Wednesday, December 16, 2015


I remember nights.
They were present too quickly, but the quiet was welcomed. I remember snow on evergreen boughs, the imaginary tinkling noises from each flake as it drifted down.

I remember turning all the lamps off and lighting candles instead in my window, peering out at the stillness. It became a whole different world then, something untouched and mysterious. It was like nothing else existed past our driveway, and the mountain in our backyard was a steady slope into clouds.

Something on piano was playing downstairs around now, the sound echoing up the stairs and under the crack in my door. The abrupt jingle of bells would follow as my parents (and soon to be myself) darted around the house bedecking it with baubles.

In this semi-silence I would wrap my presents. I would take care to hide them under anything and everything that was in my room. There was no shortage of cover. And when I would finish I would stare out the window again. More snow would have fallen. I would see a squirrel dart into my vision, pounce about looking for something, then dart away and in short order its tiny tracks would be covered.

Nothing existed past the house.

Later after dinner and cocoa, I would have a nest of blankets and a slew of friendly faces to guard me in my sleep. The comforting clutter of me was like a mantle of office and in this Wintery bedchamber I was of course, the Queen.

The moon outside was bright, so I could still watch the snow come down from my nest. I imagined all sorts of things; ice monsters throwing snow balls, fairies leaping snowflakes, my house the smoldering cottage with a radiating warmth like a beacon to them all. I imagined them climbing about the place, peeking in the windows, rolling around the lawn and building snow dragons.

But never to be seen. I used to know that if I just looked a bit harder I could see them. If I believed harder. If I just didn't think about it as much it would be crystal clear to me.

I would fall asleep thinking that, in that house, on those magical nights. It was a good solitude, a peaceful thoughtful sleep. It only looked like I was alone because nothing else could be seen.

There may have been nothing past the driveway, but that was because we had all gone to someplace else.

I would like it to snow now, I think.

Friday, October 2, 2015

What a Shame

This world had amazing potential.
It was envisioned with such promise, such expansive opportunity for exploration and adventure. Different and mysterious cultures, grand palaces and miles and miles and miles of unknown.

People used to have imagination. Like, violent, bloody imaginations, filled with horrid myths and lessons to be taught to the young ones before they go to sleep. Leaving home to travel was a big idea. Letters were actually written. Swordplay. Romance. Old wives tales stemming from some distant relatives eyewitness report of fairies. Miracles used to Occur. People learned trades - they could build their own homes, have helpful neighbors to help them. They could go out and CLAIM property if they really wanted to.

I hate progress. I wish everything were still a mystery. Only now I wish that Magic was actually real.
And of course there weren't all those pesky racial and gender stereotypes to hold me back.

Why can't life be like a fantasy novel? Wouldn't everyone just be fucking happier? I know I would.

God what a shitty day.


Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Pesky Little Peeves

Every once in a while, a day comes along where al of your little pet peeves seem to line up and form a frontal assault on you. They have their swords and axes and their crazy barbarian faces, shouting obscenities in a language you can't understand, spittle flying and hair streaking behind them as they charge.

Today, I can see who is leading the charge: Ire Ealyfe'el Olde, the barrell-chested, broadsword wielding madman who takes three polearms, seven arrows and an axe to the chest and keeps trudging forward.

His second in comand is the Barbarian Queen: Sinko Dyrteedishez. Hands calloused, cracked and bleeding, with  a watery grin on her wrinklied face, a smell like a foul cross between rotten eggs and black mold trailing like a plague in her wake.

Lieutenants? They range in the hundreds, but as they close the distance towards me, I can pick out some more familiar faces. (My hand trembles with disgust but I grip my bow tightly. Maybe I an take some of them down from a distance?)

Narstyass Faycegryme, the layers of old-lady make-up peeling off and drifting on the air before settling like damp paper on the beaten earth. Her glasses sliding down the slick sheen of grease along her nose, and collecting on the little pads there for me to scrape off and clean.

Karmakin Funienoise, a bastard of technology sputtering and clicking, whirring and grinding at strange times to throw me off guard, and then lulling me into a false sense of security with feigned silence. No doubt one of his tires is about to blow, or a brake pad will fall off or perhaps... perhaps...

Knotmysh Itevereewhere, a broad, rolling fellow with random stuff falling off and littering the battlefield, making movement tricksome and covering up well laid traps. A clutter of garbage, plates, open food, and even (Oh the humanity) MY OWN THINGS removed from their rightful places and discarded along my path!

And who could forget The notorious twins, Monotynie & Inarut? When trying to avoid one, you run directly into the other! And if you were to finally avoid their masterful swings, you would go right into the clutches of:

Fyskal Responzablitee, the greatest swordsman of all time (seconded only my Mad MArdigan, whom I wish was fighting on my side.)

Arrows ready - Now I shoot!

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Weird Day

It has always been interesting to me how differently I react to monotony.
On some days I love the certainty of my schedule - the routine is comforting. I can depend on certain things to happen at certain times, I can plan ahead, I can define my time in neat categories.

On other days I just want to walk out of work, get in my car, and drive in some direction for an indeterminite time, camp in the back seat and keep going. I want to go out to random seedy bars and make friends, I want to walk aroudn a library, I want to just GO. Anywhere. Somewhere else. I want to be spontaneous and fun and random.

There is always something to be said for the familiarity of home, and the calm assurance that rent is paid and we won't lose power, and when winter comes we'll have heat. I like knowing that I won't starve, and I won't die from some horrible disease, that I will have my medical needs seen to, as well as any other bill I have to pay.

But how satisfying would it be to take those bills, take them out back and burn them? Ditch the cellphone in the dumpster, cancel facebook and blogger and all those other sites, pack a backpack with extra socks and undies and a shit ton of quarters, a spare notebook and your life savings? HOw great would it be if I stopped outside your house like that, patted the passenger seat and said, "Take off the next week of work, we're going adventuring."?

It would be pretty good, right?

Well. Back to work then. I think I'm going to be sick.


Saturday, August 8, 2015

The Zephyr IV Project

Some of you may remember a time when I had a whole bunch of tiny projects going. I had a comic (which is very much dead, thank you) and a serial sort of log book journal story thing from outer space.

Well, the second one - the intrepid story of Nora Greene aboard the Zephyr IV - has been given a Re-boot! I have started it again from the beginning, clean slate and new inspiration! I'd be honored if you deigned to give it a look over, follow its progress, and become a delighted fan. I love fans. I would want more of them, too.

By the way, I have a mouse. Well, we haven't caught it yet. It sneaks upstairs through the heat pipe from the first floor apartment and runs around. He is adorable. I shall call him Jerry. Cuz that is humorous to me.

Here, again, is the link for the Zephyr - also on the side column of this blog, too!

Adios Amigos!

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

The Interwebs!

Greetings from my Living Room!

I am rebooting my Zephyr IV project, so stay tuned for the new Adventures of Nora Greene and the intrepid crew!

Also, I'm thinking of engaging in several other projects to keep myself creatively stimulated!!! I had ideas for a running serial story of something I'm working on, also I have no idea another comic strip (though more then likely NOT in color and NOT anything more then stick figures - I learned my lesson lol.)

So this is me:

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

I Hate Combat

Allow me to present a rather frustrationg algorithm for you.

In order to get the desired result (which is "A Playable Role Playing Game System That Anyone Can Enjoy") Please complete the following equation.

Time / Character creation, Combat mechanics, Modifiers, skills, attributes, merits, quirks, backgrounds, starting races and bonuses, penalties, lore, bestiary, all other world-crafting anomalies.

(Convert minutes to an appropriate numerical value to encompass the creation of all the above things.)

Everything is easy. EXCEPT Combat. Combat is more like this:

Combat = melee - defense + bonuses provided by any number of the above anomalies.

Which in theory seems easy. To me, this simple equation looks like 

A = (xy/3) [(Grr + %50 chance of blah) + (nonsensical skills - Opponents nonsensical skills)]
ALL divided by the fact that I hate math and why can't I just make a game that people can play without being giant picky troll-faces who hate everything!?!?!


Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Bad Dreams

So I didn't really trick anyone today. However, my brain played a nasty one on me this morning.

Aventine: One of the seven hills on which Rome was built.

Sorry, I got a new CD and it is titled 'Aventine' and there's a song about 'Aventine' and I had no flipping clue what the heck 'Aventine' was. Now that I know, some of it is more confusing, but some of it is clarified. Very poetic though. I suppose.

Whatever, I love the music.

Now, onto my bad dream. Last night I took some medication 'cuz I had some discomfort from stuffing my face at a china buffet. I slept soundly until 3:45am, where I kept waking up every twenty minutes or so, apparently just for whatever-the-hell. The last instance was at 6:30am, when I decided to go back to sleep until the last possible second, which was 8am when my alarm was to go off.

I slept until I started dreaming. In this dream I worked at a beautiful, roomy office with tons of other people who knew me and my family. The building was large, but located pretty much in the middle of an untamed wilderness, surrounded by forrest and noisy creatures and large, ominous shadows. I was dressed very nice. I was waiting for my love to come get me, but when he never came I started looking. I saw two men stuff him into a (granted, very large) filing cabinet. He looked hurt, so I went to investigate, those two men watching me as I did so, only to find him dead in the drawer. (Heinously so.) They then coerced me to commit crimes like theft of company property.  Then, when I had the earliest opportunity, I decided to kill them both in vengeance. (Heinously so.) Then, I attempted to walk home in three inch heels and a short skirt in the freezing snow and hail.

The moral of this story is NOT to go to sleep on medication meant for upset stomachs. Just live through the discomfort, trust me. Better then waking up in cold, confused, tear-faced sweats!

My body plays better pranks then I could. Yet, they are even more wildly inappropriate then mine would be, and not even funny!! Geez.


Thursday, March 5, 2015

Wing It

First up on the roster is the obligatory update of mundane affairs.
I am doing well, my love is doing all right, and my friends at home are doing pretty good. We are all undergoing our own seasonal stresses - School for some, rough hours for others, no hours for yet others, and a creative mish-mosh for me. I got a gym membership including unlimited guests so I never have to work out alone (because that just slaps me in my own self-inflicted lame bin.)
I still assemble eye-glasses, drive 35 minutes to get to work, and have an irregular diet. I no longer smoke (for a year in April, huzzah!), I still tell myself that I'm a writer, and I struggle in vain to finish written projects.

In other news! No, to answer the questions that my imaginary readers ask, I have not finished the post-apocalyptic piece yet. I have the outline roughly drafted for the second half of the boook, and a steady direction, but the words have been post poned. Mainly because my current project consists of a Role Playing System I'm designing.

I hate math. I've been working on it for years. Math is why. I hate math.

It is pretty much done. I have to test the combat system a few times, work out grappling, all that crap that is so much less important then the actual story (hey hey, just a joke, I love a good battle, relax.) and maybe tweak how magic works. Because now I have to figure out the inexplicable in a form of Numbers and dice. *twitch* REGARDLESS of those complaints I'm pretty happy with it. When I finish adding flavor text and more examples, and all those pesky details I may try to self-publish it like that other atrocity. Maybe this one will have all the periods in the right places.

Maybe someone will actually buy it.

Phew! Now that the self-pity-party is over, what else is new? Camp NaNoWriMo is coming up, I believe in April and June. I'm thinking of setting the completion of my apocalyptic story as the goal.

Fuck me I'm going to be 30.

Yep. Done for the day.