tried to regain his bearings, Agenor continued to throw punches to the face and head of his enemy. He no longer felt fear, nor was he conscious of his surroundings. All he saw was Ishnakk’s bloodied face, and all he felt was the urge to destroy it. And, when the orcling fell backwards to the ground, Agenor was on his chest, raining punches down like hammer blows onto Ishnakk’s pulped face.
After a few moments of this, Agenor began to tire, and the power of his rage began to wane. His blows were less powerful, and landing with much less speed. But the damage was done. Holding his bloodied fists before him, he looked at the remains of Ishnakk’s face. Both eyes were swollen shut, a tooth had been knocked out, and his nose was smashed and bleeding profusely. But, most importantly, Ishnakk was unconscious. The only sign of life was his shallow breaths bubbling through the blood in his mouth and nose.
Agenor slowly stood, his hands still clenched into gory fists. Through his tears, for somewhere in the midst of the assault he had begun to cry, his oddly yellow eyes surveyed Ishnakk’s cronies, as if daring any of them to jump to their leader’s defense. None took up the challenge. In fact, in their eyes Agenor recognized the feeling they felt. For he had felt it many times. They feared him. There was power in that realization, and the halfbreed took a step forward. They all stepped back as one, each holding their hands in front of them, trying to ward him off as if he were some cursed thing. The irony of that struck him as oddly funny, and he chuckled in grim amusement. He didn’t even glance at the inert form of Ishnakk as he turned and staggered away, the crowd that had gathered parting like a curtain before him.
***
Agenor wasn’t a particularly strong youth. At least not among the orclings he lived with. He was a “halfbreed”, born from a union between an orc and a human. It was not a loving union. His mother had been a human slave. But when she died giving birth to Agenor, his father, a proud warrior named Jukar, had dismissed the baby almost entirely. Subsequently, Agenor had been taken in by Issin, an old crone and former midwife of the village. She was respected, yet not overly so. Her taking in of Agenor had been accepted as it seemed to get the boy out of the way, as well as keep the mouthy crone quiet by giving her something to do.
For all of his past fifteen years, Agenor had suffered indignations at every turn. It had become a way of life for him, and he had found little ways to cope. He made a few friends, but no one willing to stand up for him. Consequently, he had been in many fights. Usually on the losing end, but occasionally getting in a good hit or two. In recent years the fights and harassment had slacked off. These days, when he found himself in a situation, it was usually serious, and he was in for a beating. So, when Agenor ran afoul of Ishnakk and his cronies, he knew what to expect.
Orcs have a tendency to settle disputes with their fists as children. Later in life they use weapons, but the principle remains the same. Beat your opponent until you win the argument. And that is just what Ishnakk was proceeding to do to Agenor, despite the fact that the offense for which Agenor was being blamed was obviously contrived. However, that didn’t matter to anyone but Agenor. And even he knew it would be useless to argue the point. He either needed to take his beating, or to fight back.
This fight was proving to be just like every other one. He had gotten in a couple of punches, but Ishnakk, who was much larger than Agenor, seemed unaffected. His lip was split, but beyond that, the halfbreed hadn’t left any noticeable mark. This thought occurred to Agenor as he sat on the ground, the result a particularly nasty blow he had just taken in the mouth. But this time, this realization that he was ineffectual caused something to snap in his mind.
His brain seemed to burn behind his eyes. He had heard tales of the berserker rage. How the vision swam in red, and the chest heaved and burned with anger. And he did feel something like this. But there was something more. Something that went beyond blind rage, as if he was tapping into a well of power he never knew existed. And it felt euphoric.
Ignoring the blood trickling from his split lip, and surged up with a roar. This caught all of the gathered orclings by surprise, especially Ishnakk, who did nothing to avoid the savage punch that Agenor landed on the orcling’s nose.
The halfbreed had felt the punch come from his toes. He used the leverage of his upward momentum to bring his right fist up with as much force as his body could muster. Though a product of pure instinct, and perhaps a little luck, it was a masterful punch, worthy of the most seasoned brawler. As it connected, Agenor’s feet were firmly planted on the ground, his body balanced, and the muscles in his arm uncoiling like a spring. There was a sickening crack as Ishnakk’s stunted nose caved beneath the blow, and his head was snapped back with a fount of blood spraying into the air. Ishnakk staggered back a step, and sensing the advantage, Agenor stepped forward and threw another punch with his left fist. This one landed just to the side of the broken nose, and the halfbreed felt a pang as his knuckles connected with the heavy cheekbone of the orcling. But he didn’t relent. Even as Ishnakk tried to regain his bearings, Agenor continued to throw punches to the face and head of his enemy. He no longer felt fear, nor was he conscious of his surroundings. All he saw was Ishnakk’s bloodied face, and all he felt was the urge to destroy it. And, when the orcling fell backwards to the ground, Agenor was on his chest, raining punches down like hammer blows onto Ishnakk’s pulped face.
After a few moments of this, Agenor began to tire, and the power of his rage began to wane. His blows were less powerful, and landing with much less speed. But the damage was done. Holding his bloodied fists before him, he looked at the remains of Ishnakk’s face. Both eyes were swollen shut, a tooth had been knocked out, and his nose was smashed and bleeding profusely. But, most importantly, Ishnakk was unconscious. The only sign of life was his shallow breaths bubbling through the blood in his mouth and nose.
Agenor slowly stood, his hands still clenched into gory fists. Through his tears, for somewhere in the midst of the assault he had begun to cry, his oddly yellow eyes surveyed Ishnakk’s cronies, as if daring any of them to jump to their leader’s defense. None took up the challenge. In fact, in their eyes Agenor recognized the feeling they felt. For he had felt it many times. They feared him. There was power in that realization, and the halfbreed took a step forward. They all stepped back as one, each holding their hands in front of them, trying to ward him off as if he were some cursed thing. The irony of that struck him as oddly funny, and he chuckled in grim amusement. He didn’t even glance at the inert form of Ishnakk as he turned and staggered away, the crowd that had gathered parting like a curtain before him.
Monday, September 28, 2009
A Writing Sample
So, here is a sample of my writing. This was originally the opening scene for the fantasy story I am working on. I may or may not use it, as I have decided to reboot the story with a different opening. I would like some constructive feedback from anyone. Don't be afraid of being overly critical. I think it reads very well, but I'd like some other honest opinions...
***
Agenor wasn’t a particularly strong youth. Well, in relation to other, human children he may have been above average. But unfortunately, he didn’t live among humans. He was a “halfbreed”, born from a union between an orc and a human. And he lived with orcs. Orcs are strong. And very cruel and unforgiving.
So, when Agenor ran afoul of Ishnakk and his cronies, he knew he was in for it. Orcs have a tendency to settle disputes with their fists as children. Later in life they use weapons, but the principle remains the same. Beat your opponent until you win the argument. And that is just what Ishnakk was proceeding to do to Agenor.
But, even though he was smaller than the grey skinned orcling who had just punched him with enough force to knock him to the ground, Agenor was still half orcish himself, and stubborn as a mule. He refused to just give up. To capitulate the fight to the bigger, meaner Ishnakk. Instead, he ignored the blood trickling from his split lip, and surged up with a roar. This caught all of the gathered orclings by surprise, especially Ishnakk, who did nothing to avoid the savage punch that Agenor landed on the orcling’s nose. The halfbreed had felt the punch come from his toes. He used the leverage of his upward momentum to bring his right fist up with as much force as his body could muster. Though a product of pure instinct, and perhaps a little luck, it was a masterful punch, worthy of the most seasoned brawler. As it connected, Agenor’s feet were firmly planted on the ground, his body balanced, and the muscles in his arm uncoiling like a spring. There was a sickening crack as Ishnakk’s stunted nose caved beneath the blow, and his head was snapped back with a fount of blood spraying into the air. Ishnakk staggered back a step, and sensing the advantage, Agenor shuffled forward and threw another punch with his left fist. This one landed just to the side of the broken nose, and the halfbreed felt a pang as his fist connected with heavy cheekbone of the orcling. But he didn’t relent. Even as Ishnakk tried to regain his bearings, Agenor continued to throw punches to the face and head of his enemy. He no longer felt fear, nor was he conscious of his surroundings. All he saw was Ishnakk’s bloodied face, and all he felt was the urge to destroy it. So, when the orcling fall backwards to the ground, Agenor was on his chest, raining punches down like hammer blows onto Ishnakk’s pulped face.
***
Agenor wasn’t a particularly strong youth. Well, in relation to other, human children he may have been above average. But unfortunately, he didn’t live among humans. He was a “halfbreed”, born from a union between an orc and a human. And he lived with orcs. Orcs are strong. And very cruel and unforgiving.
So, when Agenor ran afoul of Ishnakk and his cronies, he knew he was in for it. Orcs have a tendency to settle disputes with their fists as children. Later in life they use weapons, but the principle remains the same. Beat your opponent until you win the argument. And that is just what Ishnakk was proceeding to do to Agenor.
But, even though he was smaller than the grey skinned orcling who had just punched him with enough force to knock him to the ground, Agenor was still half orcish himself, and stubborn as a mule. He refused to just give up. To capitulate the fight to the bigger, meaner Ishnakk. Instead, he ignored the blood trickling from his split lip, and surged up with a roar. This caught all of the gathered orclings by surprise, especially Ishnakk, who did nothing to avoid the savage punch that Agenor landed on the orcling’s nose. The halfbreed had felt the punch come from his toes. He used the leverage of his upward momentum to bring his right fist up with as much force as his body could muster. Though a product of pure instinct, and perhaps a little luck, it was a masterful punch, worthy of the most seasoned brawler. As it connected, Agenor’s feet were firmly planted on the ground, his body balanced, and the muscles in his arm uncoiling like a spring. There was a sickening crack as Ishnakk’s stunted nose caved beneath the blow, and his head was snapped back with a fount of blood spraying into the air. Ishnakk staggered back a step, and sensing the advantage, Agenor shuffled forward and threw another punch with his left fist. This one landed just to the side of the broken nose, and the halfbreed felt a pang as his fist connected with heavy cheekbone of the orcling. But he didn’t relent. Even as Ishnakk tried to regain his bearings, Agenor continued to throw punches to the face and head of his enemy. He no longer felt fear, nor was he conscious of his surroundings. All he saw was Ishnakk’s bloodied face, and all he felt was the urge to destroy it. So, when the orcling fall backwards to the ground, Agenor was on his chest, raining punches down like hammer blows onto Ishnakk’s pulped face.
After a few moments of this, Agenor began to tire. His blows were less powerful, and landing with much less speed. But what was done was done. And soon he stopped and looked at the remains of Ishnakk’s face. Both eyes were swollen shut, several teeth had been knocked out, and the nose was smashed and bleeding profusely. But, most importantly, Ishnakk was unconscious. The only sign of life was his shallow breaths bubbling through the blood in his mouth and nose.
Agenor slowly stood, his hands still clenched into fists. Through his tears, for somewhere in the midst of the assault, he had begun to cry, his oddly yellow eyes surveyed Ishnakk’s cronies, as if daring any of them to jump to their leader’s defense. None took up the challenge. In fact, in their eyes Agenor recognized the feeling they felt. For he had felt it many times. They feared him. There was power in that realization, and the halfbreed took a step forward. They all stepped back as one, each holding their hands in front of them, trying to ward him off as if he were some cursed thing. He chuckled in grim amusement at that, and turned. He didn’t even glance at the inert form of Ishnakk as he staggered away, the crowd that had gathered parting like a curtain before him.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Riding the waves of Inspiration
Ok, so anyone who knows me, or even just reads this blog, knows that I am very impressionable when it comes to my creative juices. I tend want to create/draw/write whatever interests me at the moment. Unfortunately, with such a wide variety of interests jockeying for position in my head, this makes being a successful writer very difficult. And when I say "successful", I mean in the sense that I have successfully completed a writing project. So far, there are very few of those in my repertoire.
Much of my inspiration comes from reading what others have written, and thinking "I could write that." Occasionally it's more like "I could write that better." Lately I have been working on something in a genre I like to call "middle fantasy." It's not exactly "high fantasy" like Lord of the Rings. But it's got more traditional fantasy tropes than sword & sorcery. It's basically game-related fiction, like what WotC puts out based on the various D&D worlds, but without being tied to a specific game world. I love this kind of fiction myself, when it's done right, and when it has characters I can relate to. So, why not write some myself?
The problem is, my "bathroom reader" right now is a modern paramilitary, action-adventure novel. And now that has been influencing me more lately. So, I am looking at trying to write a bit of that again. I have a few of those started. And that's the only saving grace here. I have so many starts that when the muse strikes me for a specific type of writing I can always brush an old project on it and resume where I left off with it. Eventually I think all of these will approach completion at the same time, and I'll have a plethora of completed projects to peddle.
Yeah, that's probably wishful thinking. But who knows, right?
Much of my inspiration comes from reading what others have written, and thinking "I could write that." Occasionally it's more like "I could write that better." Lately I have been working on something in a genre I like to call "middle fantasy." It's not exactly "high fantasy" like Lord of the Rings. But it's got more traditional fantasy tropes than sword & sorcery. It's basically game-related fiction, like what WotC puts out based on the various D&D worlds, but without being tied to a specific game world. I love this kind of fiction myself, when it's done right, and when it has characters I can relate to. So, why not write some myself?
The problem is, my "bathroom reader" right now is a modern paramilitary, action-adventure novel. And now that has been influencing me more lately. So, I am looking at trying to write a bit of that again. I have a few of those started. And that's the only saving grace here. I have so many starts that when the muse strikes me for a specific type of writing I can always brush an old project on it and resume where I left off with it. Eventually I think all of these will approach completion at the same time, and I'll have a plethora of completed projects to peddle.
Yeah, that's probably wishful thinking. But who knows, right?
Sunday, September 13, 2009
He-Man beats out the Thundercats
So, with our recent financial crises, I have taken to watching DVDs of cartoons from the library. Thanks to my six-year old daughter, I think I've seen every episode of The Justice League. But I wanted to see something with a little more of a fantasy flair. As a kid, I liked the idea of He-Man a lot, but was unable to watch it during its heyday due to living overseas and having only one American channel (the upside is I got to see a lot of Anime, but in Japanese). However, as an adult, I'm kind of snobbish when it comes to animation styles. The old American cartoons from the 70's and 80's just look so lame to me, I can't watch them.Then I discovered that there was a He-Man series produced as recently as 2008! So, I grabbed one of those and proceeded to devour the entire DVD. What a great show. Sure, it was still a bit corny, and the cheesy "moral lessons" at the end of each episode made me giggle. But if you let yourself watch this show through the eyes of a kid, it is actually really well-done. The animation is exciting (being a blend of Asian and American styles), the character voices are pretty well-cast (well, I would have been happier if Skeletor's voice was deeper), and the stories aren't "dumb." All in all, I can't see why this show didn't last longer.
So, after He-Man I decided to see if Thundercats had gotten a similar update. Alas, they have not, to my knowledge. But I decided to give the old series another go. Again, this was a show that I missed watching in my youth for the same reasons. Well, I was disappointed. The animation was horrid, as was normal for the time. But the dialogue and direction were lacking too. I couldn't get through a single episode. It was like watching the Barney Action Hour. The villains were silly, the heroes didn't look all that heroic, and the whole thing just left a sour taste in my mouth.
So there you go. Unless they do an updated Thundercats cartoon, He-Man is still the Master of the (Saturday morning cartoon) Universe to me.
As a side note, I also got a copy of the live-action He-Man movie, with my main man Dolph. What corny, cheesy fun. Horribly campy, it is still a hoot to watch.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Politics ain't Karate...
"Walk on road, hm? Walk left side, safe. Walk right side, safe. Walk middle, sooner or later [makes squish gesture] get squish just like grape." - Mr. Miyagi, The Karate Kid.That may be very relevant to studying Karate, but in my experience it is completely the opposite when it comes to politics. I used to be very much on the Right side of the spectrum. Gays were evil, military service should be mandatory, and if you spoke out against America, you were pinko commie who needed to get out of my country.
Then I moved to San Diego, and found my worldview challenged at every turn by Liberals and Democrats who saw me as the enemy, and proceeded to try to convince me that I had it all wrong. I suffered so much verbal abuse at the hands of heavy-handed liberals that I began to question my own value system.
Eventually, I came to a compromise of sorts. I realized that gay people, while different than me, were just as human and worthy of respect and friendship as anyone else. I also learned that no matter what your political or social view, it wasn't right for everyone. No one view is perfect, and there are flaws in every argument for or against any given view. The fact is, socio-political views are very personal, and no two worldviews will be the same. But, that doesn't mean they can't exist together. What's right for me may not be right for you, but it doesn' have to be.
So, now I walk in the middle. I consider myself a Moderate Conservative. There are some issues that I still hold on to my core beliefs about. And there are some issues that I still feel the same way about as I did way back in the day. But I am much more tolerant of differing views nowadays (thanks in large part to my liberal wife, who actually made me think about why I am a conservative).
Do I still get harangued by flaming liberals for my views? Occasionally. I even get harangued by stodgy conservatives as well. But I just laugh it off, knowing that, in the big picture, they are the ones who just don't "get it."
Ok, so I said before that I wouldn't wax political on this blog. But this random thought just came to me the other day, so I thought I would share.
In other news, I was fired from my job last week, so I am trying to work on more writing as I also work to find more...er...work. I have started a few projects, and am cultivating a few ideas. Mostly fantasy and science fiction, though the historical tale of Agesilaus still lingers in the background. Goofing around with the Pathfinder RPG inspired a new character that has become the subject of my latest writing effort. We'll see where it all goes.
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