Hockey things.

Finally, the inline hockey league in which I referee is about to start!
This activity is doubly beneficial. I get paid and I get exercise!

The Toledo street hockey league has just found out that they will have exclusive access to the Ravine Park tennis courts on the East Side next year. Plans are underway to create complete boards for the site, and possibly a second rink. I'm going to try to join them after the Monroe gig is up, some time in April.

The LAFH fantasy hockey league is always fun. I recently got out of the basement, but I'm sure it won't last. With only 5 players, it's a little swingy, but it IS free!

I'm looking forward to some skating with Nick this winter, both indoor and out. Santa will be bringing him his own helmet this Christmas, so that'll make me feel a little more comfortable.

Sean Avery.

This is the year of the injured goaltender! Brodeur, Luongo, Nabakov are the biggest names that have been out for extended period. Many minor names are getting hurt, too. Of course, they are ALL on my 'can't cut' list, on LAFH! Dammit.

At least the Coach's Corner theme music is still intact.

I'm still not a big fan of Ken Daniels, Wings play-by-play mouth, despite national recognition from Bucci!

I had dinner with Stephen King.

At least, I dreamt I had dinner with Stephen King. At least it was some kind of meal. This seems wildly significant, but I’ll start by relating the tale.

Jen and I drove to his apartment. Yes, apartment. It was drab, somewhat run down. A rather Detroit feel, which is a term I later associated it with. I went up the stairs and he let me in, rather familiarly. I go in and wait around for him to get ready. He’s nonchalant, chatting away about minor things, a detail which now eludes me. I’m getting impatient, because Jen is down there waiting. At one point, he even lays on the couch as if he’s gonna take a nap! I urge him to get going, not angrily but not casually, a detail that was not even present in the dream. He wears a gray drab T shirt that’s long, like it’s for big & tall men, which he is. Tall.
We finally get out, and get down to the car. This part is unclear, but Jen and I leave him in the car to wait while we are getting something. An unrecalled transition, and Jen and I are up in OUR apartment, which seems to be in the same building. At some point JEN lies down on the couch as if to take a nap. I mention to her that he had done the same thing! After more unrecalled dawdling, I say - We have STEPHEN KING in the car waiting for us, and we’ve been up here for 20 minutes!
So, we finally go and Stephen King had gone up the back way to HIS apartment to use the bathroom! Jen and I go just down the street to some carry out/pharmacy, to wait on Stephen King. I ask Jen - What city are we in, where does this take place? A sign on the grocery store wall says Phoenix, Arizona. I’m not sure, in the dream, if it is an ad or if it is some indicator of our location. So, we buy a couple things ( a lost detail…) and exit.
I see Stephen King a few feet away, like he’s looking around for us. He stands out because he’s so tall. I call out “STEVE!” He sees us and we meet up. I again note his height as we stand up next to him. The busy street is like something out of Blade Runner, without all the neon. We transition to the eating location, a detail that was not present. We are sitting at tables like a school lunch room! There are a lot of other people. After an unrecalled transition, Jen is sitting by him, but I’m off doing something else. Then I think to myself - We’re having dinner with Stephen King! I should go sit by him and ask him questions! So, I do so. I ask him a couple things, which are lost already! I tell him that I am not a writer because I do not write, but I think I have stories inside. More lost detail. As we’re getting ready to leave, I ask him - How did you do it with kids? He says “It sounds like you’re afraid to get started.”

So many details were lost in the 20 minute span between waking and writing this down. The cinematography of the dream…depressed, average, common. The setting of his apartment…drab, virtually colorless, somewhat old fashioned. Well, 60s old fashioned. The transitions, the questions, the details! Some of the details were lost even as I typed, even as I used my brain to find the unique word combinations that would make this retelling feel significant.

One could take away much significance from this dream. We met Stephen King! An unusually down to earth Stephen King, who told me I was afraid to get started! Well, maybe he has something there. He would know about writing as a job, with children being around and needing raised. But the field is so different now. There are so many hacks out there getting published.

That’s funny. I kinda answered my own question just then. If there are so many hacks getting published, why not ME!?

If something can go wrong...

So, last night we're sitting around doing paperwork...
Jen has a TV tray sitting next to the couch, with her water on it and the remains of dinner. I have a TV tray sitting next to the chair, with my laptop computer on it.
The space between the couch and the chair leads down the hallway, towards the office, kids' bedrooms and bathroom. A high traffic area. This space is now condensed by the accommodating tables.
In my very FINITE wisdom, I move her tray IN FRONT of the couch, next to the coffee table on which is spread the aforementioned paperwork, long neglected by me and finally addressed by the busy matriarch. My reasoning...kids walking through the hallway may bump the table and spill the contents, which at that time also included a glass of wine. Red wine.
An hour passes....nearly two. I may have subconsciously congratulated myself on avoiding a disaster of minor proportions.
Jen calls Jackie to her, asks her about a school paper. Jackie leans in, from the edge of the couch...and leans right into the TV tray.

In slow motion, as Jen later recalls, the table tilts, the liquid containers still upright. It tilts into the edge of the coffee table and stops. The containers, of course, do not stop. The water splashes the papers, the table, the floor. Miraculously drained like a Communion Cup at the end of a Catholic up-and-down, the wine glass explodes against the surface of the table, spreading large chunks and tiny splinters of glass in a 2 foot radius smash zone. Jackie’s stream of apologies comes out as fast as my own torrent of expletives. Rags are retrieved, the table righted, the perpetrator sent away. Shards are gathered, papers wiped and dried, carpet vacuumed.

In hindsight, it could have been much worse. There was very little water left, and the wine had been finished off. Mayo’s Law, however, does not take into account hindsight. Nor, apparently, foresight. Trust me.

A comic book by any other name would smell so sweet.

I just finished a graphic novel, Pride of Baghdad, by Brian K Vaughan and Niko Henrichon. It is a story about a group of lions that escape from the Baghdad Zoo during the American bombing in 2003. It is a quick read, only some 130 pages, with very few words. I was absorbed in the beauty of the Iraqi backgrounds, the intrigue between the two lionesses, and the anticipation of the anti-war cry veiled in the turban of art. I was enjoying it so much, the ending I never thought about sprung up and surprised me, like a hunting lioness. I’ll not spoil it here, but it ends the only way it could end.
This book reminds me, once again, of the guiltless power of graphic novels. In the same way that the best music combines the primitive appeal of rhythm and the modern allure of poetry into something more than these parts, the best graphic novels combine the Word and the Image, presenting to the reader a whole which is far more significant than the parts.
This is one of those cases. Check it out at your local public library. Sometimes they are shelved in the Young adult or Teen sections.

Not-Baseball

Let's just call it that.
In order to make any point about hockey, you have to put it in terms that relate to other sports, so that most people can understand it.

Take this article, for example;
Uni Watch.
A few entertaining bits about NHL uniforms, but he can't finish the article without mentioning BASEBALL. Part and parcel of ESPN's continued shunning of the greatest game endorsed by VP candidates that's not baseball. I hear they plan to change their name to ESBN - something-something BASEBALL NETWORK!

The USA Today did not even have an NHL preview this year.

Toronto looked impressive against Detroit last night - fast and young. They split 2 competitive preseason games as well. Eric T. picked the Leafs to win their division. An admittedly unscientific prediction, but with the new coaching staff and the weak competition, not out of the question.

It looks like there will not be an inline hockey league at the rink I have reffed for the last 2 years. Kids (young adults) don't know what they have till it's gone. In the spring I plan to get involved with the Toledo Street Hockey League. After I'm done with school in a year or so, I hope to get more involved with ice hockey, as a referee. It pays twice as much as inline, but it's more intensive.

My son plays floor hockey at the YMCA. Unfortunately, the ADHD keeps him from focusing for any extended time, and thus he's just not very good. But he loves doing it, and I enjoy spending that time with him and the other kids. I think as he matures, he'll enjoy it more and want to get better.

The Bad Fish Paradigm

On a recent episode of the Big Bang Theory, Sheldon wore a neon green shirt with a robot that struck me as familiar.
This show is hilarious, and nicely balanced for the advanced ego. It rewards those who can comprehend the vocabulary of advanced physics, yet mocks their intrinsic, if not exaggerated, nerdiness with star trek and comic books references.
Fortunately, it was a Sheldon-centric episode, so I had time to recall the memory. I realized the image was from a video game from the 1980s, but I couldn't quite remember the name.
Of course, I googled it, and came up with this:
BERSERK
The image on his shirt, though, was nothing at all like the video game graphics. The image in my mind came from the box, or the advertising. I distinctly remember drawing that robot, and my Aunt drawing it so much neater. Actually, I think it was supposed to be a space marine, rather than a robot.
I googled the packaging, too, but found only this:


Take a few minutes to browse through the rest of this entertaining list. Go on...let Nostalgia sit on your lap and talk about the first thing that comes up.

I'm not really sure what that means. Just go with it...

Nope.

The Writing Writer

On Monday this week, I went the entire day without thinking or doing anything creative, anything towards my stated goals. I believe that was the first time since I started this endeavor that I was completely devoid for an entire day. Not counting weekends, of course. Well, on weekends I am at least thinking about it.
Here it is Wednesday. Guess what?
I am determined to keep this thing going, and I realize the only way to do that is to DO that. So, I will make myself get back on schedule. Each morning will again start with 1 hour of writing, regardless. But I think it's more important than ever to get on to the actual writing. I will leave the D&D stuff for 'free time', leisure activity.
It's imperative to separate the writing time from the leisure time, to think of it as a real and essential part of my life that deserves it's own slot.

I’ve had so many things occupying my mind lately. Although I’ve written down little snippets of ideas for blog posts, I find myself unable to explore them at any length. So, I thought I’d try something different this time – just open up Word and write.

Life has been busy. As I’ve said before, we hit the ground running! My To Do list has grown from a list to a file folder, the way an embryo grows from a couple cells. Yesterday was productive - I got a few things done, filed, called. Selling our trailer and buying a house is still the top priority, but there are so many aspects of that to follow up on. Requiring a down payment leads to raising cash leads to reducing debt leads to spending less leads to selling more stuff on ebay leads to organizing the office leads to packing stuff for the yard sale leads to weeding out my book collection leads to putting in the new windows leads to cleaning out the corner by the front door leads to putting stuff out in the shed leads to thinking about organizing the shed leads to finish painting the front porch leads to drywall repairs leads to wallpaper or painting leads to replacing the carpet leads to the desire to have a yard for the dog leads to buying a new house leads to selling the trailer. See? It’s all connected.

I have not worked on the D&D stuff much at all. I have certainly not been able to do 1 hour of writing each day. Flush with yesterday’s accomplishments, though, I am eager to restart again. Again. I sometimes borrow The Writer magazine from the library, and that always inspires me with practical tips and market information.

The new TV season started up. I love my DVR. We enjoyed Heroes last night, though it may be too much too fast – an over-reaction to the complaint about last season’s slow pace. Robot Chicken has been funny, of course. I still hate reality shows, any and all of them, though I do get a HUGE kick out of The Soup. I’ve watched this show off and on through 3 hosts, from when it was called Talk Soup. With DVR, I don’t miss an episode. Joel McHale is hilarious in making fun of the poor saps on talk- and reality shows. Right up my alley, as they say.

Jen and I have been listening to The Stand, by Stephen King. She raves about it, and has actually read it. Twice. I must be missing something. I think it’s dull and not at all convincing. The remaining Americans are split into 2 camps – God followers and God fearers. The focus is mainly on the God followers, and their pervasive altruism rings false in the face of the massive potential of materialism. Think about it; 99% of the population, dead. All their stuff, not dead. All the stuff in the warehouses. All the gold, guns, and goodies! Sure, they have to grow food and organize a government, but they’ll never have a shortage of tools and supplies to do so! I’m only halfway through, though, so I’ll reserve judgment. I’ve watched the TV movie, which was entertaining if not self-effacing. There’s also a comic book adaptation on the way, which promises to be 15-20 issues (at $4.00 each…) of still but striking images. I used to be averse to his weighty exposition, but have since come to realize the importance of the build up. Let’s hope it’s not too disappointing.

I got a 60% on a quiz about DOS prompt commands. Like riding a bike. A circus bike with an outrageously large front wheel. Of course I can do it, but the format of the quiz was weird. We had to write the commands in a text box, without using the DOS window. The instructor said beforehand that if we do poorly on the quiz, don’t fret it. What a waste of 2 weeks. Next, I get to learn how to install Windows XP, using the $120 textbook/workbook/120 day trial CD. Fortunately, this will be the last semester of learning stuff I already know. Then, only 6 classes to an Associates Degree in computer networking!

Into the garbage chute, Flyboy!

It's been tough to set aside time, even 1 hour a day, when so much else is going on that demands my attention.

I have lots of little circled W's - writing ideas that I would like to touch on here in the blog - but so little time. But it's hard to justify spending time on the trivial stuff when dealing with real life issues. I'm just not entirely comfortable addressing real life issues, like my son's emotional and behavioral problems, here on the blog. Still, I know that it's meta-important to carry on, and I have at least worked on minor D&D stuff daily, even if only for a minute or two. I just finished The Dark Tower II: the Drawing of the Three (again). That helps me keep my ear open for tidbits of phrasing and has given me a renewed appreciate for the natural usage of the F-bomb. So, the writer in me is still closer to the surface than before I started this blog. He's AT the surface, actually, like a dianoga slinking through the styrofoam detritus floating in the trash compactor that is my life.

Too funny.....

...for some of you to watch completely.

Maple Leafs.

amazing hockey fight

Really. Amazing.

My name is Steven. I am a Star Wars Geek.

I have been clean for 3 years, 3 months, and 8 days.

On Sunday, I took my son to see the Clone Wars movie.

I enjoyed it.

Despite being resolutely determined NOT to, I enjoyed it. Perhaps it was because I had such low expectations, after reading all the poor (and poorly written) reviews out there. Perhaps it was because my son, it’s intended audience, thought it was sewper kewl. Perhaps it was because we sat way up in the front, which provides a radically different perspective on whatever is on the screen. Regardless, I enjoyed it for what it was – a spectacular war movie spiced with some juvenile comedy, animated in a unique style that ………

Aw, who am I kidding. It was STAR WARS! It had multiple light saber battles!!

Here’s what I liked:
A lot of clone troopers died. That’s what they were for. The voice of Obi-wan was very much like Ewan McGregor. Next best thing and all that. And Obi-wan’s temperament and battle skill is most impressive here. Mace Windu, though not a lead character in this ‘episode’, was voiced by Sam Jackson. Realistic background, stylistic characters. This combination somehow made it seem less cartoony. The clone troopers all had the same face and voice, which was VERY similar to Tem Morrison, the original Jango Fett. They also had different hair styles and colors and scars and stuff to differentiate them. Jabba the Hutt spoke in Huttese and sounded just like he did in Return of the Jedi. Some of the phrases were even recognizable, to those of us who were, at one time, students of Huttese.

Here’s what I did NOT like. (to varying degrees, least hated first):
The WB intro, rather than the 20th Century Fox fanfare. Minor, but the fanfare traditionally introduces the quiet electric blue of “A long time ago…”. Then the Clone Wars logo pops up, fades back, the action kicks off, and the voice-over kicks in. VOICE-OVER. No crawl. If you’re going to market and present it as a Star Wars MOVIE, then do the title and crawl. The opening music is a cartoonish version of the original theme. I don’t have the music vocabulary to describe it but it just wasn’t the same. The soundtrack all the way through does not stand out. A lot of clone troopers died. One was even decapitated. No mourning was showed. I always thought mourning them would make their story more realistic, more authentic. Obi-wan and Anakin don’t even blink when they go down, and they just send the rest in for another wave. Ahsoka, Anakin’s padawan, is Miley freakin’ Cyrus with a light saber. The whole idea of her character is what bugs me - the blatant targeting of tween girls. The execution of her character is fine. She shows her smarts and quickly learns to follow directions in battle. She calls Anakin “Sky Guy”, but only twice that I noted, not ‘the whole move’ as some reviewers declared. He uses HER nickname, Snips, more often, and more irritatingly! Jabba the Hutt’s son was another thing that other reviewers found unbearable. He was hardly featured! He burped once! Last AND least, we have Zero the Hutt. Jabba is featured multiple times in the movie, always speaking his native Huttese, translated through a protocol droid. His character is presented with a respectful eye to what came before. His uncle Zero, however, is the worst part of the entire movie. Zero lives on Coruscant, which I guess makes him an urban Hutt. He has tattoos that make it look like he’s wearing a nylon do-rag with neon markings. He is a countertenor, with a faux gangsta vocabulary that sounds like a bunch of geeky white guys tried to invent a faux gangsta vocabulary!

My (lowered) expectations obviously changed the experience for me. I had read many reviews that painted it in such a bad light. I liked the animation, the action, the characterization. I didn’t like the marketing, the music, and the new characters. I am looking forward to the weekly episodes, actually. There was an extended preview on TV this weekend, and it showed some exciting bits.

George is listed as Executive Producer. The less he is involved, the better it will be.

Ya hit the ground runnin’…unCHAINED!

Nothing stays the same. Especially when you have children.

September comes and we are off and running. School starts, for the kids and Jen - and ME! Cub Scouts starts (anyone like to buy some popcorn?). Nick’s gonna play hockey at the YMCA. Jackie’s gonna do some horse lessons. We’re still trying to sell the house, and look for a new one. On top of all of that, Jennifer has taken up a second job, at the Kroger Deli, to make some extra cash. I have a ton of paperwork to go through, in a repeated attempt (say thankee, sai) to organize my bag and to-do file. I really have to stay disciplined in order to get WORK done at work.

Since this blog is about my writing, though, I need to buttress all of that with the will to continue writing for that one hour every day. This morning I jumped right in, with this post and the next, so that’s encouraging. I will have less time at home for this, so I have to get it done here, in the morning.

And still I am [aware] of the desire to share some gaming time, with my newest friend and one of my oldest friends in particular (you both know who you are (I hope!)!). I only mention that here because it is a part of the writing adventure, not because it’s high on my list of priorities. Not that my friends are not important, but in the scheme of life, there are things that just need to be done, and only so much leisure time at the end of the day. You know what I mean......

The Long Hello

Although I haven’t posted here recently, I have been busy writing. Maybe not one-hour-a-day busy, but I have done some work on meeting my set goals. Last week in particular, I had a lot of ideas flowing in the D&D department. I got a few things done on my to do list for that, which lead to other ideas there, too. My own little brainstorming session.

I’ve taken to writing down bits of notes, with a circled W adjacent, indicating a writing idea. Usually they are things I’d like to touch on here at the blog. Sometimes I use that designation for story or character ideas. I like the convention.

I am extremely ambivalent about tuna fish. ( “tooter fish” if you’re a fan of the Dark Tower. )

School is starting up this week. I am taking one online class, in which I am already behind, because the ebayer I pwned hasn’t shipped the book yet. (I got a $90 book for $35 !) I sold last semester’s two text books for about $100 total.
Help Desk Concepts is the online class. The other is PC Operating Systems. Yes, mostly XP, but we’ll touch on Vista and Linux, which I’m looking forward to.

I still dig Kristin Chenoweth.

Stephen King is still the only Steven I will accept with a ‘ph’. I have once again resumed my quest for the Dark Tower, as I will do many more times before I reach the clearing at the end of the path. Frank Muller reads the book on tape. Currently, I am approaching my favorite part of volume 2, the Drawing of the Three. The shootout between a naked Eddie Dean and Enrico Balazar – it’s written so well, so enthralling. King captures humanity so succinctly. He will be recognized in the decades to come as the most important writer of the latter 20th century.

For those of you who have read the Dark Tower, check out the comics recently published by marvel. They are a big hit, realizing the time before volume 1 (The Gunslinger) in spectacular color. The first volume retells the back story in volume 4 (Wizard and Glass), while the 2nd volume, the Long Road Home, details the untold events after the ka-tet’s return from Hambry. They can be had for cheap from Amazon, of course.

Now it is time to get back to the real work. I am (probably overly) excited about the secret D&D project I have been slowly working on. I almost hesitate to mention it here, but it won’t be done for another 6 months, at least. Dave’s ‘campaign’ has brought about a renewed interest in myself and, I think, the other players in our group. { See you all on the 6th! }

I'll be back for more after the Labor Day weekend (during which I hope to see some karaoke action!).

Ah... Endorphins!

S’been a long lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely time!

Well, I did manage to watch the DVR, take Nick to the Cub Scout event, have dinner with my parents and beat the Slayer song on Guitar Hero III this weekend. I was able to work on the kids’ computer, adding memory and a USB port expansion card, replacing the sound card, and moving the CPU. I measured the sink and just have to pick up the new faucet. I also made food for and attended the birthday party, drank a LOT of margarita, and sang a LOT of karaoke. (that was damn fun, too!) So, a semi-productive weekend, just not on the writing front.

Between the Guitar Hero and the Karaoke, I have had a taste of making music. Faux music, sure, but nevertheless, it makes me hungry for more. I could have stayed all night singing! I did a Sting song, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, a couple more. Jennifer did a perfect rendition of Hotel California! It would be such a fun thing at our own family gatherings! This is the one they had. 2000 + songs, and quite a variety! Maybe we’ll take up a collection at the next one.

OK, back to work tomorrow. Maybe not a post here, but one solid hour of writing work, based on my first post’s goals.

OK?

You know, you’re not really much help here. You never encourage me to by myself. I do everything for you - EVERYTHING! All I get from you is silence. If it were the other way around……

For What it’s Worth

It’s payday, and I’m depressed.

Bills are paid, groceries and gasoline budgeted, and that’s it! It makes me feel quite inadequate, and rather unmotivated.

Moreover, I just found out that the release of Harry Potter 6 has been pushed back to July of 2009. 7 more months! Well, at least the break between 6 and 7 will not be so gulfy. (The first half of 7 is due in 2010, the 2nd in 2011.)

I’m going to try to do some writing at home this weekend. In addition to fixing the computers, replacing the bathroom sink faucet, attending the birthday party, watching the DVR, taking Nick to a Cub Scout event, having dinner with my mom for her birthday, and beating the last song (Slayer!) on Easy on Guitar Hero III.

Chapter II: Lo! There They Sat!

From a low, narrow bed, Sirakln stared deeply into the blackness beyond his room’s sole window, awaiting his dilatory slumber while silently contemplating his recent harsh berating of Leviathan. The air was still, a late Rain-time pall of humidity and heat that was hardly conducive to sleep. Am I really beyond compassion? he thought. Then he reminded himself, But Leviathan has been in Martish a long time, so he must know the city far better than I. Sirakln's thoughts of apology drifted to deep remorse, and it nibbled at the very substance of his soul. How could I be so judgmental of someone I just met? Gods! But he did kill that man, even if he was nothing more than Dealer-scum. He now jumped freely from thread to thread, as a man's thoughts are wont while awaiting sleep. No, it was self-preservation. Does that elf call himself a ranger? Yet, why is it I felt such compassion from him? Why did I see a good friend in his eyes? At that, a strong breeze swept across Sirakln's bed, wafting in the odor of rising bread and fresh dough from the bakery next door. Is that a sign, good Cassock? Yes, I do believe it is. I shall take this man as a friend and companion, despite his shortcomings. Even though your system has betrayed me in the past (or rather, the fallible men who administer it), I cannot deny the premonitions I have experienced. But now his thoughts began to drift away with the floating aroma, and as pale moonlight crept over him, so too, finally, did sleep.

Leviathan strode down the black alley-way, peering night vision searching carefully. He more or less ignored the dead weight draped over his broad left shoulder; instead, his thoughts were of the scar-faced ranger he had just...what, upset? No, alienated. Yes, he already hates me, Leviathan told himself. Or does he?
He could not continue this inner argument, however, for his heat vision detected a number of warm bodies at the right, near the secret rear entrance of his own apartment. With a certain hatred (not his own) fresh in him, a devious plot grew next to it. He walked on, seemingly oblivious to the group of would-be thugs. Due to their huddled closeness, he could not be sure of their exact number, but it could be no more than eight, and he was sure he could handle them. If they were not Fingers of the Hand, the thieves' guild of Martish. Again he subconsciously swore to never join them, never to let someone else control him. He was now near the shadows' position, but they did not leap at him as he had anticipated. He slowed his pace ever so slightly, but they did not attack. He plodded on, reconsidering his masterful plot.
He had planned to dispose of this body a few blocks down, but now he almost trotted to get around the corner of the next. He flopped the body down, behind some sort of trash bin, and turned back to peer around the edge of a ramshackle house. The heat signal remained huddled near his door, their intent as yet unknown. Leviathan waited also, surveying the rest of the alley. The overcast night meant that he had to rely solely on his night vision. But so must the others, he thought, so they cannot be human. Also, they were not members of the Hand of Martish, for their in-city club was uniquely human. Some renegade rogues? he asked himself. They still had not budged from their watch-point. He quickly checked around himself and the side alley where he had dropped the body. Empty. His neck craned up into blackness, but he could see nothing with any traceable amount of heat. The dogs! What have they got up their silent sleeves?
Leviathan grew nervous as he watched, though he could not trace it to one particular aspect of his quarry. More waiting. Then, with little supposition, a spark went up in one of the upper floor windows directly across from Leviathan's building. It jumped again, and momentarily a subdued candle was flickering on the windowsill. Leviathan stared hard into the room beyond it, but could make out nothing. His gaze came slowly back towards his original subject--and they were gone! Well, almost. He saw the last two forms slip into the door (if it could be called such) immediately beneath the candle. It wasn't necessarily their motion that spurred him into action, but rather their peculiar build. In the pale candle light, their heads seemed flattened, their jaws protuberant. And most notably, they were rather short.
His charge was intended to simply verify his nightmarish suspicion. He slid into the portal, glaring about sharply. A stairwell led up and around. How could they be so stupid? No doors? No guards? 'Ware, he warned himself, ascending; they always were crafty. He cautiously stepped around a blind corner, and lo! There they sat! Goblins, five of them, imbibing some obscenely dark liquid. Leviathan pulled his sword and slew the first before the beastie knew he was there. The others had time enough to draw their daggers. Nothing more. Each took his turn dulling the ranger's blade. Leviathan's tongue tasted the blood that had sprung to his face and chest. He hastily wiped the blade across the rump of a dead one and resheathed it. Out of financial necessity, he checked their pockets and pouches, but found only the random copper crow.
He was now possessed by anger and a long-dormant hatred. He despised these kob-kin, as they called themselves, and yet he was angry with himself for not taking one alive! Gods! He cursed himself, stomping around the rest of the small apartment. When he reached the second room, he kicked the candle out of the window and it fell extinguished. He clenched his fist and ground his teeth together, choking off a scream of vengeance. Silent revenge shall I have, he almost whispered to himself. And he stomped again through the goblin's former home, smashing and ranting for a long while. With no other outlet, his hatred burned him inside, giving him a headache at both temples. Finally weary, he tramped down the steps and into the alley. The moon had now burst through the furious clouds. He slunk across to his door, keyed the hidden lock, and shuttled inside. His flat was simple, yet comfortable, and he rummaged for a stray rag. Wiping his face and chest, he wondered again where the scar came from and what on Keanin it meant. The comfort of his simple adobe, though, invited him to the pallet on the far wall, and he slumped down onto it. He stripped his clothing away, and was sleeping before he could retrace his childhood halfway, ever searching for the source, the source...

Leviathan dreamed again that night, or rather nightmared. In this recurrent dream, he stood alone in a thick copse that strained the sunlight to random rays overhead. As he gazed around, however, a rustling came from across the way, and a woman burst into the clearing opposite him. She was beautiful, in a common way, but her features were indiscernible to Leviathan; his mother, as he remembered her now. She ran straight for him, stumbling over her long, tattered dress. Leviathan watched with indifference. From the same exit now burst a young boy, yelling for her to stop. His shouts were blanketed by those from behind Leviathan. As he turned, a half-dozen goblins jumped out of the undergrowth. Leviathan slid aside knowingly, for this dream was now familiar to him, and he recognized these creatures. The boy stopped on a bronze, frozen. The beasties advanced on the woman, swords drawn in anticipation. Her nondescript features flooded with anger and hatred, tinted with fear. The first goblin struck her a glancing blow and she neatly kicked him in the groin. As he slumped, however, the next blade penetrated her abdomen from the side, and so she slumped. They finished her.
Leviathan moved to the other side of the copse (for he knew he must) and melded with the boy. The boy screamed silently, for it was all his body would allow; it would not budge. The goblins approached him, spreading out to surround him. He saw each face again and again, and he hated them all the more for blotting out the face of his mother. They encroached on him, on his privacy, his peace; upon his dream. Leviathan sat bolt upright in his pallet, sweaty hand palming the scar on his heaving chest. It itched like mad, threatening to drive him thus. He scratched with his nails, swinging his legs over the edge of his primitive bed. Groping in the dark for a rag, he wiped himself dry. In his quest to relieve the burning itch, his dream was forgotten; indeed, that he had dreamed at all.
After what seemed hours of tossing and turning, he determined it was much too hot to sleep any further, so he donned his clothes, sword belt heavy on his tired waist, and made for the Pegasus Hoof. The moon was gone and Leviathan sensed dawn on the horizon.

Anyplace but here

I have been rather uninspired the last couple days. Allergies are sapping my energy, the impending end of summer sapping my motivation. I’ve been having D&D story ideas floating around my brain box, one of which seemed huge and super-cool. The whole concept now depresses me somewhat, as I am supposed be doing SERIOUS writing. So, I feel wedged in between the two creative forces, unable to give either much attention, let alone my FULL attention.

I suppose it’s time to post another chapter of the untitled Keanin story, written so many years ago…

No Good Deed...

Well, it’s been a bit more than 120 hours. I’ve not written anything since Wednesday of last week – 5 whole days! That’s the way it goes. Nick and I were at scout camp for 3 days, played D&D one day, celebrated my father’s 68^th birthday on Sunday, then had to do some database training when I went back to work yesterday. It’s high time to jump back into it.

Scout camp was great. Nick has come full circle. The first time we went, 3 years ago, we were at the camp site farthest from every activity. We had to walk at least 15 minutes to most things. That was a miserable 3 days, because Nick’s ADHD, his size, my inability to deal with his immaturity, etc. It got slightly better the next two times, at different sites. This year, we were at the same, farthest site as the first year! Nick handled it like a trooper – or should I say, like a boy scout. He’s really matured a lot in the last 3 years. It was an enjoyable trip.

On the 2^nd night at camp, we did a flag retirement ceremony, during which we cut a flag into strips and burned it on a solemn campfire. Before we began, I reminded everyone that it is supposed to be a quiet and respectful time. Nick and the other 14 boys in our camp site were quiet AND STILL for nearly 40 minutes! I was simply amazed that a group of 10 year old boys could be silent for so long!

On the 1.25 hour drive to and from camp, I listened to a certain CD multiple times. I can’t seem to get enough of the music, and it surprises me. It is the soundtrack to the original Broadway performance of Wicked. It started with my wife (doesn’t everything?!), who went to see it with her best friend Lois, a music person. She raved, and soon bought the soundtrack on CD. She showed me and the kids a couple tracks that were fun and charming. The voice of Galinda captivated me from the start – high-pitched, small but large, and just plain cute. I found myself hunting down any information related to this Kristen Chenoweth. I borrowed her CDs from the library, read her wiki entry, surveyed youtube bits, and even watched RV, a terrible movie that’s best part was her comic duet with Jeff Daniels. She played Annabeth Schott on the West Wing. She also makes Pushing Daisies, a peculiar show best known for the voiceover work of Jim Dale (famous voice of all 7 Harry Potter books-on-tape) worth watching. This woman is barely 5 feet tall, and has some amazing lungs. She can really sing, too!

The soundtrack of the musical is, as I said, enchanting. The rhymes are tricky, but they fit. The music is thrilling and sincere. The performances are astounding, especially the titular (no, not Kristen!) character Elphaba, played by Idina Menzel. Elphaba is the real name of the Wicked Witch of the West. Yes, Wicked is sort of a prequel to the Wizard of Oz. It is a fascinating adaptation of the popular novel by Gregory Maguire.

Some time over the weekend, I was struck by inspiration. An idea came to my mind, unbidden as the best ones often do, for a D&D storyline that has the potential to the blow the socks off of all the old players. I haven’t been more excited about developing a story idea in more than a decade! Perhaps by the time Eric moves back to northwest Ohio, I might have it ready.

My son has grown into a bit of a Star Wars nut. Although I have steered him away from the collecting aspect, he still has quite a few toys that he actually plays with. His friends play along, too. We recently watched the Robot Chicken Star Wars special. Hilarious stuff, but it got me thinking of a time long ago, in a place that seems far, far away – the East Toledo Boys Club, about 27 years ago! On an old reel-to-reel projector, we watched a 15 minute short called Hardware Wars, a fantastically crude spoof of Star Wars. We probably watched it 10 times that summer. The image of a waffle iron, suspended sideways in a flat star field, slowly opening as Fluke Starbucker flies his bottle opener into the final battle, is indelible. I sat everyone in front of the TV last night to watch the Special Edition (not approved by the original creator), and I must say it was still as funny as it was nearly 3 decades ago! Nick certainly got a kick out of it!

This brings me to a comment on the Clone Wars feature coming out in a couple weeks. While I am looking forward to sharing the big screen experience with Nick, it again brings the dollar signs to the fore front of my Star Wars awareness. The action figures, the books, all the back-to-school stuff (good timing!), the video games, etc. It is a little disturbing to think of all the adult geeks out there who will end up purchasing not one, buy TWO complete sets of all the action figures - one to put away and one to open and display.

What a sad, sad statement.

Dave, this conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye.

This may be my last transmission for some time. HAL has taken the blog off-line. As he surely knows what’s best for me, I’ll be taking some time away from the computer, away from the internets, to take my son to camp.

Last night was spent cleaning the house, painting the porch, and yelling at the kids –just for being annoying. We have someone coming to look at our house this evening. Keep your fingers crossed for us! (Isn’t it peculiar that the atheistic alternative to praying is still a cross…)

Why does life seem so easier for other people? Even for other parents, it seems far less complicated than ours. It seems that we have something important going on every weekend, and most of the days during the week. My To Do list is huge! It’s a folder that sticks out of the pack I carry back and forth to work. Where do we simplify? Is it the STUFF, or is it the TIME? Is it the kids, or is it our own ambitions? Or is it our LACK of ambition?! It’s something we’ve struggled with for the last 10 years! I don’t mean to imply that everyone else has it easier – I’ve come to know, through close friends and certain scrutinies, that everyone has their own unique sets of issues. I guess it’s just a point of reference to say that it seems so much easier for everyone else.

Ultimately, I know –know – that it’s our own choices that have lead us to where we are. And I know that ONLY our choices, our actions, can pull us out of the rut we’ve created with >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> STEVEN WILL RETURN IN APPROXIMATELY 120 HOURS >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> PLEASE GO ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The Pursuit of Happiness

On Monday evening, we went to NOIC to seek preapproval for a home loan. I had been skeptical, based on our credit score (provided by a credit card company) and our credit card debt. Internally, I had resigned ourselves to the seeming impossibility of selling the trailer, and was very much intimidated by the impending process (read: more autographs than Billy Dee Williams at a Star Wars convention). Tina an NOIC made it virtually harmless!

There was no fee up front, and only $750 when we do buy a house (at $130K). Not bad at all! Furthermore, she revealed that our credit scores are GREAT! 7 teens for me and 7 twenties for Jen. As it turns out, having all that revolving credit is actually good! Well, paying them on time and not maxing them out is the good part. We got approved for $130,000 at 7% through FHA. Using approximations for taxes, this is the amount of house we could get for what we currently pay, between lot rent, mortgage and storage!

We still need to come up with cash for a down payment. If we get money from family and/or friends, she said they have to be specifically noted as gifts. Just click on the PayPal logo below!

If you know anyone looking for a nice (mobile) home in a nice (mobile home) community, click on the house logo below!

Long Days and Pleasant Nights

Yesterday morning, my alarm goes of at 6:30. My wife wakes up and says “Let’s go for a walk.” Literally 90 seconds later, I’m stumbling up the street, tripping over the speed bump, mumbling, grumbling. It takes me nearly 3 blocks to catch up to her!

Other than the crazy wonderfulness of my wife (or is that the wonderful craziness?), the significance of this walk occurs about halfway through the hike. As we make a turn and head west, I notice a handful of birds drifting off to the west-southwest - a larger solo bird and 4-5 smaller ones, separate from Solo. I note how they are flying in the same direction, even though they’re not in the same flock. I wonder, Is it even time to migrate, just as I note that the clouds beyond them have fanned into a giant arrow! The arrow is pointing almost directly southwest – the Path of the Beam followed by Roland Deschain in Stephen King’s Dark Tower books!

Momentarily, we make another turn, and Lo! There’s the sun rising between a sandwich of clouds! Above the fluffy top crust, about 25 degrees up in the eastern sky, giant rays of sunlight flash out towards the south west! The way the clouds align and poof out, only a few of the beams emanate fully from the eastern prison of dawn, along the Path of the Beam.

The clouds are actually sailing to the northeast, but since I am walking and they are slow-moving, this doesn’t even register. Is it a sign, of sorts? Should we be doing this every morning? Is this the right Path for us? Although we don’t need a Sign to tell us that we need to be exercising more, it is strangely reassuring to know that King’s multiverse agrees with you!

Just don’t ask if we got up and walked today.

“Eighty-eight! Eighty-eight! Eighty-eight! Eighty-eight!”

My 20^th high school reunion was held this past Saturday, the 2^nd of August 2008. We actually had a good time! Although I wasn’t exactly nervous, as I said previously, I didn’t want to act like a dork. I’ve never been good at meeting people - small talk and all that – and in some sense, this was just like meeting these people for the first time. I faltered for a moment when my wife and I first walked up to the check-in table – said HI to Shilas, Mary, Becky, then there was a long uncertain pause. With my military (-like) training, I recognized the potential uncomfortability and quickly moved on. From there, it was smooth! Met Brent and Eric, said hello to Tammy. Saw Chuck Reno, Trini Lopez, a couple people I didn’t even know back then. Some were easily recognizable – Suzanne Kalinowski looked almost exactly the same! – and some were totally different. We ended up talking and hanging with Deeana Mylnarek (?), one of the don’t-remember-at-all’s. 3 boys, never been married, thin as a rail. They had a slide show running on a big TV. It seemed to be mostly images of the IN crowd (not judging – it was they who put the reunion together after all!) but later I saw a blow-up of the pic of Eric and myself playing quiz bowl. They were all at least semi-friendly and polite. They kept taking pictures of the nerd crew together. Damn…

Finally, as we were about to start eating, Dave Velliquette showed up, Carisa in tow. We all were surprised that he actually came! And it was very nice to finally meet Carisa (insert high-pitch silly voice)

We didn’t really talk to very many people, beyond the guys we already knew. It would be interesting to know about people’s careers, kids, etc… Of course there was speculation about certain people – Ed Sneed seems to be a manager at Arbys AND McDonalds. But I’d be interested to know what happened to people who didn’t come, and more about the people who did! I showed a few people the pics of our twins, but I never got to say “I’m a librarian at a hospital” !

There were some odd memories brought back, some not remembered in at least 10 years (the last significant attempted reunion) . I forget some of the things we talked about, but…Eric’s mention of May the Farce be with you – the 8^th grade drama production…Dave’s mention of the kid who tried to tag with us when we went to Frankenmouth – and our efforts to lose him…Stealing test answers in calculus class… (feel free to expound on these memories in the comments!)

The next day, Jen and I were looking through our year books. They are starting to smell musty, like the wondrous, aged smell of my uncle’s sagas as I leafed through them back in the early 80’s. I haven’t looked at these books in probably 10 years – not since the last attempted reunion. Some of the moments in the pics I actually remember – frozen in time, brought of the mind-freezer every once in a while to not-quite thaw – but most of them are now memories of memories – it is the memory of looking through those books so many times in the 4-5 years following graduation. The memory of remembering those days, which fades quicker than that actual memory. (My kingdom for a Pensieve!) Nevertheless, after not seeing them in 10 years, they bring back certain feelings, thoughts of all the possibilities, and ultimately the regrets. The signatures, the autographs, the signings! I’m no romantic, but the nuances in some of them make me want to rap my head against the old blue lockers! I dated Shelly Michalek in 9^th grade, and a couple of the signatures mentioned the breakup. Why I broke up with her, I don’t know! Why did I stay with Kelli, a silly 8^th grader? A couple of the signatures said I was cute and nice… As Charlie Brown might say; UGGHH! I could have even been with Jennifer back then! We often lament that choice, as we could have balanced each other far sooner! As Mike Portnoy of Dream Theater said “I once thought it better to regret the things that I have done, than haven’t.” There are very few things that I HAVE done that I regret. One learns from all of one’s experiences, after all. But one can not learn from things one has NOT done. There are many regrets for things that I HAVE NOT done, things that cannot be un-not done, like all the stuff in high school that I didn’t do.

10 years ago, I would sometimes be overcome by those regrets. Now, with my life intractable and full, those feelings are just another beacon calling out to my tapping fingers. “Come, old Steve, come…tell the world about your feelings…catharsis is a lovely word…come, and remember…and forget…

Happy Monday

I wrote nothing over the weekend. Not so much as a dictated note from the answering machine. I do not intend to make up for it, because I haven’t exactly been…exact with my 1 hour daily goal. Still, I have tons of ideas and will likely make a couple blog entries today. Thus, I have made it a point this morning to do the writing BEFORE anything else. (I didn’t even listen to my book-on-tape on the drive in.) I have THOUGHT more like a writer of late, and I received a handful of comments about the blog over the weekend, so I count it as a rather successful first week.

And now, for my second act…

Today's (lack of) progress

First of all, let me say this about the piece I posted yesterday;

damn, that's bad.

Looks like again I will not get any significant writing done today.
I'm running out of time at work.
I suppose I should learn how to do it at home....heh...

This Saturday is my 20th high school reunion. Oddly, I am excited about going. I was shy (you'd never guess....) in high school, and had few friends. Those that I made I still talk to, at least periodically. I will be seeing people I have not seen in 20 years! TWENTY YEARS!! That's, like, before personal computes! I did my first college papers on a commodore 64 !

It is also the anniversary of the opening of The Palace of Auburn Hills, home of the Pistons and site of 3 memorable concerts for myself (Rush twice and Metallica, early in the Black Album tour (thanks for the tix, Brent!))

Let's see what else I can dig up from 20 years ago....(I'm a wiki-wizard!)

Perestroika. In a long ago D&D campaign, I once noted a peaceful orc as being Gorbachev-like.
The ELCA was formed in 1988. Interesting...(my wife and I left a church governed by them)
The Iran-Contra affair. Olie-Olie-Oxen-Free!
These two straight from wiki:
The USS Samuel B. Roberts (FFG-58) strikes a naval mine in the Persian Gulf, while deployed on Operation Earnest Will during the Tanker War phase of the Iran-Iraq War.
April 18 - United States Navy retaliates for the Roberts mining with Operation Praying Mantis, in a day of strikes against Iranian oil platforms and naval vessels.
Germaine!
Lloyd Bentson excoriates Dan Quayle; "Senator, I knew Jack Kennedy. I served with Jack Kennedy. Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you're no Jack Kennedy."
Kirk Gibson's dramatic World Series homer for the Dodgers. Most forget that it was only game 1 of the series, and Gibson's only at bat of the series!
George Bush defeats Michael Dukakis.
An independent State of Palestine is proclaimed at the Palestinian National Council meeting in Algiers, by a vote of 253 to 46.
clear as mud....
The B-2 bomber prototype is first revealed.
Earthquake in Armenia kills 25,000. Yes, 25 THOUSAND.
December 21 - Pan Am Flight 103 is blown up by Libyan terrorists over Lockerbie, Scotland, killing a total of 270 people.
This is perhaps the first significant act of terrorism that had a world-wide significance.

Maybe I'll post some pics at the reunion. I'll see at least 3 of my loyal readers there, I hope!

Chapter 1: Cards and Sharks

Executing his uniquely peculiar double-take, head bobbing diagonally, Sirakln the Beyonder unnoticably winced at the all-too-familiar alienation that the scar-chested man immediately projected as he strode, calm and proud, through the foremost portal into the Pegasus Hoof. From his vantage point in the farthest, darkest corner of the tavern, Sirakln watched the tall man from beneath a large hood. In the short time it took the individual to traverse the hard dirt floor of the bar to a table adjacent to his own, the ranger of Krell had determined a number of things about him. First of all, he was definitely no human, possibly elvish or most likely half-elvish; the ears gave him away, although the slightness of limb helped Sirakln's assessment of this, despite the profuseness of muscle. From his garb and style in which he wore it, the Beyonder knew this man-elf was a woodsman; like himself, a ranger. He was from the elvenwoods of tomorrow, for certain. Why he wore his tunic open, revealing the oddly shaped rune-scar in the center of his chest, was a complete and inconceivable mystery to Sirakln. At this thought, his hand went unconsciously to the left side of his face, the location of his own scar. At the touch of it, however, he again felt the horrible recollection, like déjà-vu, of the battle in which he received the accursed thin. Again unknowingly self-conscious, he pulled the oversized hood down further, covering his distorted facial features.
He sat there for a hundred or so beats of his own heart, contemplating again the reason for his visit to the capital city of Martish and his stay at the Pegasus Hoof. His search to acknowledge the rumors of troll sightings near Akixok and Shadowkeep had led him south of his native Krell's Keep, first to Gotlive. Finding no truth to the rumors there, he set course for Martish, the capital of Keanin. After studying the city for a month, he decided to base his operation at the Pegasus hoof, an inn amidst the slums, in the southeast of the city. Since then, he had been waiting patiently for some word of the trolls-any word. As they did now, his thoughts often meandered to the memory of the first time he encountered trolls; though not directly, he quickly learned a passionate hatred for the beasts. Before the Defender banished the trolls, as well as goblins and ogres, from Keanin and long before Sirakln's own birth, his home forest, Krell's Keep, was regularly lambasted by attacking trolls. Following a particularly fierce onslaught, his grandfather Krell, a ranger lord after whom the forest, fortress, and clan were named, declared the trolls the ultimate bane of good and of the Krell clan, forever after to be hunted, killed, and utterly destroyed. Under his hooded cloak, Sirakln again swore, under his breath, to uphold this addict. This oath brought the river of his mental ramblings to another shore; his promise to avenge the recent murder of his grandfather at the hands of trolls. The very same trolls that were said to have been banished. Although he had not been witness to the death, he carried the pain with him in the form of the Bringer and Ebb, the Holy Sword and Bow of the Krell clan, which he had been bequeathed. Again he swore under his breath, unconsciously voicing the words. They brought an unexpected response.
"Wudja say?"
The river of Sirakln's thoughts finally met a dam along its course, spewing back into reality. He gathered himself and answered the scar-chested man seated at the adjacent table. "My apologies, stranger. I was merely mumbling to myself."
Obviously ignoring the misgivings exuded in Sirakln's body language, the stranger stood and strolled the brief distance to the Beyonder's table, seating himself opposite him, facing the wall.
"It seems we are both in the same lonely predicament, though whether it be by choice or by fate is certainly a mystery," the stranger stated with an air of intelligence.
"Spoken with truth," responded Sirakln, keeping only the line of sight open beneath his hood.
After a few moments of uncertain silence, the man with the chest scar extended his hand and forearm across the table, speaking concurrently. "I am called Leviathan."
Sirakln brought his arm slowly from beneath his robe, not wishing to show the man disrespect but not wanting to reveal any of the suppressed glee he felt at the thought of a new companion. He went to grasp Leviathan's forearm just above the wrist. "I am Sirakln, the Beyonder."
After eyeing one another for a dozen heartbeats, neither willing to break his gaze, they both dropped their heads and the same time, realizing that the man they sat across from was worth forging a friendship with. Finally Leviathan spoke, "What are you drinking, Sirakln?"
The Beyonder responded, "Only Rapack's Water." He tipped his mug in an inspectional gesture of its contents.
"Let me get you another," Leviathan said. Getting to his feet, he made his way to the bar. Due to the acoustic properties of his hood, Sirakln was able to make out Leviathan's order. It surprised him that such an agreeable fellow could drink such a spirit as a Stylis Stinker, a drought not too many barbarians could stomach. As Leviathan turned back towards the table with two full mugs, Sirakln brought his hands slowly to his cowl. Lowering the hood to his shoulders, he revealed his facial features, which were dominated by the scar that ran from beneath the left side of his chin up to his forehead just above his left eyebrow. He of course stayed his gaze on Leviathan, attempting to measure his reliability in the extent of his flinch at the first full look at Sirakln's face. As the Beyonder half expected though, Leviathan's only noticeable irk was a slight and brief quiver in his right hand, the holder of Sirakln's mug that extended toward him. Sirakln accepted it, a small smile growing on his countenance.
After Leviathan had taken his seat again, the new friends exchanged stories, each relating his background and purpose for being in Martish. Sirakln spoke first, exerting the same stream of thoughts that he had recently traveled in silent solitude. Then Leviathan spoke. "An interesting tale, Beyonder, one to rival my own... I was born an only child to a southern elf, in elvenmire. My father was a human ranger from Doblin who was welcomed in the elvenwoods of tomorrow.
**I knew he was half-elf, Sirakln thought to himself**
They were quite close, and even though she lived in elvenmire and he in the forest, he visited quite often and we were a tight-knit family. When I was 12 seasons old, father mysteriously disappeared. Some say he was abducted by goblins, but the Defender banished them years ago.
**Along with ogres and trolls, or so we were told, Sirakln thought**
After that I moved to the forest with my mother, who mourned gravely the loss of my father. In the elvenwoods, I learned to love the ways and creatures of the land, and under the eyes of my mother's family, I myself learned the ways of a ranger.
**Fascinating**
At the age of 16, we heard that my father had been sighted just north of the woods. In a rush, my mother and I went after him, running up the Hoping River in desperation. We came upon a camp occupied by strange little beasts that were similar to the goblins I had heard about in long-ago bedtime stories. There we saw father tied to stakes in the middle of the camp. In a frenzy, mom charged into the clearing. There was no way I could stop her. I yelled out, "No!"
**Wow**
That day, I saw my mother and father cut down by the long swords of filthy goblins.
**Poor fellow**
In fear, I ran down the river, held up only by anger and frustration, and finally made it to Doblin. To support myself there, I lived a life of crime. After my nineteenth season, I began hearing rumors of goblin sightings near Martish, so of course I came here to investigate. I settled here at the Hoof for two reasons; easy pickings, and if they ever came to the city, it would be the slums."
Without indicating it verbally, Leviathan let Sirakln know that his story had come to an end. Throughout its telling, Sirakln noticed, the elf was a vision of calm, a doldrum on the Sea of Madness, though he did blink an awful lot near the end. The Beyonder spoke aloud now.
"Rival my own indeed! It seems you've had a difficult life, my friend."
"I live, which is the most important thing," Leviathan responded.
Sirakln was still for a second; then, "What of the goblin sightings? I have seen neither foot nor fur of the trolls, my query. Is it all simply dust-mustered rumor?"
Leviathan answered, "I doubt it. For all the legend of the Defender, the three races were merely banished to the south of Keanin, not destroyed in a blatant act of genocide. I believe it is quite possible that some goblins and trolls, and perhaps some ogres, have returned to their homelands. Knowing their benevolent nature, I doubt not their immediate intent; to cause as much pain as possible to the more civilized races. Personally, I have heard little more of the sightings than what I learned when I first arrived hear in Martish, last Rain-Time. And I'm getting itchy to continue the search elsewhere," he paused, not quite long enough for Sirakln to gather his thoughts again and pose another question. "And what of your prey, Sirakln? Do you think, hope, or disbelieve the rumors you've heard are true?"
Not immediately answering, Sirakln stared off into the distance, or so it seemed to Leviathan. In reality, the Beyonder was observing, in the mirror behind the bar, the short young man who had just entered the Hoof. He was wily, Sirakln noted from the way his eyes scanned the inn, and he was looking for trouble. As he approached, Sirakln pulled his cloak's hood up to its usual position.
Leviathan noted him also, but was not aware of what the Beyonder was doing. Leviathan, however, had not yet ascertained the newcomer's intent. He now turned himself, along with his chair, to face the door, knowing all along that this motion would attract the stranger's attention, exactly Leviathan's intention. After the motion was completed, Leviathan, though still seated, stared hard and level directly into the stranger's sly, dark eyes.
"Sevens?" the stranger inquired. His head tilted over the second syllable, indicating the deck of cards in his left palm.
Worn for years of shuffling and flipping, the stack of thick-paper rectangles was visibly jagged-edged and soft-centered. Most easily marked, assessed Leviathan in the moments before he responded.
"Certainly, my friend," he mocked, unintentionally ignoring the slight expression of perplexion that occupied Sirakln's mien.
Behind the baffled gaze, the Beyonder was frantically rummaging through his library of memories (though he didn't actually perceive such a quest), desperately trying to summon even the vaguest recollection of a card game called Sevens. The hunt, however, was as doomed as that of the fabled sun-seeking tigerrose. Instead, Sirakln reasserted himself, straightening his facial features to stoically confront the unknown.
Still nose to nose, Leviathan and the stranger briefly discussed the stakes. It was decided the wager would be one eagle, a Martishian gold coin, against the newcomer's five condors, the platinum coin of the nation; an enticing proposition to both rangers.
As the Dealer took a seat at their table, Sirakln and Leviathan independantly noted the perplexing absence of the man's left ear. With no outward motion, both men winced at the obvious discomfort. They also noted the suspicious cross-shaped mound under the shirt at his waist; most likely a hidden dagger. Seated, he laid the deck in the center of the table, slightly toward himself, and took out the five coins of the agreed wager. He slapped each one onto the old hardwood, unknowingly imitating the mating call of a red-tailed swallow, a bird well known to Sirakln. This struck him as ironic; in Krell's Keep, the sound represented the start of a new life, while in seedy Martish, it signaled the downfall of many men.
After the fifth resounding clack, Leviathan fastly pulled out his dagger and stabbed it deep into the table. He imbedded the blade four inches, half the length of the polished steel, with a simple sweep of his forearm. Leviathan hoped this would make a statement of his physical prowess, but the Dealer continued with his routine, taking the cards in hand again. He had obviously seen such displays before. Leviathan almost embarrassingly brought forth the gold eagle and silently placed it next to one of the condors, touching it in mocking symbolism of the bond they would soon have as possessions of the same man. He finally wriggled the dagger free of its wooden prison. In the meantime, Sirakln had slipped his gold onto the table in his typical, beat-you-to-it mode.
The cards were dealt, seven to each man. Before he even looked at his own cards, Sirakln leeringly observed Leviathan and the Dealer situate theirs. He could make absolutely nothing of the shifting and sifting going on in their hands. What am I doing in a card game that I don't even know how to play? It's like walking onto a battlefield wielding a flail or a mace; something I just don't know how to do! In Cassock's Name! It will-suddenly, Sirakln realized he had been staring blankly at his table mates' cards, and he in turn was being glared at by both men. He quickly snatched up the cards that had been gently tossed on the table in front of him, straightening them in the process. He then looked at the Deck of Sevens and its cards for the first time.
He saw a jumbled set of seven numbered cards, each with a small emblem in the center of the player's side. Written in the common tongue beneath its emblem was a single word, like COINS, FLOWERS, or SWORDS; probably indicating suits, Sirakln thought curtly. In diagonally opposite corners there were numbers on each card. He currently held two Coins, two Swords, and three Flowers. The number 7 was on one card of each of the suits he held. The other Coin had a 2, the other Sword a 5, and the remaining two Flowers had a 3 and a 4. He watched ignorantly as Leviathan slipped a Coin with 4 onto the table, adjacent to the slice his dagger had so recently brought into existence. Sirakln guessed it to be his turn next. He contemplated the card that Leviathan had set down and brashly decided to also lay down a Coin, with a 2. It brought an unexpected riposte.
"Cheats! Ranger-Cheats!" The Dealer screamed, following his words with the speediest sequence of actions Sirakln had ever seen. Within a triad of blinks, the Dealer threw his handful of cards in Leviathan's face, jumped up from his seat, drew his dagger, scrambled behind Leviathan, and had the blade at his neck. He squawked again, "You won't cheat me!"
Without even realizing he had dropped his cards, Sirakln shoved his chair back, stood, and drew his own blade, the Bringer. True to its name, it brought fear to the face of the Dealer, as well as envious awe to that of Leviathan. But to Sirakln, it only brought a silent cry. Gods! Have I wrought the death of this friend so soon?
Leviathan couldn't so much as move a muscle, and he knew better. Many a midnight alley had put him into such predicaments, and yet he had never been killed or injured. Will this little animal be the end of me? he asked himself. He straightened his resolve and stilled himself again.
Stifled by the table and the wall that cut off his chair's retreat, the Beyonder's footing was uncertain at best. Taking a stance commonly reserved for a warrior making his final stand, he grasped the handle of the Bringer despairingly. The glowing crimson gem set in the crosspiece faced forward. With no threat in it, his free hand extended slowly towards the duo, pleading. He spoke softly.
"I did not know the game, and yet did not wish to offend you. Please, take the gold eagles, release my friend."
The Dealer screamed back, surprisingly loud even to Sirakln, "Liar!" His arms jerked around, causing Leviathan no small amount of distress. The Dealer crooned, only slightly quieter, "I well take the coins, and you will pay in your friend's blood!" He yanked Leviathan's head backward by the hair in the back. As if it was foreordained though, Leviathan shot his left hand up, clutching the rising weapon hand of the Dealer, his left also. With fierceness akin to an angry dog, Leviathan simultaneously grasped with his other hand and exploded to his feet, flinging the shortish Dealer off the floor some three feet. The momentum created helped Leviathan hurl him over his left shoulder, slamming him into the table top. The cards scattered like a mob gone awry. With a familiar motion, Leviathan jammed his dagger into the table. This time only the tip penetrated the wood, for there was now seven bloody inches between it and the hilt.
Squirming briefly, then jolting, jumping, and jiggling, the man known only as the Dealer took in his last breath, rasped something unintelligible, then expired.
As if it had never quieted, as if it had never stopped to peer, as if it had never stared in apprehensive curiosity, the bandying crowd in the Pegasus Hoof went on its way, about its business, and back to its rowdy self, feigned apathy abounding. Above the death-still body Leviathan stood, both arrogance and regret exuding. He felt for the poor man; no muscles to protect himself and not a friend in the land. Still, he pondered, he had threatened my life. The regret in Leviathan's face was shoved aside by an overriding, arrogant pride. Then he heard Sirakln's penetrating voice.
"Gods, elf! The man never had a chance!" It had taken Sirakln a number of moments to collect himself enough to comment on Leviathan's atrocity. "He never had a fair fight."
Accosted by the Beyonder's indignation, Leviathan responded curtly, "He had a blade at my neck! He had many a chance!" With difficulty, he ignored the false moniker 'elf'. Standing defiantly with his hands extended, palms facing the ceiling, only Leviathan's eyes pleaded for Sirakln's understanding.
Instead of understanding, Sirakln displayed nothing but contempt for his new acquaintance. Standing there for a moment, staring Leviathan down, the Beyonder exuded such spite as to create a physical barrier between them. His tightening grip on the Bringer made his knuckles white. Diverting his eyes, he leered down at the body of the Dealer, whose eyes were still open. Sheathing his huge blade, Sirakln reached down and closed them with his own fingers, sending an all-too-familiar shiver along his arms and shoulders. Still, Leviathan stood with entreating palms skyward.
With an unintentional lunge, Sirakln bent down the retrieve the deadly dagger. Yanking it from its temporary sheath, he displayed the bloody thing to his fellow ranger. He found words unnecessary. Laying it on the table, the Beyonder stalked away from the scene, towards the spiral stairs that lead upstairs. He mounted the stairs, then retroactively turned back to face the entire room. He was not aware of it, but during the fracas, his hood had fallen from its perch, revealing his entire face and head. Eyes brooding and lips tightened, he almost spoke, but didn't. Knowing that he was beyond compassion, he again spun on his heels, climbing the steps purposefully.
Regret and stupefaction dominating his mien, Leviathan retrieved his blade, wiping it on the pant leg of the Dealer. He sheathed it solemnly, and sought the coins that were spilled. With them in his possession, he picked up the body and flung it onto his shoulder, eerily mocking the maneuver with which he had so recently incapacitated the man. He stoically marched out the very same door he had strode in through.

Today's work

I was surprised to see that the last post here (before the New Dawn) was way back in 2006.
I am equally surprised to see that 2006 is “way back”.

It’s been real tough to actually achieve anything in my allotted hour, with all the other things that need done lately. So, to fend off my starving readers, I will post here the opening chapter of my first untitled D&D tale. For my new, loyal readers, consider it a premature treat, a lost gem from the future’s past. A time-shifted rarity from tomorrow’s cedar chest.

Did anyone see the VH1 Rock Honors program about The Who? The Foo Fighters and Pearl Jam were pretty damn good, but they were waylaid by Daltry and Townsend, who put on a dynamic, active show at their advanced ages. Daltry still sounds great! I have not gotten into the Who beyond radio and a greatest hits CD, but they are, I think, my next great musical endeavor.

Damn, I want to make music! I think it’s been lurking in me since I first saw Stewart Copeland holding the drumstick sideways to whack at the snare. The Drums have always drawn me viscerally - I can imagine the release, the discharge it would be to bang out a song or two, to have a good sweat while MAKING MUSIC. From Iron Maiden to Fates Warning to Coheed & Cambria – the creativity, energy and outlet of MAKING MUSIC has ….this is so tough to put into words! (ironic, eh?!) Watching Dream Theater, especially Mike Portnoy (a big fan of the Who), enjoy their craft so immensely; so raw, so powerful. Scott Ian of Anthrax – rhythm guitar and backing vocals – 45 years old and so full of LIFE. Earlier this summer, I sang “sunglasses at night” on a cheap karaoke machine at a friend’s house. About 4 people heard me ( including 2 kids and my wife!) and it was fucking AWESOME! Like the appeal of skydiving, the desire to MAKE MUSIC in front of people is anathema to the logic and safety circuits of my positronic brain.

Anyway…I guess I need to find a way to write about the things I enjoy, which, like this post, is a long and rambling list…

{insert clever title}

So it looks like this blog will be a record of my writing progress, a motivating tool to report on what I have done with the day's allotted writing time.

Today, I have written this {insert clever title}.







thankyouverymuchgoodNIGHT!

Day 2 of the New Dawn, delayed again till the afternoon…

I’ve been real busy lately. So many things going on – scout camp coming up, reunion coming up, the Stony Ridge festival just complete, the camping trip before that, plus so many things at work to get done. I now have deadlines there, too. I’ve put off many things and now I need to catch up, so I intend to go in early tomorrow.

My wife has been SO busy this summer – getting everything ready for those trips, getting the house ready to sell. She’s done twice as much as me, at home especially, because she’s there all day. The stress is getting to both of us…

So… this busy time will be a test of my resolve and of my free time. Reduced surfing will allow me to get on with the business. I need to write. I am rusty with it. Rusty Klesla. Rusty the stuffed robot dog.

At lunch today, I was going to eat in my car, but realized it was too warm to do so. On a whim, I called up Dave Smith (names have not been changed to protect the innocent) to see if he was home, in his nearby Sylvania abode. They were in the midst of cleaning out their garage for a big yard sale this weekend. He gave me a bunch of old gaming supplies, including a necromancer boxed set! Coolness. He mentioned that it was Maureen’s 40^th birthday. He also mentioned that she wasn’t real happy about it. As she said, succinctly, “You’re not 40. You’re not a woman.”

Dave told me about this place down the street that had a hand-written sign, “$65,000 or best offer” I drove by on the way back and saw it. A small place, in need of work, but available on the cheap! I then looked it up on AREIS; valued at $101,000, 1037 TLA, 3 BR, 1 BTH, detached garage. Not exactly what we seek, but what a great price! Taxes are high, of course, being in Sylvania.

Every time I see a Chrysler car, like 300M, I think of Todd’s story, the Wrecks of Time. I had the design idea of using a similar front grill. But, why would a space ship need such a grill? Is it merely aesthetic? Does the ship collect space particles to ‘burn’? I wonder if it could ever be successful, the story.

Music: Dream Theater – Train of Though. (bombastic)

This doesn’t fulfill my hour, so I’m going to get to work on some D&D stuff.

The start of something new…I hope.

I have really been thinking a lot lately, about being a writer. Presently, I am not, because I do not. I would like that to change, but it won’t change on its own. So, sometime last week, I told myself to write. Every day. At least something. Here is the start of that, tempered, of course, with the murky silhouette of Mayo’s Law, which still lingers like the late summer shadow of the oldest tree on the neighboring block.

So, I will outline my goals here, and disperse their ‘publication’ among different sites and outlets.

First, it is my stated ambition to write for at least 1 hour every day. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.
This will be the most challenging part of the endeavor. Already today, I have put this intro off to the end of the day, after intentioning to pump it out in the early morning.

One of the things I’d like to do is wrap up some of my D&D writing. The 50 Years Later campaign was quite a mix of successes and failures. Still, there were some cool ideas that I’d like to get on paper for later usage. I would also like to provide the players with some kind of summary of what was going on there. I still find it unfortunate that I could not pull that one together. After that I’d like to complete the Keanin Reminders from the first two campaigns. That will wrap the story itself for those campaigns, which I may be able to user later as bases for stories. Actual stories. Thirdly, I’d like to find some wrap up for the Mr. Tenbrook sessions. Of all the lingering story lines I have out there, I’d still like to play some more with that one, if we could ever coordinate schedules. Finally, I’d like to write the story that I started some time ago, focusing on Sirakln the Beyonder (MY character, not Jim’s – thus the spelling change), which I think has the most potential as a character-driven fantasy yarn. Perhaps I'll even post the first stuttering chapters I completed some time ago.

I also want to finish my Star wars blog. I started that with great intentions, when Jason and I went to Indy in 2005. The old pda I had, on which I spent many minutes learning to write and actually writing about our trip, lost all the data I had so carefully kept when the single AAA battery died. (reminiscent of the handful of times when the C-64 got accidentally unplugged in the middle of my greatest work ever, lost for all eternity) Losing those notes was harsh, and it kept me away from that piece for quite some time. It will be difficult to recreate, and now it will be from a far different perspective, but I hate leaving it incomplete.

Another possibility is freelance work. I find it intriguing that I could get paid by magazines to write about things that I have experienced or have experience in. I’m not sure WHAT I would write about, but it’s an avenue to investigate and on which to earn my chops, to use a mixed metaphor.

Poetry is out there, too. I recently subscribed to a magazine for poets and writers – something cheap to help focus my attention and keep me constant. Though I haven’t written a poem in 10 years, it could be a valuable outlet for me. I look forward to sharing that with a particular pagan in my pool of pals.

Lastly…Jennifer and I want to buy a house. I think it would be a fascinating exercise to log the adventure, so I will be periodically posting here our attempts to sell our current house and acquire something new, with a yard, a basement, 3 bedrooms and 2 baths, and a garage, in a nice neighborhood, with a pool, an acre, a fence, a 3 car garage…..