A Mobius Story

[A story for my friend, Cord. May it prove a distraction.]

The gauntlets were too big.

“Trouble, Half-Man?” the snake-eyed woman cooed, her fingers curled around his shoulders.

“Nope…nothing…no problem!” Mobius stammered his small hands almost rattling inside the pitted blue-steel gauntlets.

Mobius was small statured, a halfling in the common parlance. His grandmother always said that the proper name for his race was ‘Kender’, but his mother and father always gave such sharp looks of disapproval when she had used the word that Mobius dared not.  From his boots to the tip of his wild hair he was only three and a half feet tall. This put his head just below the breasts of the snake-eyed woman who stood behind him. When she exhaled, they dipped ever so slightly, brushing the sides of his head — causing pronounced eye dilation and small puffs of smoke to erupt from his ears and from somewhere just south of his belt buckle.

Femme Mage by Georgios Dimitriou
Femme Mage by Georgios Dimitriou

“You promised me that you could get us in, thief. You promised me that locks would fall open when you whistled ‘Valleydown,Susannah. That you could smell traps, hear ambush, see the gleam of gold through a mile of dark catacomb,” Varatene’s hands moved from his shoulders to his bare neck. “You promised me.”

The touch was silk, but Mobius heard the jagged, bloody steel in her words.

“I got it, Vara. I got it…just …just need a minute,”the halfling said with desperate cheer.

The thief and the snake-eyed lady stood in a circular room, golden blocks of rough-hewn sandstone. Stairs led downward to the Temple of Silent Flames and hundreds of Sarmadi acolytes of Nasirah. Mobius and Varatene had taken advantage of the holy festival in the city beyond for this night’s endeavour.

Most of the acolytes were busy in the city, leaving only a small guard inside the temple. Easy enough for a halfling of Mobius’ talents to move from shadow to shadow, evading the sparse patrols. He had taken great care to wait until the last possible second to scoot around each patrol, finding the most elaborate way to remain hidden.  Handstands, last minute flips behind columns and tall urns, a long swing on a crisp white banner over the heads of two guards with axes. He had ended each escape with a surreptitious glance at his lithe partner, Varatene.  He was showing off as hard as he possibly could, it would have been a waste of energy if his efforts were not being suitably enjoyed.

She smiled at him once or twice, but focused mainly on remaining unseen herself. Kissing each shadow, an alluring absence.

The top of the tower was just as she had described. A massive door fashioned from marble and steel – a glorious sun.  A stone column, top sheared off to make a simple table was in the center of the room. A pair of gauntlets riveted to the top of the table were the only other feature of the room.

Mobius had inspected the door with every ounce of unruly skill he possessed. He was convinced that the only way to open the door was with the gauntlets, somehow they were the locking mechanism. Cunning pressure plates were installed at the pad of each finger, just the right amount of pressure was required.

But the gauntlets were too big for his hands.

Even if my hands were the right size — I’d have to know the exact weight of each finger. This thing’s probably set for a very specific pair of hands, whoever runs this place probably.  Mobius spread his fingers as wide as he could, but still could only manage to cover three plates in each gauntlet.

“I hear someone.” Her lips were at his ear. “Two pair of leather sandals and the butt of two long-axes hitting the stone floor. Guards, soon, here.”

“….what?” the thief managed. “Oh! Guards. Yeah, guards are bad.”

He could feel her lips bend in a thin smile. “Do you find me distracting, thief?”

“A…a bit? But in a really, really, really good way.”

“Ah, but you must focus, Sir Mobius. The boots are coming closer, and the long-axes with them. We are cornered here and will not last long against the acolytes of Nasirah, Goddess of Law and Fire. You must open the door now. Now, Mobius.” Varatene delicately began to bite down on the lobe of his right ear.

“Grrruhh?” Mobius said.

The snake-eyed lady pulled back and whispered again. ” Open the door, thief. And I will ravish you. I will show you pleasure that will be spoken of in hushed, reverent tones as a holy sacrament of lust. I will leave you a shattered husk, stumbling and blinking through all the remaining years of your life as a man long blind who first sees the sunrise.”

“I will do that thing. I WILL DO THAT THING.” Mobius declared, and immediately brought his head down as hard as he could on the stone slab in front of him.

Zac Gorman - Lost [in the] Woods
Zac Gorman – Lost [in the] Woods
Mobius’ grandmother had always said that he was a little ‘touched’. That he had something in his blood, a little touch of the old magic. It was mostly useless, he had decided as a kid. Sometimes he could guess what color underwear his cousin was wearing without looking, sometimes he could throw a rock in the dark and hit a passing bat dead between the eyes, sometimes the wind would blow just a little when he wiggled both pinkies.

But sometimes, when he really needed it, his touch would help him. Mostly in dreams, but sometimes he could see over the horizon — in the fields of the world, and in the folds of time.

And he needed this. Bad.

The pain in his temple was sharp and his head rang with pain. But he saw it. Like a mummer’s show through a fog, a man in long white robes painted with a red and gold flame entered the room, and placed his hands in the blue-steel gauntlets. Mobius could see each of the mans fingers inside the gauntlet as they pressed down on the pads.

Still in the fog, he reached up and took Varatene’s hands. He slid them into the gauntlets, and laid his smaller hands carefully on top of hers. The woman’s hands were fine, but large enough for the purpose.

The tramp of the boots, the thump of the long-axe handle.

Mobius looked up, as he gently guided Varatene’s fingers with his own. Her eyes, flat and empty looked back. “You…you wanna…make out a little?” he said shyly.

Their hands moved slowly into place, as he guided the pressure needed — the dream-fog fading in his brain. There was a sharp click and the sun door slowly began to slide open.

Varatene smiled and pecked his brow. “Later, thief.”

She spun away, pulling him behind her. In two breaths they were through the sun door and Mobius pulled a nearby lever. The door quietly began to shut again.

The halfling started to shrug out of his vest, his hands going to his belt buckle.

“What are you doing?” Varatene hissed.

“Uh. You know? The lust thing? The thing you just said, back in there.” Mobius nodded his head towards the gauntlet room as it disappeared behind the closing door.

“Now?” the woman said with exasperation. “Right now?”

The halfling’s pants hit the ground.

“That never happened, Mobe. It never ever did.”

“Yeah it did, JJ! Gods honest truth, it totally happened.”

“She did you right there, on a pile of gold and jewels?”

“Well, there wasn’t a whole lot of gold, some weird thing about the Sarmadi — they think gold is evil or something. But there was a hell of a lot of opals and rubies. And a big pile of silk, where we Did the Deed. Twi…Three times,yeah. Three times!”

“That don’t make no sense, Mobe.  And you know it!”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You think I’m stupid, or something? How did you start this stupid story? Huh?”

“Oh. Well.”

“HAR. I gotcha. I’ll bet her gauntlet was…”

“Shut up!”

“HHAH HHAH!”

“Shut your fat face!”

“HHAH HHA—hey, why is it windy in here all of a sudden?”

Jan Ditlev Christensen
Jan Ditlev Christensen

Puppet Monologue #3

Sock Puppet: 

I am a sock puppet. A puppet made of sock. I am a sock puppet. A puppet made of sock. I am a sock puppet. A puppet made of sock. A puppet sock am I. Am sock I puppet made?

Made I sock? Puppet am I?

Am I?

Puppet! Sock?

Sock made I? I made sock?

A made sock. A made puppet.sockpuppet_2328709b

Of sock am I? Of puppet am I made?

Puppet of sock made I of sock sock made puppet of I. I am a sock puppet. I am a sock puppet. A puppet made…of sock?

Puppet? Sock!

Sock! Sock! SOCK! SOOOOOOOOCK!

Puppet?

Puppet made sock made puppet made sock made sock made puppet made puppet sock made sock sock made puppet puppet puppet puppet.

I am a puppet sock. A sock made of puppet. I am a puppet sock. A sock made of puppet.

I am I. I am made. I made I.

I am.

I am.

I am.

I am I.

I am. A sock puppet. A puppet. Made of sock.

Rime

I’ve been meaning to post this for a while. This was the first version of the cover art for the book featuring my female lead, Rime Korvanus. Also shown is a wooden pig. You know, a pig made of wood. What’s up with the numbers? DANG, BUY THE BOOK NOSY. [Edit. When it comes out…eep!] […]

Blanket Times

I’ve been withdrawing a bit over the past few weeks.

That isn’t innately a bad thing — we all need time to recharge, flip the switch from Extra to Intra — but its something I have to acknowledge.  Acknowledge and control.

Partly it’s a reaction to how busy and involved I was in various projects over the past few months. Directing a show, working on the book, etc.  And partly it’s a reaction to some family and life issues.

I’ve been describing it as a “responsibility allergy”, but it’s more of a reversion. To all those

Skottie Young - Artist
Skottie Young – Artist

halcyon days when I could crawl inside a book or a video game and the world would leave me be. Honestly, in those days, the World had precious little interest. A fuzzy blanket of disinterest over my head as I traveled with Link, or Crono, or Serge, or Long John Silver, or Garion, or Paks, or Mulder and Scully.

As I said, it’s not innately harmful — and honestly it’s damn therapeutic. I’ve beaten two [!] video games in the past month or so, finished up some books, and been binge-watching Netflix like whoa. If I could just lay in my house for a few days and play Ni No Kuni, that would be simply grand.

But I also Have Shit to Do.

Work, performing in A Few Good Men, Play Reading Committee, Sexy Bassoon Listening Party, Burlesque Beta, Shadeaux Bros., Titan’s Wake, The Ocean of Not.

And writing.

Most importantly WRITING.

Puppet monologues. My A Few Good Men fanfiction. Working a little more on The Option sequence. I kind of liked that snippet I tossed off, The Lines — maybe pursue that, forward or backwards in time.

And always Spell/Sword. I’m on hold until the last few of my Beta Readers finish their review, but the final push is coming. I’ve also got lots of background work to do with my cover designer on the layout for the print edition.

So, Blanket Times — but only in moderation.

Spell/Sword Cover Art Revealed!

Artist - Mike Groves/poopbird
Artist – Mike Groves/poopbird

And there it is. The cover art for my book.

This is real. IT’S REAL.

Let me let me tell you why I love this art.

1. It’s fun. Looking at it just makes me smile. It’s unapologetically goofy and cartoony. Most fantasy art takes itself so freaking seriously.

2. It’s different. This doesn’t look like 98% of the fantasy novel illustrations I’ve ever seen before. Not on the shelves at Barnes & Noble, not on Amazon.com or anywhere else.

3. It’s clean. All of the negative space just pleases me aesthetically. A traditionally published novel would want to cram more information and more verbiage on there. I’ll probably have my name on their, somewhere very small, but that’s it. I also think it’ll really stand out when seen online as a tiny thumbnail on someone’s Kindle.

4. It makes me think of Chrono Trigger. My book sits very comfortably in the mental space occupied by Dungeons & Dragons, JRPGs, and manga. I adore that this would not look terribly out of place on the cover of any of those three.

5. It will make people vaguely embarrassed to be seen reading it. Not so much with the Kindle version, but people who have the paper copy. Anyone reading this will be broadcasting to the world that they are a Huge Nerd.

Huge props to Poopbird on the illustration, you should follow the link from here or the image itself and check out his entire portfolio and buy stuff from him.

I hope this gets you marginally excited about reading the book. I know it gets me far more than marginally excited about finishing it.

Bubbling Brew of Malaise

Grump grump grump.

I have entered into a period of vague dissatisfaction.

There are many exciting things on the horizon for Spell/Sword: final edits are almost done, designer is lined up for my cover, cover illustration is complete, entered into the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest, should be ready to self-publish in February or March.

I’m very excited about these things. Every time I look at the cover art, my body begins to emit a

Artist - Rachelm
Artist – Rachelm

pearlescent light and strains of violin music can be heard by passersby.

But, you know, meh.

Nerd Concerns are also going well. I’m running two tabletop campaigns. Titan’s Wake, in Pathfinder, and Ocean of Not, in Legend of the Five Rings. Got a shiny new 3DS for Christmas from my beloved and have been playing with it more than I should. Beat the sublime Virtue’s Last Reward and am currently scratching the nostalgia itch with Legend of Zelda:OoT.

But still — grumble.

I even have ample TV fodder at the moment. Twin Peaks for my brain, and Bones for my stomach. We have a new dog that we’re fostering/becoming permanently attached to. My beloved is wonderful if over-busy.

Lately, I’ve been feeling the old, familiar desire to escape — to slip out of this reality for a while. An MMO would fit the bill nicely, but all of my computers are old clunkers that can’t handle it. Actually playing some tabletop would be nice as well, but I’m kind of booked with DM duties.

I guess it boils down to this: I just feel too damn ‘adult’ of late.

I’m ready for the book to be done and people to shower me with riches, so I can sit quietly in my apartment and play video games and work on the sequel. Buy a big house with a yard for the dogs, with a gigantic craft room for my beloved, and plenty of hammock space for all the burlesques. A swank kitchen for the Yellow Devil/Ladle to play in and a ton of guest rooms, so my family can come and stay whenever they want.

 

 

Deadline Magic

Image

Running against the clock always galvanizes me. Just the idea that the entry window for the Amazon contest might close before I get done editing, is pushing me to untold heights of GONZO EDITING.

“Oh, I really like this section. Too bad it’s boring.” CUT.

“You know, my Beta Readers were right, this chapter has all the exposition and it’s buried 50 pages in.” CHAPTER MOVE.

“Why’s Jonas so freaking emo in Chapter One?” INSERT JOKES.

“Huh, I never did really explain why Cotton hates wild mages so much.” BACKSTORY INFUSION ACTIVATE.

“Hmm, these two chapters are kinda thin now that they’ve been trimmed.” CHAPTER FUSION DANCE.

It’s liberating, at the very least. Only a couple more days of anxiety about it, before I have to bite the bullet and send my entry to Amazon. All of these changes needed to happen, nothing like a little bit of panic to spur me to make them.

Blech. This is why I like theatre. There’s a built in deadline:Opening Night. You can work and agonize on a novel FOR ALL OF TIME.

Spell/Sword in 300 Words or Less

[ I’m entering into the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award, for my chance at fortune and glory. I’m frantically making some reckless edits to the manuscript and getting it ready to upload, but the hardest part has been the 300 word Pitch that I have to include.  I gave up trying to write a respectable pitch a few hours ago, what do you think of this one? Comments and suggestions are very much solicited, but on the hustle people! I’ve got to get this thing submitted before the entry window closes. Would you want to read this book if you read the description below on Amazon.com?]

Two lonely kids learn that they can be friends. That they are better together than apart. Isn’t that what all great tales are really about?

Oh, you need some sizzle do you?

There are wizards in this book. And a witch. And swords. And a minotaur, and frogs on roller skates, and bad dwarven singing. And a dinosaur. And a girl and a boy. Loss and death and sorrow and joy. A couple of kick-ass fight scenes and some witty banter.

What, you need more than that? That’s all fourteen-year-old-me would have needed.spellsword

An airship explodes. A giant robot disrupts the sale of a garish urn. The concept of a box social is thoroughly interrogated.

The Magic Wild burns and the White Sword bites and the Gray Witch laughs.

An assassin. A seer. A knight. A squire. A coward. A girl with the power of sun and winter and death held lightly in her hands.

An improbable mailbox. Poor dental hygiene. Hangovers.

And friendship. That’s what it’s really about.

Rime is the girl, a wild mage. She can bend the very fabric of reality, but at a cost – a cost to her health and her sanity. Her power is unstoppable but it leaves her empty, weak, and often unconscious.  Jonas is the boy, a squire on the run – running away from the shadow of murder. They travel together to find the one person that can save Rime from the wild magic, from the inexorable madness and death that comes to those who are born to ignore the rules of the universe. The Gray Witch of the Wheelbrake Marsh, a creature out of a fairy tale.

The anti-epic fantasy, the nascent genre of Swordpunk: Fantasy Action A La Carte. Earnestly written in the shadow of Lieber and Moorcock.

[It’s actually only 299 words, so if you see where I can squeeze in one more, I’d love to hear it.]

Moving Chapters

Moving chapters all at once is TERRIFYING. 

Image
Catbus laughs at your Editing Anxiety.

Just that moment when you’ve cut one chapter, and it’s hanging in word processing limbo before you paste it into its new location — WHAT IF. What if someone bumps your hand and it vanishes forever?

Coupled with the terror of change — the TERROR OF CHANGING THINGS.

No wonder writers drink.

Ramble Roses

Editing on Spell/Sword continues this week. I’ve stalled long enough, picking at the edges, making the easy fixes. Time to get in there — not with the fire and sword — but with the spade and the watering can. I will be cutting a few sections – mainly when I combine two chapters into one.  I come to raise Caesar, not to bury him. Time to make the good stuff — GOODER.

Most of my problems are with the first eight chapters. The story doesn’t really settle into a groove,

Artist Unknown
Artist Unknown

and “become good” until a third of the way through the book.  That’s, you know, kind of a problem.

The first chapters aren’t bad, per se. Just a little unfocused. I need to clarify the positive, and beat back the connective tissue. It had to be there to get me far enough into the book to know what it was about, but now it disgusts me. DISGUST.

Now that I’m getting closer to actually publishing the thing, I find myself worrying about the classical forms. Stupid, I know, for a book that heavily features wyverns. All of the great tales are a circle, the heroes return to the beginning with the Elixir and the world is made anew.  The full arc of Spell/Sword is a tragedy of course, but this first episode is tangentially heroic. Or faux-heroic?

Ha, do I even know anymore?

It’s a story about two people, two kids. Two people that are doing pretty shit-tastically on their own. They meet, become friends, and learn that together they can incrementally reduce their level of life pooch-screwing.

In classical terms: No Big Whoop.

Two characters, incomplete.  Then two characters, complete.

With no romance.  Moirails, to use the excellent term that Homestuck provided.

Blah, blah — time to get to it.