Last legs of a pretty darn good year.

Hey all! I guess Christmas is a valid excuse for not updating this thing. Its funny how one holiday that actually lasts about 24 hours can literally consume a month. People nod and accept it saying that 'well, it is christmas season...' things are put on hold, tight budgets are loosened and diets are completely ruined; all for Christmas. But isn't it wonderous?

Now its over and I feel I must report on my writing activities for the past month and for the future year.

There does exist a new Piper Sorrows but I'm not satisfied with it. 'Confessions: part two' is actually a fairly critical chunk in the story that will unviel what Piper is about and who he is. As his character developed more or less at random from several short stories I'm forced now to think hard about who he is. It's probably the hardest part of stoy writing. Some characters write themselves, I've expiereced this before. Celest from Culture is one such character. In any given situation I know exactly how she should react. Piper is far different and, with a story as loosely defined as his, I need to sit down and figure out where to go from here. Rest assured there will be more Piper coming, but it won't come until I'm happy with his story.

Other than piper I've decided to give myself a very narrow set of goals. These include doing a certain amount of chapters as opposed to completing whole novels, and completing short stories. Piper stories, creature stories and Black Nine's stories are among the shorts I'll be working on, and Culture and 1001 will be the novel projects. As far as comic projects go there is a possibility of Piper stories being converted, as well as Under House. Others will be worked on as oppurtunity and time allow.

Thanks for all the support form the last year! It has been great! Happy New year everyone!

John, the writer.

I won. Though it may seem like a bit of a pointless victory, its not. My novel is far from done, mostly its a collection of "might work" chapters, some that aren't even finished, and a collection of notes that's actually more complete than the novel itself. It IS a victory. Under the presure of Nano, the story warped and twisted into something I hadn't planned on. It grew and flourished, it spawned ideas and new concepts that I hadn't previously entertained as possibilities. Most of all it created and killed characters and forced me to write more than I've written in the past three years, combined. I'm a better person for it though, right now, I am very tired.

Thanks for everyone's support, We'll do it all again next year :)

John, the Writer.

Nano is like a relationship.

Theres the honeymoon phase where everything is excellent, the days fly by and wonderful memories are created. Then theres the slow rut where you're comfortable and stable without doing anything spectacular. Then there's this time that apparently all authors hit: the slump.

I'm here, and its where we artistic types get the sterotypes of being angsty and depressed. How can life go on when this story is so horrible? The plot doesn't match up with anything, the characters are horrible and everything is very, very distressing. Its at this point that you wonder if it isn't time to call it quits, find something new to write and forget about this drivel. This is where I am with Culture.

I have the same misgivings about this story that I did when I first started it. The previous story ideas keep getting in the way of the new ones and the plot seems to be stalemating. From a prose point of view, its actually coming along very well; the city of Sarient is taking on amazing shape. But its not exciting, not yet. And an adventure that isn't exciting isn't much of an adventure at all.

With that said here's my plan going forward ( heh if anyone cares )

1) I'm hitting the 50K word goal. I will accomplish this feat by use of what I'm going to call the 'Odds and Ends' approach. I'm going to try writing bits and pieces of what the final product should look like, experiment with a bunch of different scenes that may or may not find a place in the final version and try my characters in a bunch of different roles until I find something that fits. This will not make a complete story. As far as I'm concerned this will result in a big mess.

2) I'm going to finish it. I won't be finished by the end of November, not by a long shot. But I think I'll be in a position that I know where the story should go, how the major events should happen and, most of all, know who my characters are. Imagining my characters has been the hardest struggle with Culture, but hopefully they'll stick with me and get me through.

That's my plan. If anyone wants to read the resulting "mess" of Nano, you're more than welcome to. I would really enjoy any critisism that anyone has to give me on this one. Just know it for what it is, a first try on a very large piece that will come into its own someday, Just not someday soon.

Thanks to everyone who's encouraged me this month and thanks to Tina for listening to my rants and smacking me when I needed it. Love ya babe!

John, the Writer

P.S. 27559 words and counting ;)

Update from Nano...

I'm not going to report too much today, except that I'm on track. I think I'm driving my fiance nuts with my constant word count calculations when really I should just be writing and checking it later, but thats ok. Less than a month to go Babe, then I'll go into edit mode ;)

Anywho, I took a four day weekend this past weekend that I was able to set aside at least an hour a day to work on Culture, and sometimes more like 3 hours. The result was over 8000 words written for a grand total of 19100 words. Already I've exceeded my word counts from last year, so that in itself is fairly major victory.

The real challenge will be to finish strong next week as One weekend I will be visiting my parents and there are a few days during the week when I have other commitments. Still, whatever the word result of this month, I am very happy with the place that Culture is going. Its exciting because its not a place I would have thought it would go a month ago and really, thats what Nano is all about; forcing a writer to expand their ideas of a story with new ideas.

I'm really looking forward to finishing this piece of writing, and looking forward to sharing it here and other places. I won't post an excerpt at this time as it really does need to be edited harshly.

Thanks for the support, and God Bless ya all :)

John, the Writer.

Update from Nano...

Hey all! I've got to say that I was right, somewhat. I feared that trying to rewrite a story instead of writing on a new idea might be harder just because there is a previous version. This weekend I kept trying to write on the original idea and lets just say, it didn't work so well. Saturday was a very frustrating day. Yesterday, however, was a good day and I came up with some very fresh ideas on how to use the characters I already had in a slightly different place in thier lives. Although I only have a little over 2500 words written (and realistically should have just about 10,000) I feel I am in a better mindset to forge forward. The hardest part is to keep from going back and editing as I get new ideas for the story, but that comes later, in december :)

Alright I will quit yaking now and give you all what you so deeply desire. Heres an excerpt from the first chapter of 'Culture: a working title'. I hope you enjoy this part as much as I enjoyed imagining Sarient's central train transfer station.

John, the Writer

Culture:

The square at Sage and 6th was the busiest corner in all Sarient. The two streets came to a junction and formed a square with most of three sides worth closed in with buildings, leaving an open square in the middle. Sage came from the east and exited the square through a tall arc at the far western side of the square, a tunnel built through the buildings themselves.
Originally home to a set of University dorms and two sides worth of shops and coffee houses flanking it, the square was now home to two of the largest rail companies in Dinland, the South Transit Company and Greenway Rail. The Dorms had been torn down in recent years to make room for the transfer platforms and massive service garage that both of the companies shared, but the stores had stayed on. No longer having to cater exclusively, the shops at Sage and 6th enjoyed a much higher volume of traffic. Everyone who worked in the South Side factory district had to, at some point in their day, pass through Sage and 6th.
As such the square had attracted other tenants; the nation's bank occupied a narrow space between two platforms and rose up in an umbrella like tower. The base only had room for several doors, two elevators and several teller boxes; the upstairs was significantly larger, as were the basement vaults and offices. Other less significant money lenders and accountants rented vault space from the Nations Bank. The Walton was a gentleman's club of high repute, walled off from the rest of the square with black iron and a small garden. Sherman's livery and tack, Maybelle fine dresses, various stores specializing in clothes or clocks or a hundred other things made up the malls on either side of the square, where the buildings at times were four stories tall. Each was attached to the other through a maze of halls and elevators, meaning that a shopper could go inside at one end and spend an entire day making their way through stores and come out on the other side.
The square itself was one of the only open squares left in the city where most of the streets had become clustered with houses and buildings to the point where even the streets themselves seemed to be shrinking. Street vendors, performers and baggers made the most of this, hawking wares from push wagons and begging for money by way of entertaining or pity. Children and dogs ran amid the legs of the workers that streamed constantly to and from their shifts in the factories, picking up garbage and scraps left by the commuters. It was a sea of gray workers tunics and grubby faces where the occasional bright woman's hat or fine business suit would drift, listless and then lost amid the shifting tides. The people were the water and the trams were the current.
Over the past ten years the rail companies had laid down mile after mile of track and set up the wires for the trams themselves. They moved almost endlessly, filling the city with noise, stopping only for a six hour period each night for maintenance. The rest of the time they moved people effectively, each seat crammed full and more passengers hanging off the side steps. Those that ran through the city ran on wires and electricity but the larger trams meant for crossing the Greenway to the North East were monsters powered on steam with elegant coach and dining cars for those that could afford it and box cars lined with benches for those that couldn't. From Sage and 6th a man could get anywhere in the country.

The continuing journey of Piper Sorrows. Ok so for those of you who have been reading the whole thing and are just starting to wonder 'who is this guy' and 'whats he all about' I started wondering the same thing. To that end this two part story will route out some of the questions. I know how the second part will go, I just need to write it BUT since Nano starts in two days that might be trouble. Don't worry there isn't anything like a cliffhanger ending here, so the wait shouldn't kill you. Stay tuned for Nano Updates next month and enjoy the next Piper story. Thanks and Goood night!

Sorrowful Confessions ~Part One~

The mountains gave way to sparse forest and hill land grudgingly, strangling all but the hardiest trees until the foothills finally gave way to prairie. In the same way winter had begun to lose its grip on the weather, but only ever so slightly; it was the coldest spring in memory. The wind still swept down from the tall peaks carrying winters bite, and the trees had not yet woken from their slumber even though the snow was vanishing. Piper walked the fields of this land without a road to guide him.
The heavy coat was open to his waist, and the scarves had been pulled back to be left dangling, despite the cold still in the wind. It was refreshing, in a way, to feel the bite of that wind. After so many days confined to heavy clothes for basic survival, it was good to let the body breath. It was good to feel the painful chill of the wind. It was good to feel alive.
Stopping on a knoll before heading deeper into the foothills Piper bent to draw a small sign in the dirt.
“I do not know why I come this way, some will or power draws me to walk this route,” he murmured to the wind. “What I once was, I am no more. Once a Knight by the right hand of Kanas, advisor and friend, now a pawn in a game I do not understand.”
He turned his face away from the mountains and away from the wind that swept down the shear rock sides. “All I know is that I seek and what I seek is not where I have been.” Suddenly cold, Piper gathered his coat around him and set off again into the wilderness of the place. In the distance he saw the smoke from a cooking fire and headed towards it.
The camp he happened upon was set in among the brush, a tent of sorts next to a boulder for protection from the wind and a low fire whose ashes and embers were stirred by errant breezes. Two spits of rabbit roasted and a small kettle sat on the rocks, warming slowly. Of men there were, at first, no one but a musket was propped against a pole of the tent near a bundle of provisions, showing signs of life. As Piper approached, a Leaf emerged from the tent and another on a horse came from the brushes, more rabbits on a string and a bow half drawn in his hands.
“Hold stranger,” the Leaf from the tent had a hard face, though finely sculpted. There were bits of scars on his face and on his bare forearms and the brown of his hair was intermingled with green vines. The leaf on the horse might have been of similar make though it wore a cloak with hood drawn fast and a bark mask over its eyes. It drew the bow with a fluid motion when Piper did not stop as suddenly as expected. Eying the archer, Piper held his ground.
“I would ask, one traveller to another, that I might share in your fire? Nothing more, I will do you no harm.”
“Know that I am not being overly cautious, these few woods hide terrors.” The Leaf on foot said, reaching for the leaning gun. “I have no argument against sharing fire as well as food, but I need some token of good faith first. These, as surely you know, are dangerous times.”
Piper nodded and took his coat off, “Of course. I am unarmed…”
“He’s a caster!” The Leaf on the horse said; a male voice.
“Yes. I do not hide it.”
“A caster…” The Leaf on foot thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I have eaten with your kind before and am still here. I am tolerant of casters.”
“You’re curious of casters!” The leaf on the horse spoke, leaping off the back of the animal with pure grace, bow still drawn and trained on Pipers heart. “It is your weakness.”
The first Leaf growled, “Na ca sin sol bach!”
“Na ca sin aln’th kat nora bin ala bach!”
“Na ca sin honk ala.” The two glared at each other for a moment before the Leaf on foot said, “my friend says I must be wary of those such as yourself. He wishes me caution.”
“I will not divide such friends; I will find my own fire.”
“No!” The first Leaf said forcefully, “you will sit with us and we can talk of powers.” He raised his hand and it shone, “I have some small skill myself.”
The masked Leaf lowered his bow, “though I do not trust those of men, you will eat with us. It is decided.”
Piper nodded and shivered, donning his coat again. The two busied themselves around the fire and soon knives were produced along with shallow wooden mugs. They took it in turns leaning in to cut slivers of rabbit, mixing it with boiled herbs from the kettle. The food was bland, but warm. Piper felt some warmth creep back into his bones.
“It is forest food, this brew we drink. Though there is nothing poisonous for man in it, that I know of, I do not think it nourishes you the same way it does us. For that I apologize.”
“It is more than am used to, and I am thankful.” Piper nodded his head and pressed his hands together slightly in thanks.
“Ah ha, see? He is wise and knows the proper gesture to thank a Leaf.” The first laughed, “I am called Twistknot, and this is my friend Thornmoss.”
“Piper.”
“Piper…” Twistknot tapped the flat of his knife on his knee. “The name seems familiar to me, are there many of your kind that are called so?”
“A few, you may have me confused with others.” Piper agreed. He kept his face downward. “What brings you to these lands; you are far from real forests.”
Thornmoss tightened his grip on his knife but Twistknot only shook his head.
“If you were a Leaf, we could kill you now without any feeling of guilt. We are of the banished you see, those you may have heard called Ouri. Our crimes are such that our people no longer acknowledge our existence. It is an insult to us to have that fact brought up, but you could not have known.”
“But now I do, I will not dishonour you out of ignorance again.”
“I’m sure we are both grateful.” Thornmoss said quietly, though there was an edge to his voice.
“Indeed.” Twistknot shook his head, glaring at his companion. “Though even banished as we are, we are not without use. We find work as mercenaries. My friend here has mastered the bow and I have diverse skills. Our people will not tolerate us, but they will pay us to solve their problems.”
Piper nodded, “I have heard of you, or those like yourself.”
Twistknot shrugged, “those of the Ouri are not uncommon and we do not hide. Lately even the sap bloods have found use for our brand of ruthlessness. See?” Twistknot grasped the stock of his musket and pushed aside the flap of their tent. Inside a woman was prone with eyes wide open but unseeing. She was dressed as a gypsy with a mass of curly black hair and gold earrings. Her dress was like the autumn forest, patches of red, yellow and orange fabric sewn together to create a tapestry.
“What was her crime?”
“Crime? Hah!” Twistknot cut more meat, “I think honesty was her crime. I heard that our current employer happened upon her as he returned from his winter home last spring. He is a fanciful leaf and demanded that she tell him her fortune. As I now understand it, she has the gift, you see. Like us, she has power. Our employer is forceful, and so she sets out her glass and looks into his future. She had the nerve to tell him what she saw and not what he wanted to hear.”
“A rare fault truth is these days.” Piper said quietly, keeping his eyes on the woman.
Thornmoss chuckled, licking his bowl out like a wolf and sitting back on his haunches, bow in reach.
Twistknot shook his head, “sap bloods are very vain, as you might know, and this one more than most. The woman eluded his own guards and using her power turned herself into a bird to fly away. It took us this much time to find her, laying our quiet traps.”
“I can’t imagine her fate now.”
“It will not be pleasant. We would have started her punishment except that we are under strict orders not to harm her. Not even rope burns on her wrists. That is why we use a subtle poison to darken her mind. She can do nothing without great aid.” Twistknot grinned wildly. “That I could be there when they bring the hot knives, the nightmare magic and dark herbs; her screams will echo.”
“Pain is truly life’s marker, I am almost envious. She will receive a great understanding of life before she passes.” Thornmoss agreed.
“All for the truth…” Piper said.
Twistknot smiled, “it’s a dangerous thing. But enough of that, you have eaten our food and now I would have you show us some of your skill.” He let the musket drop and the flap covered up the woman. “I am eager to learn from others. You see I have taught myself all I know with little guidance.”
Piper set his bowl aside and rubbed his hands on his coat, “it is the least I can do. You spoke of pain and suffering teaching you about life, of knowing life, understanding life. I have a trick I could show you that does this very well. It is simple but few have the courage to summon such things.”
Twistknot leaned close, smiling, “I assure you my mettle is absolute. I have killed men, tortured women and gazed into the dark wells of Kra’la sing where I first received my power. Show me your trick, but I should warn you. In the moment of your slightest betrayal, Piper Sorrows, my friend will kill you.”
Piper’s mouth twitched, “you know me?”
“Know you and know your worth.” Thornmoss had his bow drawn and trained.
“Already the poison that keeps her at bay flows through your veins. It is slow; however, slow enough that I could glean some knowledge from you before we take you to Jonas.” Twistknot spread his hands, “and there is no such order to keep you unharmed. The poison dulls the mind, but keeps the senses sharp. We will teach you something of life in turn for your lesson. Now, continue, please.”
Piper licked his lips, “then I have been caught fairly, it would be a shame if you had to kill me in defence. I might try to escape.”
“You are a target of opportunity, we don’t need the money and I can learn elsewhere but we are greedy. Your worth is great and I would learn from the best. Now, teach. It might be your last chance and we will be easier if your lesson is good.”
“In that case…” Piper flexed his hands, “this is what you might call a dance of shadows. You need water.”
“There is some in the kettle.”
“Yes, that’s enough, and placing your hands like so, you hum like this. There are other ways to work it, but I prefer music.”
Piper placed his hands on both sides of the kettle and began a low wordless song. His tongue tripped over the highs and lows seamlessly, whirling the music like a tool. The fire dimmed and the sun dimmed, for the song had qualities of night from the darkest days. The water rippled in the pot and then balled, rising up out of the pot and pooling into a ball that shifted this way and that. Instead of reflecting light its surface seemed to reflect shadows, gathering up all the bits of shade around the camp fire and casting them out again in mesmerizing patterns. Any light of the day dimmed to a memory.
The song gathered strength and the shadows in the water took form. Twistknot leaned closer, enthralled by it and Thornmoss let his bow string slip a bit, releasing the tension. The shapes became more solid to them, glimpses of memories and snatches of thought.
“It absorbs light and twists shadows into creatures, intriguing I have not seen magic of this sort before. They are, they are from my own life! I can see back into my life, the magic is showing it to me!” Twistknot leaned closer and Piper continued.
The song grew louder but the two leaf’s weren’t paying attention to that anymore, they were engrossed in the shifting shapes, shadows re-enacting their pasts. There were moments of joy and happiness, flung together with shards of passion and indulgence. Dreams and wishes flashed across the waters edge, reaching out with alluring hands to beckon the two Leaf’s inward to relive the best parts of their life. They could not look away, not even when Piper lifted his hands away, leaned into the fires’ smoke and shook a tear from his eye into the water. The joy vanished.
Nightmares and horrors stretched out clawed hands. Faces of aguish, victims and those wronged appeared as spectres. No longer were the shapes confined to the ball of water, but reached out grasping at the minds of the two. Thornmoss screamed, tried to run, but found he could not. Twistknot only stood, mouth open and eyes wide. They both fell to the ground shaking, mouths in wide soundless screams.
Piper let his hands fall, the water melted back into the pot and light returned to the campsite. The Leaf’s stayed as they were, frozen from the base realization of their evil.
“It’s a simple spell, but few have the courage,” Piper murmured, “I might have said few have the heart. A child can look into that magic and see nothing, for they are innocent. It only shows what is already there, nothing more.”
Piper crossed to the two Leaf’s and covered their bodies with blankets. “It will pass in time, the shock and the fear and I pray you learn from it. It is rare; few get the chance to look so honestly into their own souls, to be taught so much about them in such a short time.”
Piper opened the tent flaps and took the woman, still dazed from the drugs, in his arms and went off into the spares woods. He stopped before he reached the edge of the camp. “You were right Twistknot, the truth is a dangerous thing.”

October has come and you know what follows October...

Well, ok, maybe you don't but I realize that those that find November a very, very exciting month are of a certain type of mind. Mostly writers. Novemeber is national novel writing month and as such, every November writers will flock to http://www.nanowrimo.org/ in droves to participate in what can only be described as an explosion of creative energy. The single goal is to write 50,000 original, coherant words in one month. Preferably in a novel format.

Now, as easy as this might sound, it isn't. Not really. Alot of professional writers have trouble getting 50,000 words written in three times that time. I've tried three times and on only the first year have I succeeded, getting further and further from the goal in subsequent years with offerings of 30,000 words and lastly with around 15,000. Whatever the word count result, the ideas that were spawned out of this event are amazing. My first try created 1001, my second gave birth fo Condition Genesis and lastly the epic Underhouse was given some form. And so, I will try the contest again.

The past three tries have been original ideas with only loose frames to build on. At the urging of my wonderful Fiance to actually finish something I've started, I'm going to be using a well defined story idea that I've been meaning to rewrite for a long while. That Story is Culture. Before 1001 this was probably my most well defined world in terms of history, peoples, maps and characters. Below is the synopsis:

Culture is a story of politics and racism set against a fantasy world in which the planet has been broken and continents float through the air around a dense core much like planets around a sun. As the populations of the planet slowly discover flight, they discover they are not alone. The story follows Raven, the only daughter of the Elfin Ambassador, in a human city as she is caught up in a Nations Holy War against all things unhuman. The sides are blurred, but the stakes are unbeleivably high as she tries to rediscover her people's history, culture and religion in time to save it from extinction.

I'll be posting updates as to word counts and probably snatches of content throughout November (hopfully once a week if not more often). In the meanwhile I have about a quarter of the next Piper Sorrows story created, it will be up before November. If anyone is at all interested in novel writing, I would challenge you to visit the NaNowrimo website here: http://www.nanowrimo.org/ and seriously consider trying. Its alot of work BUT I can really tell you that if you become one of the small percentage that accomplish it, it is a fantastic feeling.

John, the writer.

My Adventures thus far as a Canadian Juror...

I had to write something about this as, driving from the courthouse back to work for the third time today, my expierence as a Juror has been fairly humorous and, I would hope, not common. But lets not start at today, lets start about a month ago when I received the letter. For the past month I, John Gunningham, have been a part of Canada's Judicial system, sitting in the Jury panel.

I had a couple misconceptions going into this thing. The first and probably largest is the amount of time it would take. I thought, naively as it turns out, that there would be a day of selection followed by, if one was selected, however many days of trial. This course of thought is very untrue. When selected to be in the pool of Jurors the court effectively owns you for 5 weeks. At any point inside those five weeks if there is a trial, you could be selected. So you're selected to serve on the first trial's Jury, you're exempt from the rest right? Nope. You come back the next week as they will undoubtedly need another 'panel of peers' to condem the next poor sod.

As it turns out, I'm 2 for 3, having been selected and served on 2 of the 3 court cases. Both ended the same way; the accused pleaded guilty before much of anything was done. So, as it turns out, a jury was not needed at all and about 3 days worth of my time was consumed, as a fire consumes paper, utterly without any kind of interesting by product. During this time they would give us 2 hour lunches only to have us return to tell us we could go, creating the equivalant of a human yo-yo. Perhaps this is just a game the judge plays, bouncing us like balls for his whims.

Now I have a theory. The court is intimidating, and this prompts wrong-doers to confess. A group of 12 people, strangers, staring, makes the accused confess. Therefore I theorize that instead of a Jury, we use a pack of gorillas. Large, male and angry. True the court system would lose a "rational" decision making body, however the intimidation factor would be through the roof. Imagine, your life in the hands of a 300 pound silverback, who will more likely squeeze hard than offer any sort of "Not Guilty" statement. Crime would stop. End of Story.

I just wanted to get that theory out there, if anyone with any kind of power sees this I would be more than happy to debate my condensed, abrupt form of Justice, dished out as it would be by a King Kong version of Judge Dredd. I also think bingo balls would be much prefered to the random selection dished out from cards in a box.

John.

Snow fell in bursts, blown down from the heavens by a wind intent on piercing through even the thickest of winter garments. The town gate, usually seen from atop the farthest part of Travellers pass, was obscured in white. Piper stopped trudging and held a hand up, the falling snow causing it to vanish at an arm's length. Yet, despite the wind and snow, the bitter cold and all the trappings of deep winter, there was a serene quality to the day. All sounds were muffled in the deep white, and the landscapes many rugged obscenities were covered up with sheets of snow. Not the cleansing of a thunderstorm, but at least giving an illusion of purity.

"Such is life," Piper sighed and he walked on into the town.

"Please Sir, my mama is sick, we need some small amount for food.... please Sir..."

"The winter... the guards took all we had..."

"Please Sir..."

"Please..."

Piper passed by them quietly, tiredly. The children and widows sat pleading at first and then spitting and condemning. It was their way, a nature inside themselves that could not be broken; the way of the begger. Having what little they earned taken from them for tax filled them with spite, not ambition to strive for more. It was a cycle that the current merchant lord of the town could break, except for greed and lack of any good intentions. So the snow fell and heaped on their slumped shoulders, covering them but not purifying.

Piper sighed and slowed his walk. A large man sat shivering by himself, holes in his wool mittens.
"Please Sir, the crops... the Master took what the drought didn't. Please Sir, I have family... anything helps... anything at all..."

"Do you have anything to trade?" Piper asked the man.

"I have... nothing..."

"I can not give you charity, it must be a trade. There is nothing that I can give you that will help past this day, but you may be able to give me something to help yourself. Tell me, what is in the sack, the one that hangs from your belt?"

"Please Sir, only next year's seed. I keep it on me for fear of theft, these are hard times. I can't trade it, I can't."

"Is that so? You still grasp onto hope for a better year... I think there is a way that we can both be warmed this day." Piper said, "you see, I am looking for the good in this world. I have been cursed with a name, a name that brings upon me grief and trouble. I travel to find my faith again, my faith that things are not as bad as they seem. Trust me, good Sir, and I promise that you will be rewarded in full. I will trade your seeds for a song."

The man stared at Piper, his haggard face one that had seen too many promises broken to be naive. He had lost everything, his family depended on a bag of seeds tied to his belt. Yet there was something in this strange man's eyes, something that spoke of kinship and hardship and, above all else, an endurance that had allowed him to rise above all that had happened. The man had felt great sorrow, yes, and yet he remained. There was something in him that was worth trusting.

Hesitantly, the old farmer reached for the bag, then stopped.

"A song?" He stated flatly, "this is my future, all of it. What am I going to do with a song?"

"You'd be surprised," Piper said, "it is a very, very good song." Still there was that sorrow in his voice and honesty unburdoned by even a trace of a lie. For an instant the farmer beleived him, beleived that all he really did need was a song, a good song, and his life would be put back to order. He handed over the seeds.

Piper smiled.

"You have kindled something in my heart, you have nothing and yet you gave it on the word of a stranger for nothing more than a song. You trusted me."

"But you said... you said I would be paid in full?"

"And so you shall, so shall you all!" Piper spilled the bag on the snowy ground to the protest of the farmer. From the inner pockets of his long jacket he produced a long pipe and, upon wetting the wood with his tongue, began to play.

The first note was like the dawning of spring, a warm gust of sound that stirred hope inside the old farmer. More followed, and the blizzard hesitated, trying to decide if it was correct in blowing snow into a place where such a song existed. More notes came, and they layered impossibly so it sounded like more than just one man playing the flute, but choirs of beautiful singers creating a music beyond imagination. Slowly the song progressed from the earliest of spring moments into a time when the plants would bud and the new seeds would put down their roots.

The peasants and beggers came, drawn out of their misery to the music and, upon gazing at Piper, they could not beleive their eyes. Snow blew around him, but did not touch him. The air had grown warm, not a lull in the storm but an absolute absence of it. The song had brought spring to that place in the town, the snow had melted away and, before the unbeleiving eyes of the villagers, the seeds spilt on the earth had began to sprout.

Sprouts of grain threw down their roots and grew tall and lush in that moment of spring. The music turned to a summer rain and the plants were nourished. As the beggers watched, more people came, merchants and business men and guards from their posts at the wall. They saw the grain stalks grow into a sheaf, and thicken, twisting themselves around each other until the stalks were like the truck of a tree. The magic of the song made the grain grow taller, far taller then any normal grain, with golden branches and silver leaves, spreading out over the heads of the crowd. A dark fruit hung heavy on the branches, dipping them low.

Piper's fingers slowed on the pipe, the music wound down until the chorus had left and it was just him playing, a simple traveler and a pipe. And then the music was gone, the crowd left blinking in the special silence of after music and winter storm. For a moment they almost beleived it hadn't happened, but there the tree stood, untouched by the storm and heavy with food. A guard pushed past the crowd.

"I claim this tree in the name of the Lord Merchant!" He exclaimed and moved forward to grab the produce. His hand stopped inches from any branches and though he strained he could not force his hand closer. Cursing he drew his sword and swung hard, the blade stopping short with enough force to jar the man backwards.

"What manner of magic is this?"

"Its a beggers tree, it only feeds those that need it, those that deserve it." Piper said. He put the pipe back into the folds of his coat and picked a fruit off the tree. The farmer stepped up and reached his hand forward, picking a fruit and gingerly trying it. His face brightened.

"Its good!" He yelled, and threw his head back laughing, "come and try it! It is good!"

The beggers came and the peasants came. Any who were deserving ate their fill and there was still more. Those undeserving could not reach the tree, and the fruit they stole turned to ashe in their mouths. The beggers of the street rejoiced, singing praise to the myseterios stranger and exclaiming to those that had just arrived the miracle they had witnessed.

"He played a song, thats it! And the tree grew where the storm parted!"

"You're daft! That was more than a song, that was powerful magic, of the likes I've not seen, nor heard!"

"It was a miracle! A miracle! Where is he? Thanks to you stranger, where is he?"

The people looked but Piper had left, moving on like gust of wind in the storm. Looking back from the road on the town and hearing the noise he smiled. Slowly he tugged off the glove that covered his hand and gazed at the glowing marks there. Two of the sun's beams were glowing.

Tales of Sorrow...

The door bell rung, a heavy dong that resounded the whole of the room. It was a Stone pub, built heavy with large things, tables chairs and walls all over built. The door bell was no exception.

"Leave guns and stuff with me, no trouble wanted here. No trouble wanted." The towering Stone gaurd rumbled. He hardly bothered to glance at the lean man who had arrived from of the flurries outside.

"I'm unarmed." the man said simply. The Stone guard shifted its gaze slowly, like a mountin moving. Bits of grey living pebble crumbled at his neck joint where the winter wind had patterned frost. White eyes regaurding the man whose only defining feature was a stock of redish brown hair pushing past scarves and the tall collar of his jacket. Dark tinted snow goggles hid the rest of his face. He was ageless

"You travel out there with no guns? Nothing sharp? I no believe you. Give them over, no trouble wanted here." The Stone rummbled again. His wieght had started to shift, massive gey boulder hands reaching out to grasp the man if needed.

"No guns... but I have this..." The man pulled a thick glove from his hand and held the hand up. A glyph in the shape of a sun glowed softly on his hand and the air around him turned warmer. Only one of the glyph's sunbeams glowed like the core, though, making the marking lopsided "I can't give you my hand, its attached."

"I can unattach anything." The rock hands kept advancing. There wasn't a smile on the cold face.

"I doubt anything." The man said. It wasn't a threat, it lacked the tone and any air of malicious intent. Still, the heavy man's hands stopped.

"You no make trouble?" He rummbled.

"I'm hungry and wet, I don't need trouble."

"How do I know?"

The man paused. "I swear by Kalas, our Dead King." The man spoke slowly. His words carried wieght, causing more in the tavern to look than when the door bell had rung.

The Stone turned slowly "Mistress?"

A woman dressed in fur cloaks and a ring of beads strung in her white streaked hair approached. She was younger than most in the place, but heads nodded an acknowledgement of authority as she passed by. Her eyes held fire and her the sort of beauty that can be found in chisled statues of heathen goddesses.

"You swear by a dead king? what kind of promise is that. Why would such a man as yourself hold your word to that?"

He started to speak but she raised her hand.

"I know more than you think, I see more than you see. Your aura is filled with pain, your power is more than mine. If you willed it this house would be in ruins. But I also see a calm mind, and a weary traveller. You may stay, so long as you wear my mark."

"I gave my word on Kanas..."

"You are far from that broken kingdom, a name of a Dead King carries little wieght here."

"So be it..."

The woman extended her hand, looped in beads. Each bead was written a mark of power. At her touch blue light blazed from the man's forehead, then his eyes and then his mouth. In an instant he fell to the floor of the tavern, a yelp of pain escaped his lips.

"Kanas was a fool!" the woman snarled, pacing around the man in agony. "Did you think your name had not reached here? Did you think someone of your stature would not be looked for? Jonas looks for you, and punish all who get in his way. We will deliver you, so I think he will shower us with gold, is that not right? Man of Sorrows?"

The man writhed, but then the light dimmed, the mark on his forehead squirmed like a living worm. All the while the heat in the room rose until waves rippled around the man. His shouts of pain became something else, words of struggle muttered in the forgotten langages of Inferno and Suns. The woman looked on unbeleiving.

"No! This is my house! My power will not be undone under My roof!"

"This house is... undone!"

The Stone's did not move fast enough, the mark on his forehead shattered and the man rose off the ground in a pillar of fire.

"If Jonas comes, tell him I look still, I will always look. His power will never stop me!" His eyes were light and the voice that emitted shook the tables of the Stone tavern. "As for you, you who tried to bridle me, you shall wear my mark. Piper Sorrow says so."

The woman was powerless to stop the advancing finger, frozen in fear. The mark seared into bear hand and each bead she wore melted into smoke and ash. The fire dwindled, the man left and the woman remained, broken.

Well as my Creatures stories are hodge podge at best and the most I've blogged lately has mostly been structural (planning, story boards, character design and plot line sculpting) work for 1001, I don't really have much in the way of content. So I've been reading a few other writer blogs, seeing what works in this super short medium and what obviously doesn't. I'm used to detail, twists and turns and though my skill be great(hah!) it is a small petty, thing beside the greatness of my peers, whom tower over us all in their grasp of english and story telling.

So here's what works, I think, and this is what I'll try. Episodes. One constant character in certain situations. The setting will be the creatures universe, and you can rest assured that all the common monsters will be present. Gobs and cans and leafs and drops will all be present in their own ways as our main character strives through situations, a hero beyond imagining. haha should be fun, I'll post soon about this character but for now I will leave you a name: Piper Sorrow. Though he is known by many other names...

I doodled this in about 20 minutes haha, just a weird idea I had:

“It’s my turn! Harvey did it last week, Shae the week before its my turn to feed the master!”
“Is not, its mine.”
“Oh and whys that? Cause you’re bigger?”
“That’s right, that’s the rule of the Gob, bigger is better.”
“Well I’s smarter, you wouldn’t want to be saying the wrong thing to the master would you?”
“I wouldn’t say anything!”
“Well that could be the wrong thing, right? Say the Master wants a little light conversation while he’s eating. Say he says to you ‘how’s the weather up top and outside?’ or ‘let’s debate on the current state of the Markets’ Asks you a simple question like that. I don’t trust you not to say something stupid!”
“I hardly ever say anything stupid, ‘sides, you don’t know how to debate the current state of any market!”
“No, but I could pretend like I did. I could say something like ‘oh its been one of those years, hasn’t it master?’. That’s what I’d say, and you wouldn’t. That makes me smarter than you.”
“How’s about I thump your skull until you’re as dumb as you say I am then? How’s that for a solution?”
“I don’t think I like that…”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t, here give us the food and I’ll let you be. I’ve been here 6 months, I want my promotion.”
“I’ve heard good things about the promotion, that’s what I really want.”
“I know it! Everyone who feeds the master gets to live up top and work in the palaces, they never have to come here again!”
“They get good jobs, not our sorts of jobs, its true if what they say is true.”
“They never come visit either… so I want to get out! Give us the food before I thump you!”
“I know! We’ll do a bit of gambling, that way it’ll be fair! We’ll toss coins for it!”
“This isn’t a trick is it?”
“I don’t want to get thumped…”
“Right then, I’ve got two coins, I’ll be evens you be odds. Here goes…”
Pause
“Aha! Odds! I win!”
“Well maybe next week I can, come visit us a little if you get time?”
“Yes… yes I’ll come visit a little. Well, wish me luck!”
“You don’t need it, you are very smart, but luck anyhow.”
“Thanks!”
The passage to the master was long and low, but getting lighter with every step the small Gob took. A red fire burned like a never ending furnace in the master’s chamber, in the master himself. The passage ended and the Gob stood on a ledge overlooking a vast glittering pile of gold and treasure. Upon the top of it sat the master, a red wyrm coiled countless times, fire spouting from his nose and mouth, lighting the whole expansive room.
“Food yer Masterfulness.” The Gob exclaimed.
The master moved lightning quick, snapping up the gob in hi maw and downing the basket of garnish in one quick bite.
“Hmmm food, yes, barely. Must look into getting a maiden sometime soon.” And the master settled in for a week long nap.

I hate ranting about movies.. which is odd because I do it so often. But A few little points about Fantastic 4: rise of the silver surfer. I like that they kept it true to the source, or at least fairly true to the source. The bickering between the team had a very family feel to it, the events, teh characters, you could believe that would be how they'd act. And really, I can't complain about most of the acting, it was well done for the material they were given.

HOWEVER, does all that make a good movie? Well.. I guess not. I really beleive that the second suffered for much the same reasons as the first movie, but because the first movie had the benifit of the origins story and teh second one only had the benifit of the wedding... well lets face it, an origins story line will win out over a simple wedding theme every time. Couple that with an anti climatic ending annnnddd.. well yeah.

Basically I was expecting a blockbuster and what was presented was something I might watch on TV. Anyway, it was decent but wasn't in the greats of movies as far as I'm concerned. Silver Surfer was pretty cool ;)

oookkk that aside, I'm working on a few little things that I should post later this week. I'm basically rewriting 1001 and then working on a little side project at work when I have a few spare minutes. I'll more than likely post my FINISHED 1001 prologue and the first bit of my work doodling in subsequent days. Until then! adios ;)


John.

Just a quick update ( cause they're easy! )

Josh and I putting the final spit and polish on our Comic "Thistles" this morning, mere hours before it needed to be sent in to editor. It is finished and I feel great about it. The story is one of my better ones and I'd say Josh's art is as good as its ever been too. As this is the first close to full length comic for both of us, its really been a learning expierence and was invaluable from an artists perspective.

That said, if you see Parable in your local book store / comic shop, pick up a copy to at least thumb through. Thistles should be right there, a gem among a hoard of artistic treasures (seriously there is alot of solid, solid talent in this little anthology, and theres something for everyone I think)

John, the writer.

These heros they rise and these heros they fall...

Hey,

so this is odd eh? Two postings in a month? I have to say I'm weirded out too, but in a good way. Its a fuzzy weird that warms the stranger parts of my stomach (now that isn't gross at all...) now on to other things.

This is more of a "hmm" post than any kind of story, unfortunately. (though I think this thought will lead into a story at some point, we'll see). This "hmm" has to do with superheros and, more specifically, spiderman 3 that hits theaters everywhere this weekend. It has me worried, honestly, I'm worried, and heres the reason why.

There are a few writing techniques that a writer might employ to keep a series like this going. When a film hits the third installment, it has to have something that the first two didn't or else your audience is going go feral and start fires in anger. you have to keep the story fresh. Alot of the time that means adding more. New characters, new plot new twists and new settings. It appears that spiderman 3 plans to use the first two. (NOTE: continuing storyline is another thing that keeps a trilogy rolling, and spiderman franchise uses those wonderfully. Not in a Lord of the Rings sort of story arc, but subtly in the character relationships and certain events.)

We've seen in x-men that cramming as many classically cool characters and story lines as possible into a film is not a winning combination. There hits a point of confussion. S3 plans on three villians, sandman, venom and the Hob-Goblin. I'm worried that its too much. Saying that, the themes that come with these characters are extremely similar. Harry needs revenge for his father, peter is looking for revenge for his uncle and, well, we all know what Venom is about: a creature born for revenge.

Can the directing staff balance these characters? I'm honestly not sure. History says yes, the previous installments have been wonderfully imagined and recreated for the big screen. That said there has never been three villians, each big enough to carry his own movie. Add to that mix Spiderman's inner demons he must resolve all the while romancing MJ and getting sage advice from Aunt May.

Its a big film full of big ideas and alot of larger than life characters. So much so that it has fan boys drooling. I want to say this movie will be amazing, I really want to. And it could be. It has potential to be greater than the previous two, it could surpass any other superhero movie ever created! It could! But after a disappointment like xmen 3, where the CGI was amazing and the story was a confusing hodge podge of dribble strained from one of the richest superhero worlds in existance, I hesitate. Pheonix, Magneto, Beast(finally!), angel, collosus, juggernaut... how could have they went wrong? But they did.. and S3 could too.

Thus I hesitate and thank goodness for teh interweb where I can post my thoughts where they will be lost among the hundreds of thousands others.

End thought one.

I actually had another thought, that is similar but at the same time not. How does a new writer create a new hero? Think about the attempts recently and compare them to the household names. Highschool high? That wasn't a serious SH flick. Zoom... not up to speed. Mystery men? Again a comedy. You can stretch the defination and go to characters like Riddick but he doesn't really fit. You could say "the incredibles" but thats animated. Most current blockbuster films are going to comic books to get their heros. I can't blame them. Rise of the Silver Surfer? Of course I'm going to go see it, and it wouldn't matter what story they pick or if they decide that the best way to beat him is with a clown army. Its the silver surfer! Might as well be the golden surfer, its a no brainer when it comes to ticket sales.

I think thats the trouble. You would need a good character, and I mean really good. And your story has got to be tight, so tight it starts to restrict circulation. But on top of that you need to break through the "whos that?" Because your character will not be superman, he won't cling to walls and he won't ride a flaming bike. Also, unfortunately I would say a huge percentage of the good powers are taken. Flying, shooting fire and freezing junk have all been taken by about a dozen other characters. Original superhero models are hard to come up with, so on top of everything else you have to break the "pffft that guy's just like daredevil, spiderman, iceman, pyro, xavier..." the list goes on to infinite.

bottom line. Original superhero = tough. Therefore I want to try it. Stay tuned for a few shorts about heros and, possibly, maybe something a little longer about the "Returners". Except I'm not allowed to start anything new until I have something finished... so off to work on 1001 :) still, short stories are good breaks... haha. until next time!

John, the Writer

Huzzah! The victory shall go to the swift... oh, nuts...

Hi everyone who still reads this from time to time. I've put some effort into another 'Creatures' story and really the only thing its helped me figure out is that I need to define this world and this style of writing a little more. Its mostly inspired by the art over at http://www.messs.cc/ and I guess the best words for it would be 'Surreal' and 'minimalist' That said, I know its not for everyone but I think with a bit more work and alot more of the igredient known as plot, this world could survive. I know it will have to lose the minimalistic appraoch for it to make any kind fo sense but for now, I give you "Clumsy: creatures number two" Soon perhaps I'll take you all to the Barrens in a more orderly and detailed way, but for now I kinda like how this piece turned out. Enjoy.

~Clumsy~

“It’s the Gob’s fault. Always the Gob’s fault. They’re clumsy with everything. Life needs finesse, life needs style. Gobs are too clumsy, too …”
“They smell too.”
“See? Everything about them is clumsy. Their smell even. Clumsy clumsy clumsy, can’t even dance. Can’t even sing… Gobs… Gobs… Gobs… no good, no good…”
“No good at magiks.”
“Right! Magiks! They’re no good at that either, its cause they’re too clumsy… too clumsy for it. You need grace, style; magiks need style and grace. There’s a flow, you need a flow for life too. Gobs are too clumsy for the flow, they don’t flow.”
“Don’t know what she sees in him, I just don’t.”
“Gah! …”
Bartender Hjen looked up from his station, eyes winking slowly, one at a time.
“You shouldn’ta said that… life is cycles, everything goes round. He was almost done the cycle, the crying cycle. Now he’ll start again.” The last eye blinked and the bartender turned to get another mug to wipe. “not healthy ta start another cycle before the first ones done, now there’s two cycles, none of them finished. How’s he gonna heal with two cycles spinning and nowhere to go?”
Lilin shook his head, “you sure you weren’t a sage?”
“They don’t let me in the library.”
“How do you know about cycles then? Huh?”
Hjen shrugged, “talent for it I guess. They’re obvious, cycles are.”
“I suppose. Still… I don’t understand them.”
“Natural for me, life’s full of cycles if you watch careful.”
“You’d be a naturalist then?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“For a Gob! She left me for a Gob!”
Lilin’s companion of drinking was not the center of the bar’s attention, but neither was he unwatched by the other creatures that drank their private poisons. It was difficult for the patrons of “The battered Warrior” to decide which was more entertaining, the drama of a Shrub who had lost his girl to a Gob or the two Drops who were dancing on the tops of tables, lacy wings beating lazily in their stupor. The age old argument of Comedy versus Tragedy had reared its head and was being unconsciously debated between the patrons. A typical day at the Warrior, such as any day is typical.
The Warrior stood hunched in the middle of the Barrens, an area of vast plains and sudden cliffs. It had once been a machine of war, a metal man of sorts with sunken eyes in a hunkered chest and four great arms. In whatever battle that had ended its life, the warrior had been struck to the ground so that the arms and legs were pillars of rust and invincible metal holding up a cradle in which Hjen had seen fit to build his bar. There was a shrine at the door of course, to appease the spirits that might call the building a desecration of a body in death. Hjen had thought it suitable tribute that a dead meknic machine of war was now used to celebrate life, a cycle he called it. He was scholarly like that.
The patrons were of a multinational, inter denomination and cosmically diverse sort, such as could be found in the barrens. There were no Darks or Sharps, and very few Tin men (though only because the tin men didn’t find occasion to socialize with soulful men) but most other races were present. The Barrens welcomed all, because it received so few; it was a hostile place to live and work. Thus there were those that flew with wings and those that flew without, there were green and blue drops, red and brown Shrubs, Gobs of all shapes with a sprinkling of man blood strewn about like a breeze. Clods and Hoofs and Tall Men, all sat shoulder to shoulder. Metal adorned many; Meknics loved the Barrens.
“See what’d I tell ya? Cycles, he started all over again, ruined the cycle he was in, now he may never heal, he might always hurt.” Hjen started his eyes winking again.
“Hah wasn’t my fault, he’d have started again anyway, look, see the door there? That’s his girl, the Shrub with the amber eyes. And see there? That Gob behind her, that’s the Gob of our friend’s woeful tribulation.” Lilin shook his head, “I should not have said anything, for I think he heard me, now there will be blood I imagine.”
“It would not have made a difference, he would have seen anyways.”
“That Gob! That’s the Gob, the clumsy, clumsy Gob! I’ll ruin him!” Lilin’s friend said, eyes flashing dangerous colors of magic and rage.
“Friend, let me buy you another drink, to help you along in your cycle? Hjen here says it’s not healthy to break a cycle. He should know, he was once a sage in a different life.”
“Was not, cycles just come natural.” Hjen blinked slowly once but put his mug down and squared his shoulders, “they won’t let me in the library.”
“If you are my friend, unhand me! There is injustice in this room and it has the look of a Gob!”
There was a flare of light and Lilin’s hand was flung from his friends shoulder. The Shrub leaped into the air, hoisting a lightning bolt in his outstretched hand. The two who had entered, the amber eyed girl and a rather large Gob looked up in surprise.
“No!”
The bolt came crashing down, the shrub’s body convulsing in magical release and he crouched breathing hard for a moment before looking up to behold the chaos that he had turned the Warrior into. Meknics sat rigid, with weapons morphed and outstretched, swords and barrels all shivering in anticipation of use. The outlaws dug for hidden guns, not checked at the door, warriors drew knives and those with the Art, readied arcane powers, twisting reality to make fire and light. Anger and tension boiled; the shrub’s lightening had missed its mark.
“She’s gone!” The drop sobbed, body limp with her friend in her arms, “her spirit is fleeting! It is nearly gone!”
“I.. I…”
“What have you done?” Hjin said. His eyes winked but did not move, there was nothing left to do.
“She’s not gone.. not quite…” Lilin had rushed to the two drops, and laid a glowing hand on the burnt drop’s side.
“She is, she is gone!” the drop wailed
“You’re drunk, she’s not gone… you, you with the cross, use your skill. I have no art to cure this, but you! You and your science may!”
The Gob that had entered with the amber eyed Shrub grunted in agreement and lowered a visor. At his left the meknic arm folded and moved, its thin wires and worming cables took the drop gently from her friends hands. The friend released her, collapsing into Lilin’s arms as the Gob enveloped the small being in his healing cocoon. On his back a life pack filled with meknic fluids charged and expanded, the creation engine priming for the work at hand, humming. The red cross of a medic swung on a chain at his neck
“It’ll be ok, he’s a healer, look at his science, it is beyond me but he will fix her.”
“He’ll change her! She’ll be changed… it won’t be the same ever again…!”
“How could you? Look at the pain you’ve caused, look at it! Look at her! This is why I left you, this is why you’re alone. How could anyone be with someone like you?”
“I was alone… I wanted you back… Gobs are so clumsy, I always thought they were clumsy… maybe.. maybe I was clumsy all along…”
“Parts, she’s broke good, anyone got parts to give? I don’t got enough ta do it.”
They came, the meknics and scraps gave away their bits. Pathways, conduits and sheeting. The Gob took what they offered, grunting and added back the drop’s fragile wing, filling her ruined body with synthetics. Sparks flew and the fluids from the Gob’s life pack drained into her veins, reviving parts of her. Fingers twitched from an arm that lay outside the cocoon and a foot kicked, dancing ever so slightly like it had moments before disaster had struck.
The Gob’s arm collapsed, finished its job, parts of it folding and turning back into an arm shape and ejecting the Drop like a manufactured thing. The life pack stopped its humming, and became small again, the Gob resumed his normal appearance, except for the sweat on his green face from the exertion.
“Is she…?” the friend approached cautiously. The Drop shivered, still covered in creation fluid, the bits of her that were burnt and broken were now hard and cold, metal and meknic science.
“She ain’t what she was, but I fixed her. Dunno what’s left, what’s there now.” The Gob said, “I need to drink.”
Hjin set a double wide flagon on the bar, “tonight it’s on the house.” Hjin shook his head, “that was some cycle, I’ve never seen a cycle like that before, never like that. Is he alright? Or he goin’ ta pop?”
The Shrub who had lost the amber eyed girl, who had missed with his lightning and nearly killed the Drop was still where he had fallen, he had not moved. The amber eyed girl had moved to her Gob, hand lightly on his shoulder and her hip. Lilin gazed from the bar, attention split between the two Drops, hugging and wondering at the meknic miracle and his drinking companion, still on the floor.
“I guess his day was always tragic, tragedy builds and builds, it never lessens. That was before he was angry, getting angry always makes things worse.” Lilin said to no one. “I guess its… I guess it’s a cycle.”
Hjin blinked his eyes slowly, wiping mugs. “What, were ya a sage in a past life?”
Lilin smiled, “I doubt it, they don’t let me in the library.”

hi·a·tus –noun, plural -tus·es, -tus.
1. a break or interruption in the continuity of a work, series, action, etc.

Yeah... or something like that at any rate. I've decided that everytime I have a few seconds I'm going to update this blog. It'll be part of my 2007 "get your butt writing more!" initiative. I gotta tell you, its only going so-so. I've dialed my one short story a month goal back to getting one out every 4 months or so.. and then work on the coninuing projects that have been continuing for... ages...

But enough of that dismal stuff, heres the good news!!

Parable's due date is less than a week away and Josh is hard at work to hit that deadline. I gotta say hes something of a machine, with plans to finish pencils (4 pages) inks (9 pages) and coloring the whole thinga basically (thats 15 pages...15) Haha and yes, he WILL complete this task which he has set before himself, because thats the kind of talented super, 11th hour artist that Josh is.

So thats the big event on the horizon for me (and Josh of course), since its my first time being published in anything that wasn't the church newsletter. Stay tuned for updates and publishing dates!

Otherwise, I'm really going to try posting more snipets of thigns up here. I've started a few more creatures stories, so we'll see how those turn out. Great things Loom!

John, the writer.