Courage

The more of life that I experience, the more I value courage. I don't mean fire fighter type courage, or the kind of courage it takes for a soldier to take up arms in the defence of his countrymen, although I do not want to belittle that courage either! I'm talking about the kinds of courage that make us do things we're not used to, to take risks in faith and actively receive the gifts that God gives us. I fully believe that God works in our lives, providing opportunities and ways for us to improve. The catch is that we need to have the courage to say 'this IS a gift from God, and although I think there could be problems, I don't see the bigger picture. He does and I need to trust that this is what I must do.' Courage, I think, is faith put into action; the best kind of faith.

I would be remiss without quoting C.S. Lewis: “Courage is not simply one of the virtues but the form of every virtue at the testing point, which means at the point of highest reality. ”

I think that sums it up quite nicely.

I don't usually include testimony, but I truly believe that so far 2015 has seen a bounty of gifts and these things deserve praise and exclamation. There is some significant work that needs to be done on our ageing house and I was having trouble figuring out how to pay for it all. The solution arose that we could use equity in our home when we renewed our mortgage. The timing was perfect as our mortgage was due for renewal; we wouldn't suffer any penalties for renewing early. This catch: our payments would increase, no small thing when our budget was tight to begin with. But we went with it, saying 'things will work out'.

Almost out of the blue I was offered a different job (I'd given the company a resume four months previous and had forgotten about it) with a large pay increase, more than covering the extra costs of the new mortgage. It's a great opportunity, a great company and a great place to advance my career. the Catch: it's way across town far from bus stops and we would have to find another car. I took the job saying 'things will work out.'

I found an excellent car last night, a 2008 VW with extremely low KM; it's almost new and so long as the financing comes through, we will probably buy it. The payments are within what I think we can afford and there will probably be a 90 day no payment option that we can take advantage of, just enough time for me to get past my probation period with the new job.

I'm very excited to see what is in store for us next, I can't believe that this is the end of our blessings and all I really want is the courage to take these gifts given us and make good use of them. I realize I'm posting this in a public forum, and that it might be seen as less than helpful in terms of advice, so I will leave with what I think I have learned.

Do not be wary of gifts. Do not be wary or cynical. If it appears to be good and wholesome, it is an opportunity heaven sent. Do not find the small faults that might lead to excuses, these gifts ARE free, even if they don't look like it now, God will not present you with an opportunity only to withdraw all support later to see you fail, He wants you to succeed. That our mortal comprehension can't see past the now shouldn't let us influence the decision in the least. Be courageous, be bold and live the life God desires for you. Receive His gifts in confidence, knowing that his bounty will continue and that success is all but assured if you should only accept.

John, The Writer.

Mockingjay: How to properly preform a revolution or revolt.

I saw the latest hunger games this past weekend. We'd watched the first two and I had been really impressed with Catching Fire. Great plot, great characters and you could really see how the whole series of events was designed to make Katniss into a 'hero'. Mockingjay: Part 1 continued with a lot of the good character development that we'd come to expect and plot wise it did several other things really well. I really liked how Katniss wasn't forced into being a soldier; just because she survived the games doesn't really qualify her for real combat, she has no experience on a battlefield. I'm sure in the last of the series, that will change but such is life and Hollywood.

What bothered me most was the way the common men and women went about revolting. In both cases the emphasis was on sacrifice instead of a tactical goal and preserving life. While sacrifice is both noble and inspiring on screen, it doesn't make sense in warfare when simple alternatives present themselves. While I can understand that these are simple people, it makes perfect sense for District 13 to have agents planted to help organize efforts. And to supply them. The Dam sabotage scene is a great example.

Let's say that the bombs make sense since they need explosives for their work. Let's say District 13 is taking a hands off approach to helping. Let's just assume that. The people came in mass because they knew most of them would be human shields that wouldn't make it out of there alive. I have no idea what kinds of firearms those white mask guys are packing, but the bullets seemed to be stopped by a human body. Now if it were me and I had an ounce of self preservation, I'd have rigged up some kind of shield, medieval siege engine style. I think that makes sense, right? Stop half those bullets and save a ton of lives. Now if District 13 had supplied them with even small amounts of fire power, then everyone's getting out alive, right? I mean, those poor guys walked pretty much right up to the spillways in the fog before anyone said boo. Rockets launched from under cover would have done pretty much the same thing as their bombs in a box. I saw the District 13 weapons depot, those guys HAVE rockets.

Anyway, it was a very dramatic scene. People dying for their freedom etc, but I couldn't help but wonder if properly led why the Capitol wouldn't have fallen years ago when they seem to be falling now to a bunch of ticked off peasants with death wishes.

Closing the Year, Looking Back, Peering Forward

I sat down to write stories, but found that the words wouldn't come. So I figured I'd add to my blog as I listen to a Podcast of a Warhammer 40K match. I think my geek cred is safe :) As far as writing goes, 2014 was an interesting mixed bag. More interaction with writing communities through scribophile and wattpad and some relationships made there, although less volume of writing was produced. Mirror Mirror kind of stalled shortly after summer which is unfortunate as it had gained a decent following on wattpad. Mynfield Mysteries was tinkered with, but nothing significant progressed. The only notable writing I've done recently is paid work through textbroker, which was a nice infusion of income when we're living paycheck to paycheck for no apparent reason. I've also struck up a relationship with a professional UK editor, which was had some mutual benefit.


Looking forward to 2015, I have two goals. One short story for the March submission deadline of the Canadian Writers Guild Annual Short Prose competition (http://www.writersunion.ca/short-prose-competition) I've started work on a short story I'm tentatively calling 'Insomnia' about a man(being?) who deals in sleep as a commodity. The second goal I'm setting for myself is to finish a novella in the same world as the 'Angel Home' series. I need a good ending before I start anything and my intent is to develop the setting of the Angel Home world in preparation for a larger piece. If I can complete these two goals, I'll start looking at some of the other projects that have fallen to the wayside; Mirror Mirror and Mynfield rising to the surface as projects with the most work done on them to date, Angel Home coming in after as most complete idea.


2015 should be interesting. Unfortunately other constraints on my time, most of them because of stressed financials, are making it so I ether have less time to write or less energy to write. I'll continue my technical and product writing for textbroker, as it's a decent source of income although rarely could be considered creative work. I often wonder if I could work on my craft for a year if that could see any marked improvements or rise in quantity. I'm not sure. I doubt I'll ever have the opportunity to find out either.


Happy new year to all and best wishes as time lumbers on,


John the Writer

Appearances

I think I always feel like since very few people read this blog (if any?) that I don't really care if it falls out of date. I should care, and I should update it more if only to make sure that anyone who does care gets what they came for. You know, appearances.

Current Projects : Mynfield Mysteries: Story Boarding, Mirror Mirror editing, Saara's Avengers Fanfict: writing. Seems like enough, right? I'm keeping busy :) Between school and work and life (and video games) writing is taking a bit of a back seat. Though I am trying www.wattpad.com a bit to see if I can get some fans or a following. Not putting Mynfield up there as I'd like to submit it at some point. Some odds and ends YA stuff though, that seems well received at least.

You can read them here : http://www.wattpad.com/user/JohnGunningham

For now, thats it. Just a little something for appearances.

John.

Took alot of Cold Hard Want to get what I got...

I was looking for a book to read about a week ago and picked James Frey's 'How to Write a Damn Good Mystery' off my book shelf. I friend had given it to me quite a few Christmas's ago and I never really read it. Likely because I figured I knew everything already. Hah. HAHAHAHAHA... hrm. I don't. No, oh my no.

James has some really, really good points on creating a story written by your characters. He stresses really good character development to the point that when situations arise you can ask the question 'what would this character do in this situation?' and you can answer yourself clearly. He also stresses making sure that there are lots of characters in opposition to each other. This ensures a couple things: first your plot will make sense, since characters are doing what makes sense for them to do. Secondly your plot will have conflict and excitement and action since you have carefully set up characters that will be naturally opposed to each other.

Simple stuff right? It is, really, but man... basics. I've never been formally taught in creative writing, unfortunately, and maybe that's part of why I struggle so much with getting projects finished. Frey also stresses step sheets and planning out your whole novel start to finish before writing. Thats including parts that are happening 'behind the scenes' and things that the reader sees and are actually written. All these events are brought back to the question of what would your characters be doing at any given time. That way the story has a fluidity and things are moving of their own accord as characters go about their lives perscribed by you, the writer.

Using this process a little more and getting some more planning done before hand so that Mynfield Mysteries has some direction seems to be helping. Just starting chapter six and the first five chapters seem to jive with each other and the larger story. I'm calling it act one for now as I jump from the wilderness to Arconis between chap 5 and six, we'll see how it works out in the end.

Anyway, just posting in order to post something.

Another note, www.radiou.com is just a fantasitc online radio station and House of Heroes new cd 'COLD HARD WANT' is simply amazing. They have the whole deal up on youtube, you can check the official links here : http://www.coldhardwant.com/

John, the writer.

The Process...

I've read a lot of hints and tricks to writing over the years. Above all I feel that several elements of story done well can carry a story. I'm feeling that way about 'Name of the Wind' right now. He has a good world, is an excellent story teller and knows how to weave an entertaining series of events. Somehow his story at times lacks what I feel is the right atmosphere, but it doesn't matter, really. The story is firm and engaging. I'm having trouble putting it down.

The more I write the more I realize that the details are things you learn and the guts, the main things you're writing you have to win. I used to write to my '2 of 4' rule: have at least 2 of the following 4 things in each chapter; action, a question, an answer or information. I've discovered now that this doesn't really work as it doesn't inheritally promote flow and pacing. With any entertainment media, I've begun to think of pacing as king (I've likely mentioned this before). Pacing requires a continuity of events and relationships between characters. To this end I've adopted the simpler model of Reaction and Action. If all events (actions, dialogue etc etc) are either actions or reactions, then by default you're bound to create chains. Chains have flow. So long as every action produces a reaction and the chains are designed to grow, a certain pacing is established that can be maintained relatively easily as long you don't have errant links.

Anyway, I thought I'd post this to keep something up here. It's a good trick for anyone having trouble piecing plot together.

On another note; Avengers. I'd just like to say that all special effects and big names aside, pretty well made movie. An interview with Joss gave an interesting insight; he wanted to have each character have equal time in the spotlight, something I think they did really well considering that all Avengers aren't created equal. Thor, Cap, Hulk and Iron man are kind of on their own level leaving Hawk Eye and Black widow behind. During the movie it felt that each Avenger had their uses, even if their strengths weren't on par. Except at the end. I really don't see how Black Widow and Hawk eye survived that last battle, even with their more extraordinary friends to bail them out. At any rate, that's nict picking. When the SHIELD aircraft carrier lifted off for the first time, I got goose bunps.

John, the Writer.

We all Fall Down

I've been listening to ForthAngel on repeat for the last few days. Their latest release "London Bridges" resonates. Check these lyrics: "I'm standing right here / Right here on the edge / of a beautiful life" and this gem "but we all fall down."

I think they got it. I think that there is the answer. We are all of us, each and every one on the edge of a beautiful life. Do we fall? Oh man yes. Bad stuff happens. Terrible stuff happens and it rips your heart out of your chest and you stand there watching the life ebb from you and you wonder how you can take another step for fear of greater disaster. THAT is life. It's a war of attrition meant to change us from who we were to who we're going to be. You choose who you will become. Sure we fall. Sometimes it's our fault, sometimes it's other people who push us and sometimes it's events completely out of our control. But always, ALWAYS we have the option to step into that beautiful life. Everyone falls, its how you get up that makes you who you are. Makes you think.

Life Lessons the Hard Way

I like this site : http://www.sfwa.org/  It always seems to be filled with realistic people as far as Science Fiction and Fantasy writers go. Since using wattpad hasn't garnered me any real attention, this article struck home as a good reflective piece of advice. It follows along the same path of that fatherly advice I received when I was young : Anything worth having is worth working for. The question the blogger asks is whether authors or would be authors should try to self publish. His answer is no, not unless you've been proven good enough to do so. The rejection letters and editing etc etc are a learning process that are part of a writer's trials. Yes there's fire. Yes there are tears. Yes you will be a better writer at the end of it. I guess each person needs to decide what they want out of the expierence and determine the amount of sweat and rejection they're willing to spend to get there.

School is nearly finished for the summer, I'm litterally days away from my last exam. I haven't written on Mynfield Mysteries for a while; it's been on hiatus until I can get school over with. I haven't not been writing, however. Years ago a friend and I worked on a game design document that was mothballed for a while. My brother recently got the idea to design some sort of tower defense game and was asking me for advice on how to go about it. His project prompted me to dust off 'Dungeon Mercenaries' and work on the design document. It's fun because it's easier than trying to write characters and story, kind of a break is as good as a rest. It might even turn into a story someday since game design, rpg game design specifically, is basically world building.

I have another post in Draft talking about my impressions of the newest movie crazy "The Hunger Games" and how it compares to other recent pop culture phenomena. I didn't post it because I'm not sure I've formed a complete opinion yet. I am facinated by something that can resonate with so many people. It speaks loudly that there is something missing in this culture that people are trying to find and that one place their search takes them is the theatre. They must think that they're finding what they're looking for, as insubstancial as it is, and are eager to escape to that world for a little while.

Hopefully more Mynfield Mysteries as time allows and soon!

John, The Writer.

Mynfield Mysteries - The Long Road Home

I'm proud of Mynfield Mysteries. It is my best work to date. Most of the plot is clear and the pacing is decent. The characters are the types of people that I've always wanted to read about. All of them are flawed, which I like. Characters in a story have to grow and, above all, they need to behave according to thie virtues and their vices. The growing, however, takes time. I'm hoping this story allows me the time to see them grow. Jonas is the Catalyst for this growth. He, himself, may not change much but I'm hoping he will effect change around him. That would be the theme, I think. One man acting can change the world simply by changing himself.

I've always envisioned Jonas as a Doctor Who type hero, but I know this isn't entirely true. Although not violent by nature, Jonas' mysterious past (so cliche, I know!) has been very difficult. His greatest trait is that he hasn't been utterly broken by this past, becoming strong because of it. He's already had to change and the reader doesn't get to see what he was before, but they have to know this man is better for it.

If Mynfield Mysteries has a theme, that is it.

I've posted the first chapter here:

http://www.wattpad.com/3597823-mynfield-mysteries-the-long-road-home

I hope it comes as an enjoyment.

John.

Pray for the Rain, May it Redeem Their Eyes

Putting in an effort to get something in this blog once or twice a month, even if it's just fortune cookie philosophy tempered with theology. I've been writing, but I think I'm going to expand my wattpad page instead of here. 14 views on Life Plus, no comments. I think I'll post some Mynfield Mysteries up there. I know it's different from alot of the popular stories that are front page right now, but at least it's a different style than Life Plus. More character and story and less dark at least, right now it's less dark. Brings to mind the question I've had before, if an artist creates with no audience... what is his motivation? To what end does he struggle? Maybe it's moot, but I still feel I need to get these stories out. They may consume me otherwise, flesh, bone and marrow.

I've been giving some thought about the casual state of morality in local society. I doubt it is any worse than in many other ages, but maybe it is. There isn't a metric for this, no gauge that can really be used to measure how defunct society has become at any given time. Generally, though, there is a moral defficency that I feel is getting worse, at least in the younger generations. Traditionally the church has been responsible for the moral fiber of a community, but is it an absense of 'church'? Air1's Brant Hansen has a great interview with author and researcher David Kinnamon about youth leaving the church here : http://soundcloud.com/air1radio/nsff-2-3-12-fin If this topic interests, I recommend listening. Within they discuss the church's relavancy in todays culture and, specifically, why young people are leaving the church.

I think it's more than an absense of religion (Christian or otherwise, almost all religion, afterall, is based on morality). I think it's an acceptance and even a tendancy to reward unethical behavior. Walking the halls of the University, I overhear a lot (I'm not nosey, just observant). Should a story of binge drinking leading to blacking out be accepted? Should a one night stand be rewarded with a fist bump? These are, unfortunately, as close as many people get to adventure these days and people are generally bored. It's everywhere because it's easy to do. There's a general acceptance that these things happens. It seems generally this is considered not excellent behavior but not exactly terrible. After all, who's being hurt? Unfortunately the answer is likely themselves; it's self destruction wether they see it as that or not. I could argue pretty successfully that any selfish behavior is ultimately self destructive. It cheapens the soul or if 'soul' is too heavy a word, it deadens ones sense of morality.

I don't have a close for these thoughts, which isn't fair. Problems should have solutions. I'll end with some bible that should be obvious but doesn't seem to sink into the minds of 'safe' men. Psalm 15:4 "Despise the Despicable". Hard words, but I think easy going is killing us all. Wisdom and courage are needed by those with concern.

I'll post some wattpad links later, cheer this place up a bit.

John, The Writer.

Marketing

I read through a bunch of my old blog entries the other day and decided that instead of waiting to have a story to post, I'd just write a little blip. Maybe add some links. Tragically this is just filler since no one reads this. The IDEA is one day someone will hear something and say "hey that John guy.. he's alright. I should google that guy!" and BAM! This blog pops up and there you go, at least someplace I have writing for people to read.

Apparently writing is more about marketing than writing unless your pen drips pure genius. For those of us with moderate genius, we need to spend as much time promoting as we do writing / reading to stay current on the craft. It brings to mind the old addage, "if a writer writes and no one reads it, does he actually exist?" Maybe not. Depends for the reason you're writing I guess. If it's personal than you could happily spend years writing a massive epic and upon completion, set the whole deal on fire. If a writer writes for basically ANY OTHER REASON then he wants someone to read what he's got.

I think the key to this is with any craft, it needs to be supported by a community. Thinking back, the last time I had something like that was when I was posting on elfwood (it still exists! I think my account still has material on it actually...) but that was ages and lifetimes ago. I know I've grown alot as a writer and hopefully as a person as well. Maybe it's time to start taking this writing thing a little more seriously. Maybe it's time to take this writing thing ALOT more seriosuly.

That means getting the name out. That means getting people interested. In a world where fan bases are whimsical and treacherous things, how? I have a plan. It's not even manical. I'm goi g to read and give honest comments. Wattpad is crazy active. Most of the comments I've posted thus far have resulted in replies within minutes of my posting. I blame iPhones. My story has as of yet no comments and four reads, each of them mine. I'll be posting something a little longer there soon. From what I've seen, people like things with chapters in them. I HAVE that. I have alot of that.

Signing off for now, will post with updates on this little marketting adventure pans out,

John, The Writer.

Winning and Losing.

I entered a contest here: http://www.writersunion.ca/cn_shortprose.asp and didn't place. The part of me that had dillussions of a winning entery springboarding my career as a writer is a little sad. But, as that plucky little frog says from the storks gullet "Never Give Up!" The problem, likely, is that I'm not good enough. I can fix that, I can get better!

I started a wattpad account and posted teh story there. I think that makes more sense than posting it here. For one, the formatting isn't completely nuked by blogger, whihch is a useful feature in a writing site. http://www.wattpad.com/3395374-life-plus?p=1 

I started reading a few science fiction pieces on wattpad and just have to say, to any writers that MIGHT come across this post: vulgar language does not immediantly make your story more mature and respectable. If anything, it shows a lack of expression that a writer can't get that specific mood set by any other means. I should ellaborate.

I see this in books, comics, movies, TV shows... every concievable creative media. There's a pattern, a formula that is used that, while works to a degree, is not always optimal. It's more than vulgar language, it's mature content in general. Sex is thrown into media to make a scene more exciting, it works because sex is exciting (reguardless of your opinions on the matter, it is) but it is often a crass use of it. A cheap trick to get cheap results. There are times when it's used expertly, read The Watchmen to see what I mean (don't settle for the movie, the original TPB lead-up, background and execution of this scene is superior to the silver screen rendition). Here it means something more than a cheap thrill. It means something because, to the characters, it is actually meaningful.

Vulgar language, when used for shock value, should be used sparcely. I can't say I'm a fan of crass words, but I understand their effect. to quote C.S. Lewis on the same type of subject "Don't use words too big for the subject. Don't say "infinitely" when you mean "very"; otherwise you'll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite." It's the boy that cried wolf syndrome, use something too much and your readers will become accostmed to it. Then, when you really want some shock value, it doesn't hit as hard since that same character cursed similarily wether their sports team missed a play or their wife has been kidnapped by terrorists. See what I mean?

In closing and on the same subject, I've seen movies and read books that built up more charge and more expectations, and therefor more satisfaction, from two characters kssing than from the steamiest sex scene. Think on that.

John.

 

The stamps are pasted, the envelope sealed tight and on it's way a week before the deadline. My entry for the Canadian Writer's Guild is away! The suspence! The mystery! I'm quite proud of my entry as it's actually one of the few stories I've been able to close (appart from my Piper Sorrow's shorts) This has no prospect of a sequal, it is a one shot, another soemthing that I rarely do. The premise is something that I fear may come to pass: as the world population increases, and as technology increases, a viable solution may be for those that can to retreat into a virtual world, effectively creating warehouses for bodies and decreasing the need for food as the body would need minimum substance to maintain health. In these virtual worlds, people coul have access to unimaginable and fantastic simulations... they could, potentially, have godlike powers within a fake world. How would that effect the human mind? Man was not made for godhood... I suggest it would not end well.

November is only days away now and my next project will be for NaNoWriMo. I skipped last year since I was working on Mynfield Mysteries, a story that has taught me a great deal about the epic. It will continue to teach me for years I imagine... but I see it as manageable and so will eventually finish it. This year, however, I see no reason not to stall Mynfield Mysteries for a month in order to put effort into another project : Mirror Mirror.

This concept was originally suggested to me by an aquaintance and I've toyed with the idea for quite a few years, going so far as working on it with an artist (for just a moment) to see if it was a viable comic idea. Time, anyones enemy, put teh project on hold. But man do I have notes, and ideas and scenes and characters and... well everything that one would normally dump into a story. I've got a good idea where I want the story to go and thanks to MM I've gotten better at making critical decisions that make plots move.

The premise is this : there is a world parallel to ours called Temple, and the inhabitants are created from elements of this world. Courage and valour birth heroes, villiany and malice spawn monsters. Enter the Lost Soul, a being that has been fated to be reencarnated in different beings until it was time to be brought forth once again into Temple. Until that time it would slumber, passive. Wishing to help fate along, the Librarians use a powerful artifact to awaken the Lost Soul early making the life of Dawn, the current vessel of the Lost Soul on earth, very difficult. Drawn into the world of Temple against her will, she must fight to find and save her friends while being hunted at every turn by those that wish different things of the Lost Soul, a power she doesn't understand.

I like the idea of prophesy and doing weird things with it. I'll post the prologue sometime November 1st, since I should be done it by then.

until then, Cheers!

John, the Writer.

I have a wonderful acquaitance who has led me to beleive in seasons. Not the literal seasons, but more the seasons of the soul, seasons of life. Literally it is Autumn in all it's dying blaze glory, trees lit like torches in the last furious days of heat before winter awakes to embrace us. I think life wise I am Autumn as well, preparing to weather the winter that is inevitable. This is where my writing is as well.

Mynfield Mysteries is continual, but with my additional course load this semester, progress has slowed. Who knew an English class would have so much writing and reading invovled. I'm nearly a quarter way through the first draft, with planning finished on significantly more. A little a day, it'll get done, but as always my goal of a 100,000 first draft by December will fall short.

I've, then, turned my goals to the slightly less ambitious. There is a short prose contest held annually by the Canadaian Writers Guild with the aim of flushing out those hidden writers among my countrymen. The bait : 2000 and consideration from several magazines. Their yearly catch is varied and skilled. I aim to be among their number this year. I already have a first draft; I'm not one for math but 2500 words sounds smaller than 100,000.

NaNo is coming speedily as well and I think I will attempt it. I have a fun idea. I'll post about it when I have more time.

sadly this post is largely just to keep this blog current. To those that care, I will attempt to post more frequently, as things come to head, so to speak.

Oh I hope they come to head.

John, The Writer.

Much has happened, and much continues to happen, though things seem to stay much the same. Curious, isn't it? Last night I was tired from life and all the things I WANT to do and all the things I'm REQUIRED to do through my assumed responsibilities and had the thought that the mundane was crushing the wonder in my life. Human beings, wether they know it or not, are wonder starved. So many amazing things surround and premeate our existance on this world that we're lost perspective on wonder itself.

This morning I was more rested, and while biking to work in the glory of a bright new day, I remembered that. Perspective is the only thing separating you from your personal wonder.

I digress.

I wanted to write here because I have not in a long while. It is now the 1st of June of the NEXT year to my last post. Not a full year absent, but half a year. This is what has happened with my writing.

The Prachette contest I missed, though intentionally and I have not given up. I realized teh first draft, or even a second or third revision of the story that was in my hands I was not happy with. I'm using bits of the original, parts and ideas, growing it into something that is actually mystery instead of an attempt at one. I'm trying something new, building the story in an outline first, and then editing the outline until the ideas themselves flow. I've always held that pacing is one of the most important aspects of story telling. Balance and speed. This process I think is helping me become more focused and allowing me to write this larger work without getting disorganized. Some writers, I know, just write. and then revise. and write more. I think I should not allow myself to do that, at least with these larger works.

I won't post here until I'm happy with how the story is unfolding, but I will post updates. By December 31st I hope to have a 100000+ word first draft. I think this is realistic for length of the story I'm hoping to tell. I'm happy with the new begining I've laid out, and I'm happy with the final scene that is in my outline, I'm only missing certain parts in between. I'm following the classic 'mystery' rules of suspects, red herrings and whatnot, though these things I don't have much practice with. It's a learning expierence, to say the least. One that I'll share here, to any and all who care.

John.

I have been gone from here, and for that I apologize. I have excuses, oh so many excuses, but I fear none of them are valid. Still, I have not been idle. In fact, idleness has utterly eluded me. I dream of being idle, but such dreams are not to be.

Here is what has been happening.

We've moved! And thats working out well.

I've gone back to school! Part time while attempting to continue to work full time! Apparently I'm nuts! So farso good though, the term is nearly finished and next term I only have one class inste ad of three.

Wife is pregnant! So thats an exciting additional thing!

and finally... Mynfield Mysteries.

I've been writing like mad. Mad I tell you! With one goal in mind. This: http://www.terrypratchett.co.uk/news/termsandconditions.html . It means a finished novel of at least 80,000 words length ready to submit by the end of December. To the current instant I have 77967 words completed. Of a very rough first draft. Is it doable? Yes. Is it likely... no. At any rate this will be one of the very few times that I've managed to finish anything. AND that I've ever written anything of this length. So far I'm quite proud of it, and need parts of about three chapters to finish the initial draft. Then editing time. Editing like a mad man. I won't be posting any chapters here, not yet. I will post them after everything's done and rejected ;) If it wins.. well, then I'll post a link to amazon where you can buy the thing.

John, the writer.

Just a quick update...

We're buying a house. So thats new. It's also time consuming. I think once I get my new office set up I'll be posting more Mynfield Mysteries. Also, in my truest writing fashion, starting again from the beginning. Square one. Just Jonas. The following Novellas will tel the story of Jonas from when he first arives in Arconis, how meets and befriends Carver and Paddy and solves all sorts of crimes. Also he gets underneath the local authorities skins (of course) and generally tries to find out what happened to his family. Who is Jonas Mynfield? Why, just stay tuned to find out!

John, The Writer.

And here we are. Since so many wait with Bated breath or... haha... hmmm. At any rate Chapter 5, right on time.

This weekend I watched the new Sherlock Holmns movie and since the idea of Jonas was to have him similar to Sherlock and Doctor Who and all the other great detectives who use their minds as their greatest assest, I learned something. Of course, in true John writing style, I haven't actually read any Sherlock and haven't really watched much in the way of his adapted films. So... yeah. Jonas is his own character, and I think if I want to trend him closer to who Sherlock is, I'll need to make it very clear that he knows alot more than most people give him credit for.

Mynfield Mysteries needs stronger characters, more defined characters, characters with enough depth that a reader, once they know them, will be able to tell what the character will do in most situations. Or, when the character does something against their nature then it is an affront to the reader, if that's the desired effect. Once that's in place, stories seem to write themselves, really. I'm striving for that, of course. The only way to create these false people correctly is put them in situations where there are moral choices. I'm starting to understand what sorts of situations those are.

Anyway, first drafts are great for getting things sorted out. I'm getting it sorted out... slowly. Enjoy Chapter five. This one took a while and some editing to get it where I wanted. More to come before the end of the month. Carver gets his own chapter! who wouldn't like that?!

John, the Writer


Chapter Five

"The heat's out again this morning." Carver waddled his way off the lift and into Jonas' labratory. "There's no hot water either and I've got no one sleeping with me to keep me warm, so you want to know what?"
"What's that Carver?" Jonas asked absently. He was bent over a trunk, trying to find a few certain things and not having as much luck as he had hoped. He knew he'd put the solar heater he'd invented somewhere in this trunk, but hadn't he brought it out to impress that Gazo dancer that one time? The one that said that winter in Arconis was a terrible thing and he'd offered to warm her up. She'd called him a sleaze at first, but later she'd called him more flattering things, if he recalled. He remembered her freckles and the way her hips swayed from side to side when she danced, but he couldn't remember where the heater was. Had he given it to her as a gift? Sometimes he did that, his passions often blinded him...
"I'm cold and grumpy." Carver concluded, "now what are you, as landlord, going to do to ensure I don't take my rent check elsewhere?"
"Nothing. I have murder on the mind." Jonas said, taking out a long handled weapon with an end that crackled electricity. He discarded it as fast as he had the three layered belt and the stuffed squirel that ground coffee beans.
"Murder? Who's murder?"
"Mostly my own. Paddy's life hangs mere fractions of inches lower on the scale and at the very, very bottom there's the death of Rupert Taras." Jonas shook his head and closed the trunk, frustrated, "I'm sure that if all the plans that are being plotted run their course there will be others as well, the extra's in this little drama that are, like all good henchman and innocent bystanders, expendable in the eyes of the Taras family. Murders."
"Seems alot to have on the mind," Carver paused, "you mean Rupert Taras the Taras Patriarc?"
"The very same. It seems his childern want him out of the picture and the old boys going to have some sort of deranged sport with them about it. Something like that axe throwing game those old invaders used to play I suppose. Some sort of thrill about cheating death." Jonas moved to a closet, "I will never understand why anyone would want to procreate. Childern end up leaving you, killing you or sticking you in a nursing home agaisnt your will. Anyway, I'm right in the middle of it all."
"Par for course with you." Carver said, nudging what looked to be a toaster oven with blinking eyes with his toe, trying to wake it up.
"Probably going to lose my head over the matter, no matter how it all plays out. Against my will of course."
"Also fairly normal." Carver gave the toaster invention a solid kick.
"Worst is, I could run now, but there's a Von Eskhieser invovled! My own damnable curiosity is getting in the way of my better sense!"
"You know what they say about curiosity and cats." Carver gave up on the toaster when it refused to move and stopped blinking.
"And I can't find my solar heater!"
"Bah! Complain all you want, you're not the one that stepped into the showers this morning expecting a nice blast of hot water and instead getting a taste of the arctic!"
Jonas peered out of the closet at the old man, "I'll do you one better. We leave on an expedition to the Frillda Uplands in one hour. That's the actual arctic, not an Arconis autumn squall."
"Running all over creation, leaving your tenants to freeze in their own beds and you have things you want me to do for you?" Carver crossed all four of his arms, keeping the canes on the ground for support. "I think I should need to be very well compensated."
"I suspected as much," Jonas said grimmly, "while I am not able to attend the boiler myself, I realize that winter is coming. Yohan and Son's pipes and parts has been notified and will be coming when time allows. they've been paid already. In the meantime, this should sufficently warm your old bones." From an end table cluttered with things, Jonas picked up a rose colored bottle with a yellowing lable half peeled off. "It's a good age. I have a few of the good ones left, only for my staunchest friends."
Carver took the bottle hesitantly and stroked the lable flat, peering at the words. He nodded, still grumpy. "A hawat Red, they sell this at Joff's for a fortune per glass. You've got good taste."
"It's one of my many, admirable attributes." Jonas admitted, returning to rooting through the closet for his solar heater.
"And absent mindedness is one of your many unredeemable flaws." Carver said, but he had a small smile on his face. "here, this what you're looking for?"
"Yes, yes it is!" Jonas's face lit up at the large silver disc that Carver picked up off the floor where it had been half buried under an avalanche of pipes and wiring. "Er... how long did you... well no matter, best we don't dwell on such things I suspect." Jonas closed his trunk and tucked the heater under his arm. "Now, I need you to deliver a package, a very important package."
"Deliver? What do I look like, an errand boy?"
"For that bottle, I think I could ask you to be whatever I wanted and you would comply but no, you don't look like a delivery boy, which is exactly the point. You look inconspiceous, and you look old and feeble even though you are not and, most importantly, you are one of the few people that I trust absolutely in this city. I would have sent Paddy but she's coming with me in minutes." Jonas said flatly. He took a brown paper wrapped box from beside him with an envelope fastened securely to the top with packing string. Almost reluctantly he put the package in Carver's outstretched hand. His finger lingered just a moment before he nodded, his mind made up completly and he turned from Carver back to his packing.
"And don't forget," he said over his shoulder, "it is of utmost importance."
"So is my warm shower." Carver grumbled, holding the package up to inspect it. "What is it?"
"It's better that you don't know." Jonas said absently, "now a parka... I know I have one somewhere around here from that trip to Sun's Peak..."
"And who's it going to?"
"The address is on the letter."
"The 'who' part isn't."
"That, my dear man, is on purpose." Jonas said, standing up striaght with a white coat and pants each lined with heavy down, the outsides tough oil sealed leather. "There you are!"
"Hurmph. You and all your secrets, I'll do it though. Not like I have much else going on today." Carver tucked the package under his arm. "When does it have to be delivered by."
"Sooner the better." Jonas said, finally noticing Paddy standing in the doorway. "Ah, Paddy, nearly packed?"
"I was packed a half hour ago. Long underwear and guns." She said stiffly, "mostly long underwear. Pralat females do not do well in the cold, we have cold blood. I'm not looking forward to this trip."
"I did give you the choice to stay behind, you still can."
"Hah!" Carver chuckled, "the heat's out in the building as well, with winter looking like its coming early I imagine this place will be as frozen over as your arctic soon enough."
"I doubt that, Mr Carver." Paddy said, scowling, "if the books I have read are correct, this is the coldest season in the Frillda Uplands. There are wind storms that can strip the flesh off a man in minutes, leave their bones in a frozen heap. What creatures that live there, live deep under the ice in the water or else have thick coats of hair to break the wind. The same can not be said for Arconis."
"Don't fret so much Paddy my dear, the communication I recieved from the Taras' says specifically that the artifact in question is not buried in the ice but in a sheltered area." Jonas said, stuffing the coat and pants into his bag and attempting to close it. He finally succeeded by using a foot and both hands. "There I'm ready to go, the boiler just needs a moments attention. Oh, and here, in case you do start to feel sluggish." Jonas pressed the sloar heater into Paddy's hands. "it's powered by the sun and, you'll find, there is no short supply of that where we're going. It'll warm you right up, I promise. If you are still resolute to accompany me."
Paddy looked at it a moment and then nodded, a rare smile crossing her lips, "Thank you. You are considerate to think of my needs. I will follow you, Jonas Mynfield, unto the very ends of the earth, thus is our contract."
"Well, you're not so much going to the end of the earth as to the top of it." Carver said, he waved the package over his head, "I'll get this little bundle delivered, I'll even drink to you health. Best you both come back alive, I don't want to run this place by myself." He waddled towards the lift and slammed the cage door down with a thump.
"Oh, one more thing Carver." Jonas said through the cage bars
"More?"
"If the police come calling, asking for me, tell them I'm just out for a moment and will likely be back any hour."
"What?"
"They don't know I'm leaving the city." Jonas explained. "There was that little incident with the giant turtle the other day, you remember? The Paloscia family was very nice and paid a few people to make the charges less, but Fairweather isn't the sort to be bought off."
Carver snorted, "so you're required to stay in the city?"
"No, I'm required to keep my head attached." Jonas said, tapping his temple, "the best to do that, for now, is to not defy Randal Taras. His offer could not have been refused. The worst the police can do is jail me, the worst our beloved Taras can do is nigh unimaginable."
"And I'm to say you're out to the store quick, is that it?"
"No, you're to say you have no idea where I am, and that will be partly the truth, if you want to get into specifics. Frillda is a very, very large expanse." Jonas winked.
Carver shook his head, "you're lucky I don't mind some antics. Had my own trouble with the law when I was a youth. Mostly disorderly conduct."
"That's not surprising." Paddy said dryly.
"There was a protest and me and the lads got to thinking it'd be a good idea to chain ourselves to the gates."
"Err, right. That always works until they get out the bolt cutters." Jonas said, then added, "or just order the bulldozers on."
"Heh, we thought of that, being smart lads. We put a strong current through the chain and grounded ourselves with rubber overalls and copper line. You should have seen the first officer who tried to cut that chain!" Carver cackled, "lit him up like a Poxard sky rocket we did!"
"I suppose that means your protest was a success?"
"well, not in so many words." Carver scratched his chin, "it was a good way to waste an afternoon that ended us up with a month of hard labor. The look on that afficer's face though, well worth it in my opinion. Plus it was a big hit with the girls, called us 'just maytres'. Well worth the time spent, well worth the time spent."
"So you'll do it?"
"I'll be as ignorant as a rock." Carver said, "but it'll probably cost you another bottle."
"Most likely I have another one," Jonas said, "it's yours when I get back."
"Very good, happy trails Mynfield, Paddy. Try not to die!" And the lift shuddered down, the short man disappearing in the dark.
"He is an interesting man." Paddy observed, "it does not take much to set him off. Often I wonder why he stays."
"Because he's bored." Jonas said, "He's a hundred or so odd years old, the University made him retire even though he was one of the best theoretical combined sciences men they had, and now he stays here because we keep him interested. He'd never admitt it but that little delivery job I just sent him on will be the highlight of his day."
"And what is it you are having him deliver?"
Jonas smiled, "insurance." He said simply trying in vain to lift his overstuffed trunk. "Err.. would you mind giving me a hand with this? Oh... well I could help too but, ok, thank you, Paddy."
The Taras car came early, that was expected. There was also a small bit of fan fair that Jonas hadn't expected. Mrs Moore had found out from Mrs Tump on second floor that Jonas was leaving on an expedition and had proceeded to tell Talas and Atticus Harvington that there should be a little send off, since Mr Mynfield was so adored by his occupants. Carver made an appearance as well, as much to get a glass of Mrs Tump's lemonaid as anything else.
"Still want me to keep the cops guess there Mynfield?" Carver asked with a wicked grin.
"No, I suspect the issue is now moot." Jonas muttered, trying to help Paddy load his trunk into the car. If any watch detachments had been assigned to watch his apartments, then likely they would surmise that Jonas was leaving the city and not heading to the grocers for eggs and bacon. Of course there was a chance that Jonas had been placed on the mystic survielance list as well, and no amount of petty lies would trick a member fo the third eye. Jonas sighed, finished loading the luggage and had a cookie and cup of lemonaid before getting in the car.
"That was interesting." Paddy said, "and uncalled for."
"It's not like you can turn the water hose on them," Jonas said, hesitantly waving as the car pulled away from the curb, "as much as you'd like to some days. Their hearts are in the right place, they're just not the right minds for covert opperations."
"How did they know you were leaving?"
Jonas shrugged, "I haven't the foggiest."
The car was not one of the black coaches that royals were wont to ride in, but instead a plain red one of older make driven by a cabby with a cigar that spoke very little. What he did say was hard for Jonas to understand, his words covered all over by a thick accent. It took nearly half the trip before Jonas was able to discern it.
"You're maltenis, correct?"
"Ja ja, yoo kno eh? No on' kno 'ere." The cabby plucked the cigar out of his mouth and grinned, white teeth in a face as black as obsidian.
"I'm very good with accents," Jonas said, leaning back in his seat. "Do you know where we are going?"
"Yoo no kno? Hah! Fun!" He fell silent.
"And you're not going to tell us where we're going, are you?" Jonas ventured.
"Hah, and roon fun? Hah!" The cabby stuck the cigar back in his mouth and continued driving, snickering every now and again at whatever inner dialog was kept him entertained in a city that couldn't understand him. At times he would shout what sounded like curses out the window as he took corners too fast and cut other drivers off expertly. His driving was perfect but rash. Jonas felt strangely safe in the car and felt a small amount of pitey for those that chanced to meet this black man on the streets unprepared.
The cab wound its way through the city, back past Steph Downing and their tall houses and into the market district. The morning was loud and colorful, as it always was, with the few trees and flowers in the market squares looking orange and colorful in the brisk air. It was fish season and the air was cull of cries of "Artic Tapar, Artic Tapar! Fresh from the sea last morning!" and "Clams, spur fish and crabs, just in from Alberic and Sin-Sin." The cabby had the window open and the thick cool air was full of clinging smells.
"Tis remin me o hom." The cabby said suddenly, "th fish." Then he fell silent again.
They were headed towards the docks, Jonas had surmised a while ago, but not the close end. The car was driving down Saint Jamis Drive, parallel to the bay. Wealthy estates lined the drive, those that had interests in the docks and shipping, merchants and some more hands on royals had property on Jamis Drive, the high walls and large houses tall enough to peer over the warehouses and out to the water where their money was invested. All that could be seen of the estates from the drive was black iron fences, vicious dogs and the tops of peaked roofs. The cabby drove onward and out past the water's edge; leaving the bay behind. Where ever the cabby was driving, it wasn't to the docks.
The red car exited sharply off Siant Jamis drive and ducked under a small bridge and into a factory area of town, driving down streets with names like 'GridIron' and 'Textile Ave.' The beuatiful houses of Saint Jamis melted abruptly to low income housing where factory workers lived and then grew into towering mills and warehouses with smoke stacks spewing heavy grey. The traffic turned from cars to old trucks and heavy haulers, even the animals had gotten bigger. They carefully passed a massive six legged behemoth being driven by a crew of dozens of men, the beast and it's handlers all heavy set and covered in scars from their labors. It was many more minutes through the industrial sector before the caby pulled up at a heavily guarded gate and produced a pass for the guards to scan before proceeding inside. The gate had a blue and black sign over top of it that read "Banning Industries" in bold font. There was graffiti and dirt on the heavy stone fence and on the buildings surrounding the gate, but the sign was pristine. Jonas watched the armored gates close in through the back window.
the cabby didn't speed here as he shared the road with giant wagons rolling on rails set into the street and armored tanks. Grim and heavy set men loaded trucks with machinery and parts as armed escorts lined up to transfer the convoys out of Banning's halls. Banning held several of the governement's arms contracts and drafted many top university graduates into its research corps, making it one of the leaders in combined sciences. Jonas looked through the window with curious eyes, wondering what secrets might hide behind those doors. There was itch behind his left ear when they passed a very secure looking building within the compound that had a lab sign on it's door.
"That's where they make automatic life systems." He breathed as the car slid past, "the labs behind those doors! the resources at their disposal! Do you know they call that facility the Mute Office? Since no one who goes in can speak outside the building. There's a powerful mystic device that captures their voice and only releases it when they return to work!"
"All you can say is things about your silly toys?" Paddy said, her voice tense.
"Hmm, you're right, of course." jonas mused, "it does rather feel like we've entered down the throat of the beast."
"I don't like it." Paddy said, "they have many more guns than me and employ governement troops. If it comes to a fight, we will not win."
The cabby glanced backwards again and chuckled more. Jonas raised an eyebrow and suspected that their driver was not as lingiustically impaired as he had first thought. That or he found life as a whole extremely amusing. It would be rather like a deaf man watching a horror show that seemed fake and funny without the screams. That or the cabby was an excellent spy.
"There won't be a fight, we are under contract." Jonas said, "and thus under the Tara's protection for so long as our services are needed. I suspect we've come this way to throw off pursuit. It would have cost alot for that pass, but the Banning family prides itself on secrecy. No follower could come this way, and no Banning employee can be bought. Even the lowest hand is completely loyal to the Banning family, its why they're so successful." Jonas said, thoughtfully. "Am I getting close cabby?"
"Hah!" the cabby responded and pulled over and into an underground driveway, coming up abruptly in a garage set beside a set of train tracks. On the tracks was a frieght train with six bleak looking cars and one rear car with a turret on it. The cars and engine all looked armored with heavy steel and engraved stripes of rune sign, ensuring protection to those inside from standard as well as mystical means.
"We're departing by train from Banning industries?" Jonas said quietly, no longer trusting their driver.
"Is that important?"
"Heavens yes! I didn't know that Taras and Banning families were working together. They've never been rivals, as far as I know, but they've never been allies either. This is too large a favor for simply money, Banning must be after the something else, the artifact perhaps? It has military potentail, to be sure." Jonas tapped his chin, "I suspect that we shall see things get even more complex before the day is through."
When they exited the car, a man was there to meet them.
"Jonas Myfiled and Padilla Nimmers-Sach?" the man said, it was the same steward from the business lunch. Now he wore a long overcoat with brass buttons in two rows down his front. It was shapeless and Jonas imagined that all manner of deadly devices could be hidden in it's depths. That was fine. He'd brought his own arsanal, in the form of a very dedicated woman with a bag full of guns and long underwear.
"Present and accounted for." Jonas said as cheerily as he could in the chilly garage.
"Excellent. I am Mr. Bullsmith, Master Ronald's stewart. Mr Mynfield, we met briefly, if you remember. Padilla, it is a pleasure. Please, this way, if you would."
The Stewart led the two of them up onto the platform and towards the first car in the train. The last car of the train was being loaded as they watched, with crates and
wooden pallets tarped down tight. From one of the other rear cars a soldier was leaning out and having some last minute words with a foreman standing on the platform. Their words were lost in the sounds of the train releasing steam, a mournful whistle. Jonas didn't have time to stop and try and lip read, Bullsmith was forging on towards their car.
"You can leave your bags on the platform." Bullsmith said, "they will be taken care of."
"There's only the two." Jonas said, wrestling with his trunk and attempting a smile "I think we'll take them carry on, if thats ok."
"As you wish." The stewart said, then opened the door for them.
"This is it my dear Paddy," Jonas whispered to his companion, "we dive into the belly of the beast."
"It's my favorite part." Paddy muttered back, a small smile on her face.
"Just don't do anything rash, these are royals. Let me do most of the talking."
"Agreed."
The two acsended the short ladder. Jonas had to blink when he entered the train car, then a small smile spread over his face. The inside of the train car was easily three times larger than physical possible from the dimensions of the outside.
"It's got a spacial distortion engine! I've seen the theory, but never one put into practice in such difficult situation, the power demands alone must be astromomical! And the spacial matrixes, to realign in realtime on a moving object, the cortex must be very advanced!" He said out loud, jaw nearly on the floor, "I must see how it works!"
"Maybe later." Paddy muttered from behind him, pulling his trunk and her duffle bag easily up the ladder
Jonas was suddenly aware that his outburst had drawn the attention of every eye in the passanger car, most had a skeptical gleam to them but some had a bemused glimmer. He striaghtened his collar and stood up striaghter.
"Err... later of course..."
The entrance was elegantly arched and carved with trees and wooden nymphs that held up the roof with outstretched hands. Coat closets and luggage racks were hidden cleverly behind mirrored doors that reflected the small wooden glade into a limitless forest. Past the entrance was a billard room and a bar on one side, coaches on the other. The roof was a crystal sky light that streamed in bright sunshine even though Jonas knew that if he were to climb atop the car he would not be able to peer inside, not to mention the fact that they were underground. What they could see of the train car was lavish and designed to be the utmost comfort and there were further closed doors wrought in the same picturesque style of the arch. There was no telling how far the train car went.
Ronald Taras cleared his throat from where he stood with cue in hand near the billard table.
"Mynfield. Good, you're here." He raised an eyebrow at the bags. "the servants did not relieve you of your luggage? I shall have Bullsmith whip them."
"Oh no, this is carry on. Books and such. Its a long ways to Frillda, I'd rather have them with me." Jonas said with a smile, stepping past the archway so Paddy had room to manuevor.
"Oh Mr Mynfield, you needn't have worried about books." Samantha Taras was lounging with several other women on a couch, "I'm sure you'll find our library very well stocked. Why just yesterday I was browsing through and found a copy of Witless Exploits. It's such a clever read."
The siblings looked much as they had when Jonas had met them previous. Randal wore stark blacks, though this time in a heavier weight, no doubt in preparation for the cold to come. His expression was unchanged, suspicious and hard even in the midst of his most trusted friends. Friends or enemies, Jonas reminded himself, a man as smart as Randal keeps his enemies close. As Jonas smiled towards Samantha he had a sudden thought. Perhaps that's why the Taras siblings stay so close, they might see each other as rivals. Samantha is the dangerous one. Jonas remembered the words of the elder Taras.
Most of the others in the train car were unknown to Jonas, as well two of the ladies had their backs to Jonas as they sat on the ring of couches. Ronald's opponent at the billiard table was a square jawed man in military uniform, the rank of captain pinned to his green jacket. His hair was cut short and there was a cowboyish manner to him; a boy who was playing at soldier but had yet to lift a gun in self defense or anger. Likely his rank had been bought and this was an errand for someone or a favor called in by Randal.
"This is Guy Havoc, of the University Military detachment. He and his squad will be accompanying us to the site to oversee protection." Randal said, "he is a friend of the family."
Guy took his shot at the pool table, knocking a green ball and a pink ball into two separate pockets, he stood with a grin on his face, "good to meet you Mynfield. Heard alot about you, most of it wonderful stuff. We'll have to compare notes, you and I, over some drinks. The trip is long, I'm sure we can find the time."
"I'm sure, yes. looking forward to it, very much." Jonas smiled back, unsure of why Ronald would bring a captain on this voyage.
"My sweet sister has already announced herself, and she has brought a few companions along as well." Randal said, dismissing them as if they were insignificant. It made sense, to a man like Randal women were probably only good for one thing; possibly not even that given the man's tenancy to frown. Jonas had a hard time imagining him with any other expression much less a happy one.
"Randal, you never were a gracious host. Always business. Here, introductions are in order Mr. Mynfield. I'm sure they've heard of you, but since you aren't familiar with societies inner circles anymore, you won't have met them I don't think."
"No I don't suppose I would have..." Jonas said. In truth it had been ages since he had attended a gala or art showing by accident or invitation. There had been a time when the presence of Jonas Mynfield had been manditory for any guest list, but those days were saddly over. The only circles he was familiar with were those that requested his services, and very rarely were the requesters young high born women, the present situation excluded of course.
Samantha looked radiant and wore a tight fitting jacket with an open collar, with a simple brown and white patterned skirt with no layering, hoops or petticoats of any kind. Jonas had never been a fan of a dress too complex for a man to operate, and silently applauded her choice. She's the dangerous one. The words came back to Jonas. They echoed there a while and went a fair ways to chilling his thoughts of her.
"I've brought friends with me, as well." Samantha said, "I sorely wanted to come, but feared for boredom. These wonders submitted to accompany me. There's only so much billiards I can stand to watch. First allow me to introduce Mary Blando. Mary is working at an entrance paper to the university and thought this the perfect chance to get fieldwork into her resume. She's a Happen-Blando, from the island. Her parents are second in line to inherit Millship Air."
"How do you do?" Mary asked politely, her mouth not bothering to smile.
The girl could not have been much older than Samantha, and was probably younger. Her hair was red and but her demeanor spoke of none of the fiery personality that often went with the color. Her features were elfin and fine, her skin porcelain. Her eyes matched her hair, seeming to blaze and crackle like embers when she looked at him. The effect was unnerving. She already had a long parka on, fur lined and white with the hood pulled back and the front undone. Underneath a plain navy shirt with green trim could be seen, complete with pants of the same coloring. A very studious look, Jonas thought, but the cut was tailored and he knew it was aof fine quality.
"Very well, so far." Jonas said, "it's always a pleasure to meet another acedemic. What's your major?"
"I haven't yet decided." Mary said, "but I suppose if I was to choose this instant, theoretical physics would win out over engineering."
"Mary, you're too modest." Samantha gushed, "Mary, here, graduated the top of her class from Bluebell Academy, full science honors. She's a prodigy! More than likely she'll be double majoring."
Mary's mouth twitched at that, a small hint of a smile. "Perhaps." Was all she said.
"Either way, we shall have to engage in discussions." Jonas said, "I find myself fearfully devoid of educated conversation as of late." Behind him, Paddy scowled.
"Oh Mary will talk your leg off, if you get her going. I'm sure you'll both have alot to talk about." The last woman interupted, standing to introduce herself. "I'm Sansha. Sansha Evering. Yes of those Everings. Don't beelive everything you hear, about half of it is absolute rubbish and the other half is greatly exaggerated. Why, the story about father and Uncle Herb and that business down in Camjing Hills is just ludicreous, mother would never stand for it, for one, and for the other, father was away on sahari that whole summer! He's got the Cat hides to prove it, filthy things!"
She was ample in the body, boardering on plump with long lengths of brown curls that cascaded down her back and all over her shoulders. Her dress was heavy and embroidered with a scene of flowers, the vines crawling up her stomache and embracing her significant bodice. There was a laughing quality in her eyes and all the energy that her friend, Mary, lacked. It was evident that this one had fun with life and lived in abundance as well as spoke in abundance. The Evering name, as Sansha had eluded to, was one steeped in controversary. They were very old money and had very few active investments with which to occupy their time. A bored royal was what the dime papers loved, and every other week an Evering seemed to make their way tot he front page, photographed with some street walker, or found drunk in an alley lacking pants.
"I'm very pleased to meet you Mr Mynfield. I save clippings from the paper as to adventurers and what not, it seems I have as many clippings of you as I do of anyone." She said, talking fast, "When you're talking with Guy, I think I might listen in, not to interupt you understand, just to listen. I simply love good stories."
"You interupt? Perish the thought." Mary said dryly. Sasha made a face at her and then returned to Jonas, who stood just a little shell struck.
"And I see you've brought a companion of your own?" Samantha asked.
"Er, yes, yes!" Jonas shook his head, "forgive my manners, as you say it's been ages since I've been in good company. Allow me to introduce my dear companion, Padilla Nimmers-Sach."
Paddy bowed her head in a small bow, it was all she could manage under the wieght of the luggage she was carrying. Samantha was as pleasant as always but the other girls she had brought had small frowns on their faces. Guy had a strange smile on his face as he rubbed his jaw and took her in.
"I hope they're not too dear of companions," Jonas heard Sansha say under her breath and was suddenly accutely aware that the way Sansha was looking at him was usually how he wanted a woman to look at him. In this case, under these circumstances, he wasn't so sure he could afford further complication. But, he reasoned with himself, if you're dead anyway, may as well make it an enjoyable death. There would be worse things that Jonas could think of than being stuck on a train with three beautiful women. Of course, the loviest of those women was also a diabolical Royal...
"A Pralat." Randal said flattly, starting Jonas back from his day dream. "I've heard alot about your people, I've read alot about you Mrs Nimmers-Sach. I'm delighted to finally meet you."
Paddy looked to Jonas a moment. He nodded with a shrug and she responded, "Yes, I am from Pralat." Then as if she thought there should be more she said, "I'm pleased to meet you all."
"And a fine upstanding citizen she's been in Arconis the past dozen or so years. Military service, business in the water markets, every sort of interesting thing you can imagine!" Jonas injected.
"Military service eh?" Guy said, jaw still in hand. It seemed he had forgotten about the game of billards that he'd been losing. "You don't say. Tell me, what unit did you serve under?"
Again Paddy looked to Jonas before responding and didn't say anything until she received a nod.
"I server five years in Arconis armed forces, 5th regiment. The next ten years I served special forces under Admiral Ca'Dil." She said stiffly.
"We'll have to talk about that, sounds like some more good stories." Guy smiled.
"And I'll, of course, need to listen in." Sansha said quickly, fluttering her eyes at Guy and smiling her ample smile, "not to interupt of course, only to listen. I love stories." Mary rolled her eyes.
From the front of the train car a man in a conductor's uniform pushed through a heavy metal door. He stood at rigid attention the starched lines of his uniform falling striaght down this lank body. Black bush eye brows perched atop deep sunken dark eyes and a majestic moustach perched atop his lip. The uniform was in the red and gold of the old rail road companies, he was a relic in this day of aircraft, just liek the train. Randal nodded his greeting to the man.
"It appears we're ready to be under way. Very well conductor." Randal nodded at the man, who returned the nod and left the way he'd come.
"Quiet fellow, isn't he?" Jonas said pleasantly.
"He's trained in the old ways of conducting." Randal said, "he doesn't speak unless it is to command. He can not command us, we are his betters, so he remains quiet. Now, the servants will take your bags and show you to your rooms. I assure you they are quite comfortable."
"I gave up the second master suite for the both of you," Sansha said brightly, "though I can switch back if you'd rather. I'm easy like that. Anything you want to do, just suggest and I'm sure we can come to an agreement."
"Er, I'm sure it's fine." Jonas said, smiling back as confidently as he could, "Is this all your guests then?" He directed the last to Randal.
Randal shook his head, "no there are four more. One of Captain Havoc's leuteinants is staying in this car, though he is starting the voyage in the barracks to ensure that the troops are settled."
"His name's Bradoc," Guy put in, "he'll replace me as captain soon I'm thinking." There was a smug look on his face as if it ahd already been decided.
"Bullsmith of course is here, though he is a servant and not a guest." Samantha said, "and then professor Minx and his two lab assistants. They're in the Orange room. Overall they're more suited to lecture halls and labratories than social situations."
"Still," Jonas said, "It would be rude not to meet them, at the least, and to be introduced. It would be frightful to bump into them and not know a name to place on the man. This train can't be that large, can it?" he raised an eyebrow and Sansha bubbled over with laughter. Randal eyed him suspiciously. Jonas was still missing one important person in teh puzzle. If elements fo the Banning family were in league with the Taras siblings, then where was the Banning man? Or Woman?
Samantha smiled, "it's not as large as some people seem to think it is."
"Sorry, I'm sorry for laughing, inside joke," Sansha wiped at her eyes.
"It's a standard expansion modual," Mary said matter of factly, as if that explained everything. Luckily, for Jonas, it did explain everything. He nodded.
"Ah, I see. Well, then, I guess there is some chance I won't run into them by accident."
The servants had come by that point and Jonas discreetly singaled to Paddy that it would probably be best to reliquish their bags without coming to fisticuffs with the serving people. Jonas was always amazed at how often he needed to make that signal. About the same time there was a very faint whistle and the train car shuddered. Sansha squeeled with delight.
"An adventure! We're off on a real, honest to goodness adventure!" She clapped her hands together and then pulled Mary to her feet, "I want to sit and watch the countryside for a while, come with me won't you?"
Helpless to hinder her, Mary was forced along and down one of the halls. Jonas nodded, an adventure. right. Just as helplessly, Paddy and he were being forced along those tracks.
"We're underway Mynfield," Guy said, hoisting a bottle, "care for a drink?"
"I'd love one."

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all!

Our Christmas was busy and interesting, with some family drama in a family that usually has no drama at all. Overall it was good, and overall I'm happy. Strangely enough, I'm happy its over with as well and looking forward to using the dull drum months of winter to good effect towards project work. I'm fairly excited to see what the new year brings.

It's a new Century you know, whatever that means for you (it actually means nothing, but sometimes just the thought that it should is enough to inspire people) and I, for one, am excited.

Some of it is personal, like the prospect of being able to move into a larger dwelling which will allow me a proper office, something I've never really had. My current workspace is in a small area between our kitchen and our living room, where I have to turn my music down and be interupted by things on TV if my wife is home.

My bold vison for an office sees a loft above the house with desks for working and shelves for comics and books and enough space to properly display my vast collection of Mechwarrior minatures as well as a work bench for painting Warmachine minatures (something I've always wanted to try). Also a proper gaming machine to replace my aging six your old tower. It has heating problems. This is my dream, I'm not sure if it will be realized, but I'm straining to make it so.

For writing projects, I really feel as if I have a solid editing method now, an editing method that I've been applying to Mynfield Mysteries and seems to be working. I plan on also applying this method to One Thousand One, a process that I've already begun.

I achieved my Nano goals, something I'm pretty proud of. Unfortunately it wasn't until the end of the month that I looked back and saw how much of the story was actually usable. I might say half, but that could be very generous. The good, amazing, thing is that I have a much better understanding of the story now and the editing process will proceed nicely with that in mind. Unfortunately some of the chapters need to be re-written completely, but I'm ok with that. Some chapters need to be deleted since they don't progress the story in any measurable way. I'll get through it. My goal is to have a full second draft that has continuity by the end of the year. With what I already have, I think that is very doable. I understand it will be alot of work.

Mynfield Mysteries is progressing nicely as well, and since the story is simpler, I think it's actually turning out better than One Thousand One. So far anyway.

Anyway, that's project news and life news. I'll get back to my 1 or 2 chapter of Mynfield Mystery posting's a month pretty soon. I just need to figure out where I left off.

Have a safe and Enjoyable New Years!

John.

Happy Halloween!

I understand the nature of Halloween, it's origins and how they run contrary to Christian faith. But, like most holidays, I feel it's been degraded to a point of comerciallization that I don't think spending 20$ and putting together an interesting costume once a year means anything. How else would my wife put up with me creating authentic Samuarai armor out of cardboard? (last year's masterpiece) Or this year my mummy costume? I hope that by the time I die I'll have a venerable stable of costumes to dress in and that they'll be improved upon by future generations and worn for years. Next year I want to make a verion of my armor that allows me to sit. Not sure if real samurai had that problem, but metal has alot less give than cardboard so I have to imagine so.

November is upon me, so I must put a temporary stop on all things Mynfield and Mysterious. My good internet friend Bekah has asked that I revisit my first Nano story, and I am planning on complying. Thus 1001 will get the rewrite it so richly deserves. I'm a more mature writer with a much more mature story idea this time around filled with a desire to complete this project at least to its first installment. I think it will go well.

I know it has been a while since I last posted, but my hands have not been idle, I assure you. Chapter four is finished and most of chapter five. I've done extensive editing to a few previous chapters in order to bring everything more in line with how I want the finsihed story to read and went back and did some world building so that I have few continuity problems. Reading through a discworld artbook, Terry Prachette talked about having teh same problem with his city, Ank-morpork.

In the first few books the city was a city, a blob in the imagination that was used to hold events that happened and give venue for plot. As his stories progressed the city became more and more fleshed out until actual minatures of the city could be created down to how many steps it would take (or minutes) for a character to travel from one location to the next. I'm not that far along yet, but it is good practice that if Adder Street crosses Python Street at some point, it should always do so and the historic Statue at that juncture should stay static and not drift listlessly.

I'm posting chapter 4 now, because I'm happy with it and have chapter 5 in the pipe for the end of November. I won't be posting much 1001, unless it is requested.

Wish me luck in the 50K marathon, I have a good outline, I'm fairly sure I will succeed given a good start and some inspiration. Until then

John, the Writer.

Chapter four

All in all the day had so far went ok. There was a prospect of iminent death, to be sure, and the day had already held the means for an early demise, but any day where death is cheated was counted as a good day in the books of Jonas Mynfield. He also felt much wealthier, having the bars in his vault, coins from betting on himself and a small amount coming from Juris labs. Jonas frowned as he made his way back to his offices; that was the small dark spot on the day. He had met briefly with the men on the ship after they had sufficently contained their monster, and they had been less than happy. Things could have gone wrong, they said, and there would be property damage to contain. Jonas had pointed out that he doubted that anyone else would have done as well or worse and that, really, Mynfield Investigations wasn't equiped to deal with their type of problem. The three men, all short birdlike creatures with ruffled feathers and a way of holding thier short yellow beaks higher than needed had scatched thier feet in anger and Jonas had sighed, settling on half of what they had promised to begin with. The rest would go to the watch and the the Royals to smooth over any damages. Jonas couldn't argue that, at least they had agreed to deal with fairweather.
With the coins in his pocket, Jonas had decided to walk the long way back to his offices, by way of bachlor street so named for its many taverns. The close street wound it's way from the South East corner of the docks in a serpatine way all the way to the edge of the business core. It was a walkable distance from the low town businesses, the docks as well as the university and as such was populated by sailors, laborours, students as well as middle class businessmen, all with mouths close to drinks and spilling out of teh many taverns and intot eh street. the hour was half past business close and the next tram out to Green Way housing development would not leave for another forty minutes; a convient amount of time for any who not naught but a nagging wife and screaming childern at home. Moving into the press of bodies fromteh docks, Jonas closed his eyes and let the turbulance and noise wash over him with a deep breath.
"I do so miss this." He murmured to himself and set off to find a corner in a pub with room. Past the street opening layered with ladies of the night come out a little early dressed in an assortment of lace, leather and in some cases moss was the Bended Knee, it's patrons crowding out not only the front door but the second and thrid floor windows as well. Jonas stopped and chatted pleasantly with the women but skirted the Bended Knee along wth everyone else with sense. The bar was owned by a family of Horizian Royals and it was well known that the Knee was a good place to go if you wanted yours broken. Similararly Jonas passed by the Body Market, Headstone and Silvertounge until he came to a smallish building only two stories among it's taller cousins. there was a squat looking man with a squarish head and several stitching scars across his brow and a nose that looked lik it had been broken several times and set back by a cross eyed man. he broke into a wide grin when he saw Jonas approach.
"Its been a spell since I've seen teh likes of you down this fair alley, son." He said, tapping his left arm. "I still haven't thanked you properly for helping out me and the misus this spring. I owe you a drink, that I do, and you should have come to get a long while back!"
Jonas smiled, "I have been busy Tony and, I must confess, I'm here more on business than on pleasure. I've come into a spot of coin you see and..."
"Well Hilda will be right happy to hear that." Tony nodded, "she's in the back, like she is most times. Its good crowd tonight, don't take too much of her time, you hear?"
Jonas smiled and tugged at his colar, "I wouldn't dream of it."
"See that you don't." Tony said grimmly, "a man with no head makes a dismal drinking companion and I still mean to buy you a flagon or two. You're months behind on the rent, you know."
"I know." Jonas' smile fell a touch, but he stood up straight and made his way into the smallish building with the tall door, over which a side was hung with a picture of a mounted man with a bow and arrow. It had been a long while since Jonas dared show his face in the Huntsman.
Inside was heavy air and the smell of close bodies. Students from teh university frequented the Huntsman, the founder of the pub eighty-three years ago had been a retired Professor that had fallen out of line with his royal family over his theories and been forced to find other means of income. Hence the Huntsman always had a fond nostolgic smile for any student that entered her doors; extra smiles on wendsday between four and eight where studnets drank for half price. Ownership of the Huntsman had passed from the original owner's hands since it's founding, and through theivery, gambling and murder the deed had found it's way into the large hands of Hilda. Jonas saw her as soon as stepped through the door; it wasn't hard, she stood three feet taller than any other and her blonde head peered over the deviding wall that separated the back room and kitchen from the common room. She saw him as soon as he walked in the door. Pulling a thick cigar out of her mouth she gestured for him to come into her office. Jonas shivered and then complied.
Hilda was a giant woman, dressed in a dark brown suit with teh arms of teh shirt and jacket ripped off. It wasn't a fashion statement; her arms would not fit. Despite her bulging muscles, her face was pretty, and she had yards of golden blonde hair that she kept tied up in a long braid. A bat the size of a sappling was leaning in the corner in arms reach, she was rumored to have hit an unruly man over the alley with that bat. Jonas believed that truthfully the man had flown much farther.
"Sit down Jonas." Hilda said, pointing to a chair across from a long wide desk that was filled with papers. A monkey wearing an accountants visor was pounding away happily on mechanical typewriter at the other end, it hardly looked up from it's work as he ran the figures through his method.
"Of course." Jonas sat. "It's been a while since I last frequented this particular local."
"You're due." Hilda said, "of course, thats nothign new, you're always due." She shuffled the papers on her desk, following on column of numbers with a massive finger. "lucky for you, I like you. Not why most of teh girls like you, but I lilke you. You're likable."
"I try my very best."
"Also business is good. the betting, the rings all the tenants, its all been very good this year." She continued, for the most part ignoring JOnas in his chair, "I don't need your money. I have all kinds of money, some of it's even legitamate money. The young royals, they're mad for gambling. They'll give you money for anything. Cards, dice, fights, races, they don't care. And most of them are stupid, so I keep their money and they dip a little further into the trust fund."
"I'm familure with their kind, unfortunately." Jonas said, images of the Taras childern coming unbidden into his mind. He doubted that Randal gambled with anything so trival as money, but he must be intoxicated by the risk in his acesension to power.
"You're not like that though. You don't hae anything and whatever it is you do happen to have, well thats something you've earned." She finally looked up at him, "I heard about your romp near teh docks. Giant turtle was it?"
"Red tortiose, actually. Mutant." He had almsot said 'gaint' but thought better of it. This visit was going rather well.
"They look the same." Hilda said, "I heard you got some coin as well, betting. We're in the same business it seems, only I bet on people losing their money and you always bet on yourself."
"Seems the logical choice, in my expierence if you bet on others, you're setting yourself up to fail."
"Logic. thats you. You were smart to come here first. I hear alot. I'll take it all, you don't charge enough rent on that collapsed building of yours to pay me the morgage. I don't know why that is."
"It is a problem for me." Jonas said carefully. A larger problem for his tenants that, without him, would be on teh streets for the Urchins to find. The thought of Mrs Harp and her children at the mercies of the street people was not one that gave him pleasant dreams.
Hilda squinted her eyes, "maybe you're a saint?"
"I very much doubt that." Jonas said. He handed her the bag of coin. Hilda hefted it without ceremony and threw it in the direction of her accountant who looked up sharply and caught the bag with quick reflexes.
"It's garbage currancy, about six hundred. It helps on your tab, gets one of your quick little feet out of the hole you've dug around yourself. Here." She leaned under the desk and pulled out a glass tumbler that looked small in her hands and unscrewed the top of a glass bottle, pouring some brown liquid into teh cup. "On teh house. It's for your trip."
"Er... trip?" Jonas said, "I wasn't aware I was going anywhere."
"Oh you're going. Expedition later, and a coach ride now." She gestured to the back door, "I like you because of the other business you give me too, you help me make money so I'm not so concerned that you're so behind on your bills. You're going out the back, there's a car waiting for you there. I wouldn't try running." She tapped the bat. "Have a good day Jonas Mynfield."
Dumbfounded Jonas took the tumbler and nodded a thanks. "I should go now then?"
The monkey stopped his tapping long enough to look up and raise an eyebrow, then went back to his work.
"Er.. right."
The back door opened to an alley with the normal garbage bins, refuge and rats. Standing out like a parka in the middle of the desert was a white and silver coach, the driver holding open one of the back doors. There was elegant wood inserts on the door and a at the crest of the hood, a silver bull stood proudly, horns curling up and out. The Taras family mascot. The driver was dressed in a long overcoat and smart black hat with an easy smile.
"If you'll just step right this way Mr Mynfield, there we go. You need't have brought your own liquor there's a cabinet in the back, fully stocked." He said amiably, "there we go, and then we'll be off."
The inside of the car was unnaturally dark, even after the shadows of the alley. Jonas squinted a little and shuffled over into the middle of the bench seat, unconsciously admiring the luxury of the car despite its probably hostile nature. It has a large truck, Jonas said to himself, I'm sure large enough to hold your dead body. But these were royals and though they often had people killed, they rarely bothered to bloody their own hands. Jonas was safe enough, so long as the car did not open it's doors in some abandoned quay populated by undesirable men. Slowly Jonas' eyes adjusted.
The man sitting across from him was small, olive skinned and had memories of black in his white hair. The piercing eyes, the curl to his white locks and the face were familure, Jonas had seen them all earlier that day. The wore an incredibly handsome white suit with a red flower blooming from his front pocket and though his face was creased with thin lines, Jonas knew he wouldn't have any trouble attracting younger, beautiful women. His smile was that of a fox, a quick upturn at the corner of the mouth and nothing else.
"Hello Mr. Mynfield."
"Hello Rupert Taras." Jonas said confidently. The man nodded.
"You are clever, maybe even half as clever as they say you are. That's good. But you're a royal, or so they say, so I'm wondering how clever you really are?" He leaned forward and tapped a long thick cane on the glass between the driver and passanger compartments and the car slid down the alley, smooth as silk. "I'll drive you back to your little apartment complex, if you don't mind entertaining an old man a few moments."
"Not at all." Jonas said, taking a small sip from his drink, "I find there is much wisdom to gain from those of superior years. So long as you don't mind me drinking .. whatever this is, we'll get along smashingly. In so far it has been a long day and I could use a little numbing."
"Hilda's drinks will do that." Rupert Taras said, keeping his eyes fixed tightly on Jonas.
A slience descended until Jonas broke it with an uncomfortable throat clearing. The car had already made it's way half way through the alley and was nearing the turn that would take them past the Markets and into Steph Downing. Past Steph Downing it is was minutes to Starfields and Myfield Manors. Rupert's gaze continued to be unforgiving until sudenly, as if he had reached a decision, he turned and gazed out the window.
"It wasn't always like this you know. The fighting used to be civilized, there was a certain art to it; a flair." Rupert told the window. Jonas felt nearly guilty listening in, but gulped down some more his tumbler. A small fire was building in the pit of his stomache. Whatever Hilda had poured him was not what she fed the Students on the cheap night.
"Family was sacred, you didn't touch them, no matter what they did, how they moved to stop you. And at every turn they would try to stop you, every turn. It's a hard life, a royal's life, they say it's the assasine's knife that kills a Royal, but it's the politics that does. Gets in your bllod, works it's slow poison. Family was different, it was all teh same blood afterall. You never liked your family, but you always loved them." He turned his eyes back to Jonas, "I love my family, Mr Mynfield, but things don't work the way they used to work."
"I thought this might have something to do with your ... family." Jonas said carefully. The man might have been old, but he had danced with assasins, royals and politicians and was still breathing to tell about it. However grim and obtuse his son had been, surrounded as he was with guards and his stewart, Jonas felt more ill at ease here with this old man. Outside a butcher shop passed by, the bulbous man under the awning swinging his cleaver hard. The market district passed by. "I had the pleasure of meeting your family recently, your childern, but I think you know that already."
"Still being clever I see? Yes, of course I know, its why you're here. I won't ask what it is you're doing for them, I have suspicions that will be confirmed very soon. I know Randal doesn't trust you. Likely as not he'll kill you after your contract is complete. It's how he's opperated in the past." Rupert shook his head.
"I suspected that as well." Jonas admitted.
"His mind he got from me, but I'm afraid my late wife filled him with ruthlessness. That's how he thinks, if you use something, you use it all, every ounce of it, and discard it afterwards." Rupert said with the same fox smile, "He'll use you in the same way, though I doubt he's smart enough to use all your resourcefulness."
"I will take that as a compliment." Jonas said returning the smile and taking a sip.
"I should, I'm sparing with my compliments." Rupert said.
Jonas nodded, beleiving him, "A question, if I may?"
"Of course."
"I have the feeling of being a pawn, currently. Two kings moving a piece across a board. In my expierence, a pawn can not be governed by two kings."
"It can happen, but it rarely lasts." Rupert said, "and that was not a question."
"Ahh.. yes. The question would be, how do you differ from your son? Are your assets so easily discarded?"
"Ahh, they tell stories about you, about how you can talk. A silver tonuge they say." The old Taras smiled, "entertaining. No, I reward those deserving of it. If I kill you, there will be a good reason. If I pay you, you will have earned it."
"Good to hear Sir."
"Sir? Respect, I like that." Rupert said, then leaned forward a little with his fox grin, "of course you knew that and that is why you said it. Honestly Mynfield, do I frighten you?"
"Honestly, Sir, this drink was full of something out of Hilda's own stock when I sat, and now all I have is a trembling tumbler that wants to be filled again." Jonas said slowly.
"Good, good. I think you are clever. Only a clever royal would survie as long as you have without wealth or power. Usually there is one or the other, sometimes both. It is difficult without either."
"I like to think ability comes into play, and cunning." Jonas said, allowing a small smile of his own, "that's how I've always been. Though it usually works better in business than in romance."
"Hah!" the old man chuckled, then slapped his knee, "Hah! I heard this, you sent letters to my dear daughter, asking her to a meeting. I know how you would have liked to have met her. She wouldn't even consider it, though, she's clever as well. Even if your family were still around. Careful of her, she's dangerous."
"Dangerous... I thought Randal..."
"No. Randal has his plans, his ambitions, he has powers and influence in his own right, but do not turn your back on my dear, sweet Samantha." Rupert's smile turned blank, "She will play her part to whatever tune she needs to, but at the end of it all, even in the midst of the battlefield with the world ruined she will be there, standing in a white gown, perfect, untouched and ahead of everyone else. She is the deadlier of the two, be warned."
"I... thanks for the warning." Jonas said, falling quiet for a time. The car was passing through Steph Downing and soon he would be home.
"I have certain... well, expectations of my clients. Confidentiallity and all that." Jonas said finally, "It's part of why I've been able to survive. I'm trusted and deemed a toothless threat, useful but not dangerous. It is a dificult line to tred upon. As much respect and fear as I have for you, I have a contract."
"I know." Rupert leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, "as quiet as they think they are, I still hear my little mice scribbling around. It's my birthday fast approaching and I think they mean to surprise me. They mean to take control of the entire family through my death, it would happen too. All that keeps royals in line are stronger royals, and the two of them one day will have what it takes, but not yet. It isn't that I'm not ready to step down, its that they aren't ready to step up. One day I will leave this dance, but it will be on my own terms. Do you understand Mynfield?"
"I think I do Mr Taras." Jonas nodded. His tumbler wasn't trembling anymore and the car slid smoothly to a stop at the drive by Mynfield Manor. "It has been a pleasure talking to you Sir."
"Likewise." Rupert Taras tapped his nose, "just remember what I told you, and don't die Mr Mynfield, I should like to have another conversation with you. Take care to bundle up when you leave tomorrow, the Frillda Uplands are frightfully cold this time of year."
The driver opened the door for Jonas and gave him another big smile, wishing him well and hoping that his good health continued. The car pulled away near silent and left Jonas standing somewhat bewildered on the curb with an empty tumbler in his hand. It took a moment to fully appreciate what had just happened to him.
"The old Bull is playing the game with them. He thinks its a game, like it used to be." He muttered, almost astonded. "They think they're being brutal and smart, trying to kill him but he knows their every move. And now I know he knows and if I tell the other Taras, he'll know and probably have my head cut off. But if I don't and follow through with what I'm being paid to do, Randal will undoubtedly find a way to put me at the bottom of the bay just so I won't be a lose end."
Jonas stood another moment, "Hung if I do, hung if I don't... hung many different ways by many different people." He looked down at the glass in his hand, then to teh street curb where he realized that there were two police cars pulled up next to the manor. His shoulders slumped and he let out a long sigh.
"I'm going need to fill this up." He muttered and then he went inside. "Probably twice."