I wrote this because I'm writing a fantasy story. When I write, I have to set ground rules for myself, otherwise I second-guess myself, revise things that don't need revising, or just plain don't commit to putting words on the page. I thought I'd share these rules. Maybe we can argue about them.

1. Fantasy is inherently an adolescent thing. This isn’t ( Read more... )

THE FOUR WIZARDS

The king needed a new court magician.  The previous one had blown himself, along with two pages, a chambermaid, a horse, and three geese, to hell and breakfast in an unfortunate and tragically avoidable accident of alchemical origin.  Therefore, a replacement was in order.

The summons went out to all corners of the kingdom, and it ( Read more... )

Okay, I'm taking a rest on the SHC vs. STAR for now, working on another story (I have to skip around on projects periodically; I get bored and/or stuck otherwise).  This is also a Rustbelt story, but begins in County Rooke instead of County Remington.

joe’s epilogue.

“no... not yet...

NOOOOOO!!” Joe awakens with a start, coughs, spits blood. ( Read more... )

So, I haven't updated BtW as per schedule. Although I did update it just today.

However, I haven't got it up to date on the SHC vs. STAR thing, so I'm gonna go ahead and post the next part of it here.

The Fleshbeast Fiasco

“Does anyone see anything yet?” Madorran Kil asks.

“Nope,” Baron answers from the back seat.

“What about you, Byrd?” Simon ( Read more... )

Digression no. 2:  Interview with the Treasure-Seeker

Journalist Slain in His Own Home

by A.L. Rykell, Galler Times, Nov. 1

The Journalist, that free-lanced writer famed as much for his journalistic accomplishments as for his complete and total anonymity (no one living knows him by any other name than “The Journalist”), was found dead yesterday ( Read more... )

SHC vs. the Fleshbeast

/open on the headquarters of the Silver Heart Coalition (read: Simon Black’s apartment living room) around noon.

Simon is sitting in an armchair, shirtless, revealing a wide scar running down his pale chest from the top of the sternum to an inch above his navel.  He is studying the spell that he thinks causes the ( Read more... )

a Pound of Flesh

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” Old Susan, payroll clerk at the Galler Post Office, calls after Postman Gick.

“yeah,” he grumbles.

He walks out with his latest paycheck tucked safely in his coat.  A chill autumn breeze blows his tattered hat from his balding head to the sidewalk a block down the street.  Muttering curses, he ( Read more... )

Killing General.

Roe Ironbones knew something was wrong the moment he saw General’s front door swinging open in the wind.

“Hordut, Sil, cover me,” he commanded as he cautiously approached the house, brandishing his star-iron revolver.  Hordut Klumber and Sil Clender follow behind, keeping an eye out for anyone from the Silver Heart Coalition.  ( Read more... )

Viking Funeral.

Simon sits in his bedroom studying text and diagrams pertaining to some sort of spell.  He thinks that, when executed properly, the spell will cast the nearby area into total darkness, but he isn’t sure. Nor is he certain as to what exactly constitutes the correct execution.  I don’t know how Madorran does this shit, he thinks, ( Read more... )

General Makes His Move.

Derrick’s red Charger tore a screaming red bolt down the road to his house.  Smell of ozone, lightning breath, riding the carbon coattails.

He makes a squealing square turn and ends with parallel precision into the driveway.  Smoke emanates from the tires.  He steps out with the brown sack of groceries and walks toward the ( Read more... )