Fresh.

Hey, I wrote some fresh stuff for the blog   – honest to god, typed up today — bristling with new-osity.

I’ve added a new Category “Fresh” for pieces like that, that are written and posted in the same day — I hope to do a lot more of them when my life settles down.

Continue reading “Fresh.”

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Door-knob.

“Something there is  to a task done well, a true task, a right task. The door-knob turns, and knows that is is doing exactly what it was made for.”

“Are you drunk?” Simon asked, waggling his empty wooden tankard.

Merridew glared across the table, bushy white eyebrows standing at attention. The elderly Yad-Elf

Artist Unknown

gripped a silver gravy-boat, clearly intended to sail the seas of a king’s banquet table. It was mostly empty, Merridew corrected this – refilling from a dark brown keg that kept the third chair occupied.  He took a quick swallow from the business end of the container, all while continuing to glare at the gray-coated rogue sitting across from him.

“Cause you sound drunk. You’re talking about doorknobs. Knobs on doors – the little turny things.” Simon continued.

“That is not my point at all, you besotted simpleton. This is why I despise drinking with humans.” the elf said.

“I’m drunk. See? I said it. Feels good to say it. It is totally fine for you to admit that you’re drunk.” the rogue held his tankard to the keg, hand wavering.

Merridew sat the gravy-boat down, and massaged his temples with long, knobby fingers.

“I’m just saying that doorknobs have a clear purpose. A design suited for one action — and I was musing –”

Simon burped.

“– MUSING that it has to be a nice feeling. Knowing that what you’re doing is exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.” Merridew pointed across the table accusingly

The rogue chuckled, and sipped from his newly filled tankard. He managed to look contrite, and nodded seriously at the elf’s expression.

The old wood elf sighed, and spread his fingers across the top of the gravy-boat. He stared down through the spaces between, watching the foam settle on the dark amber liquid.

“There’s been a few times, I’ve felt it myself. The door-knob turn in my heart.”

Simon continued to nod seriously, and made a twisting gesture with his free hand. His serious expression was marred by the slurping noise as he gulped down ale.

“Door-knob. Got it.” Simon slammed the empty tankard down.

“I hate you.” Merridew said.

The old elf stood, and walked over to the closest door. He poured a generous serving of ale onto the pitted brass doorknob. Then he kept pouring until the gravy-boat was empty. He solemnly hung the empty silver bowl on the knob.

Simon rubbed his face and snorted.

“I’ll get a mop, old man. Unless you want to baptize the lamps?”

Merridew did not reply. He wrapped his long fingers around the brass knob and turned it swiftly.

Once. Twice. A third time.

The old elf smiled, his fingertips resting on the brass.

Well, how about that?

HEY.  Six complete strangers downloaded my free e-book The Parable of the Stone Viper from lulu.com!

That’s kind of awesome – I wonder who those six people are. Did they like it? Are we best friends now? AM I INVITED TO THEIR BIRTHDAY PARTY?!?

I know this is silly, getting excited about something like that — especially because that story is right over there under the Microfiction tab — but it jazzes me up. TO THE MAX.

Well, maybe not to the max — but in the near vicinity of the max.

Not to be confused with The Maxx.

Writing Decisions

Artist Unknown

The Tao of Sommerset

1. Every action has a consequence.
2. The unexplored world will not announce itself.
3. The beautiful moment succeeds.
4. Whimsy is a precious flower. Plant liberally.
5. Obstacles are rarely insurmountable.
6. People are not just signposts.
7. The journey is the largest tree in the garden, but the rain falls everywhere.
8. Glory is bought with blood.
9. Dull questions breed dull answers.
10. A single twig announces the tiger.

Over the past year of Lodestar, I’ve tried to establish a simple rubric for most of my storytelling decisions. And because I’m an incredibly pompous sort, I codified them into these ten dictum.

Thoughts? What rules – unspoken or otherwise – guide your writing?

Fair Warning

My blog is going to be a little sparse this week. The show I’m directing opens on Friday, and it’s going to absorb every scrap of creative and physical energy very quickly. It has become an event horizon — I cannot imagine anything that occurs after 12/2.

I’m hoping to have some downtime to post, but if not, I’ll get back into the swing of things next week.

 

The Grand Wizard Speaks

There is a moment of stillness. Then abruptly the masks of Blue, Yellow, White and Red begin to laugh. Master Tumm makes no move, and the Black necromancer, Song, is still as always. Master Graham places his palms flat on the marble table and says nothing.

” Would you like us to come check in your closet for the Gray Beast, or hold your hand when night falls?

Mercy by Peter Mohrbacher

Such a ridiculous…” the Bloodburner begins.

“Silence.” the Grand Wizard says quietly. For a dragon.

The masked faces of the Council all turn to regard their leader. The dragon keeps his blind eyes on the crew of the Lodestar.

“The Council is adjourned – leave me with these adventurers.”

The Red Master Vayton sputters slightly, then nods his head briskly. The rest of the council genuflect slightly as well, and stiffly make their exit from the chamber. Footfalls on marble, then the shutting of seven doors.

The gray-cloaked figure at the side of the room steps forward slightly, and makes an inquiring gesture, right palm open and up.

” You as well, Sideways.” says the steel dragon.

The cowl shrugs, as the figure turns — barbed tail swishing under the hem of his cloak. He walks through the nearest wall without slowing, as if the marble was made of air.

The Grand Wizard’s neck drooped slightly, and his bobbed slightly towards the floor. The crew can see the weariness in this old creature’s posture. He speaks, quietly.

“Come closer. ” the dragon breathed.

A few cautious steps, just at the edge of the steel dragon’s dais.

“Do you know the story of the founding of Valeria?”

Before Carbunkle has time to shoot his hand up, the dragon continues.

Artist: toshim

” Valeria was my beloved mate, oh so many years ago. We stood together against a mighty evil, but in the last battle she fell — like a comet from the heavens. It was my fault.” the Grand Wizard sighed, an ironworks fume.

” She died because of a lie. Because of me keeping knowledge to myself, and believing that I knew best how to shield her from the harsh truths of the world. Her passing carved a deep gouge into the earth, that filled with a fresh sea a sea of blue. Where her bones came to rest, I came and wept. A tear for each lie, and I grieved for my arrogance, and the loss of the fair Valeria.”

The dragon blinked, slowly.

“There I swore to share my knowledge with all who sought it. Over time the wise of each race sought me out, and I instructed them in the Art. They were the first wizards, and this marvelous city grew out of the bones of my beloved.” the Grand Wizard stretched his mighty arms, as if to encompass the entire city.

“This is a small secret. The Council knows, and some learned men throughout the world have pieced together this truth from relics, old songs, and the fragments of a lost age. I give it to you freely, so that you may understand what you ask, and how I must respond.” the dragon laid its head down on the dais for a moment, and closed its eyes as if thinking. A few heartbeats pass, until its blind eyes open.

“I have offered you a boon, and I will not renege. Not here, so near the grave of my beloved. The knowledge you ask is dangerous, and costly. I will not tell you all, as I would not teach a child spells of flame and death. My boon shall be the beginning of the path, you must find your own way after that.

The Umbral Plane is a dark mirror to our own reality, it overlaps and permeates the Material Plane

Artist: Thomas Scholes

—separated by a thin band of energy, some call the Spirit World, or Astral Plane. One must pass through the Spirit World to enter into the Shadow Plane, and vice versa. These “shadows” that you have encountered are emanations, using shapes they find in the Spirit World to temporarily visit our dimension.”

The Grand Wizard shifted slightly, steel scales ringing on the marble floor. He stretched his ancient wings, and stood on his hind legs, stretching.

“All this is within the realm of mortal knowledge – not all believe it to be true, but still the wise have assembled the scattered puzzle pieces. What I tell you now is not known, to any but the oldest of dragons and gods.

When my beloved fell from the heavens, there was no Plane of Shadow. Not then, and not for a great time after.

The Grand Wizard flapped his wings, and began to rise from the floor. The old blind dragon sings, as it ascends.

the Shadow is mirror
the Mirror is power
Songs of the Lost
shine on Dark Hour

the Key and the Shield
throw wide the One Gate
the Price of the Beast
if Hero come too Late

The Grand Wizard is gone. The crew of the Lodestar are left alone in an empty room, with nothing but marble and questions.