On Podcasts

There is one particular aspect of the podcast that, after noticing, seems to grate on me, and that is, like radio, the casters have to just keep talking. 

My brother and I have a podcast. The cool part about it is that there’s no really big schedule or time-table that we follow in which we produce new episodes, but we still manage to get the work done. We’ve produced six episodes as of this writing and will certainly write a whole heck of a ton more. 

The reason for me adding this particular entry to the page comes from me listening to bits and pieces of a podcast that my wife has come to really enjoy. The cast is entitled “Guys We F*cked.” The podcast is, as the hosts claim, a podcast related to discussions on sexuality (at least that’s what I have heard in recent listenings). If they haven’t defined it in other terms in the past, I would also like to add that it sounds hugely related to female experiences in sexuality. The hosts base the show out of New York, and discuss all kinds of topics related to women and sex. Expletives are used quite frequently and the girls are very opinionated. And this is not to say that’s a bad thing. Let’s be honest; it’s a podcast. It may be accurate to say that the great majority of podcasts are run by hosts who, on one topic or another, have an opinion. They kind of have to be; don’t they? Anyway, like most casters, they have a goal – to educate or allow people to understand more about a particular subject. They are currently talking about the movie “Kids.” Yeah, I never had a desire to see that movie. I don’t have any experience being a woman, nor to I have a claim to speak about the female experience, sexual or otherwise. It does seem that they are quite strong in their opinions though. But, whatever. That’s fine.

Jer also recommended me to watch the Joe Rogan Experience. That is an interesting podcast; it’s just not my sort of thing. The Joe Rogan Experience is just Joe Rogan talking to these people in the world of Hollywood or the entertainment industry. They are either pretty popular now or they were popular at a certain point, but now they’re out of the spotlight. Joe Rogan was the host of Fear Factor for a stint, and was also one of the announcers with the MMA scene. Then, for a while there I just didn’t see him. And before I know it,  he’s doing this podcast. He has some interesting people on the show – a guy who only eats meat, for example. Another guy who used to be Mr. Olympia several times in a row. He has had Jordan Peterson on the podcast a couple of times. Peterson has been quite the personage who has stirred all kinds of controversy in the world. The American stage, one might say, has really enjoyed having him. There was a point at which Perterson was on a talk show and the hostess of the show (in London – you can tell by the accent) was really gunning for him to give in to her. She tries and tries and tries, but he just remains his own self, which is what the world loves about him.

Jordan Peterson has his own podcast online as well. He is known for his collection of his Youtube videos that he posted up. He has some interesting viewpoints, and a large following. There are those who are just looking to get a rouse out of him. They just want to make their own videos trying to take him down. Funny. Many of them are these so-called “social justice warriors (eyes roll).” He shuts them down rather swiftly. I’ll post the link below to one of his Youtube videos as well as some of his podcasts.

What else is there? Oh yeah, Lore.

Lore is something done by Aaron Manke (not sure if I have the spelling on this correct, but that’s just where I’m going to leave it for the moment. If you want to look up this dude’s name, you can go ahead and do that). When I started out with Lore, I was really into it. My wife got me hooked on it. It’s basically a cast about all kinds of different stories regarding monsters or horror stories all based in the United States. The best one is the one about the doll. I don’t even remember which one that is, but it’s pretty good.

There are several good ones. The cast was even turned into an Amazon Prime show on television. Crazy.

But, in the end I just sort of lost interest. Some people really like it, and I am not attempting to dissuade you from your opinion of the show, but I would say that it would be good to go out there on the Internet and look for others. Oh, there is this one called Spooked, which is much better in my opinion than Lore. Lore is just that; it talks about the story of something in history. Spooked is much shorter and interviews the people who have had interesting mystical or paranormal experiences in their lives. It’s run by one host and just starts off interviewing people. It just goes over two to three stories in an episode, and that’s that. There are several stories about the paranormal, ghosts and interesting creepy experiences. There are stories about aliens, but basically it’s ghosts and wired paranormal stuff. An overall good podcast. Again, I like it because each episode is short.

Another podcast you may want to try out is Serial.

         I’m sure you’ve heard of Serial. It was really popular when the first season came out. It discussed a man in prison, and the whole first season was so popular across the country, that the man in prison was given another look at his case. I don’t think it turned out well, but it did turn out. Season 2 was not something I was in to, but some people were. It should be mentioned that after the second season, the cast sort of went downhill. It just didn’t turn out well. That’s because the season turned out to be not as good as the first one. It was talking about Beau Bergdahl (*SP). Ahh, yeah, I wasn’t very impressed. But that’s my interest, it didn’t suit me, but others were okay with it.

After Serial busted we got into another podcast called S-Town (or Sh*ttown) if you’re not into the whole abbreviation thing. That was a cool one. It was about this town in the south of Alabama and there was this guy who was quite intelligent. Anyway, it’s sort of about his life and how he goes around and how he has dealt with things in life. Very interesting. I highly recommend it. Well, I recommend it it if you’re up for something new and are not going to simply judge people and how they believe.

That’s sort of where I see the whole podcast thing. I ‘m not sure about how to go about it in the future. Well, I’ll say this. I think I used to be more heavily into podcasts.I thought it would be cool to be known for your voice. Maybe it is. But, I don’t ever want to really do something just because I’ll be famous.

What does being famous get you? Nothing. There is nothing that I could say that would make being famous amazing. Yes, you get a lot of attention, but why? What’s the point? That’s just not what I’m into anymore. The more I listen to this podcast, the less I want to do a podcast as a major part of my life. Well, let me back up. The difference is that with the podcast that Jer and I do it’s something that we talk about and something that we enjoy (**aren’t they all?). We can go at our own pace because we’re not hired to talk and talk and talk. Actually, we’re not hired. There is something that we just love about the things which we talk about.

Jer and I talk about fantasy and sci-fi stuff. We talk about nerd stuff, about books (we love books). We talk about movies occasionally. We talk about video games – both gamers, though the frequency of our gaming has dropped considerably since we’ve grown up and gotten jobs. That’s just the way things are when the world develops as human being. WE grow and we observe our own growing in the way that we provide our own observations. So, we like to talk about the things that interest us.

Our current podcasts focus on the Wheel of Time – a 14-book series by the late Robert Jordan. It’s something that we grew up with, something which provided a huge fantasy jump, a mind-bending change in our formative years. It’s something that neither of us have finished. But, it’s something that we feel that we havfe to finish as it’s been a part of our lives, an important par tof our lives for so long. So, we are currently on Book 6. That’s six books of the main story line including the prequel. Here’s how this works.

Jer and I live in different parts of the nation. Each of us have a copy of the book. We read about 100 pages, and then on our blog, each of us provide our thoughts on those 100 pages. Then, after several bouts of that, we finally finish the book, at which point we get online and talk about what we just read and exchange opinions. Again, we have done six. This book that we are currently on (Book 6), is taking a really long time for us to finish. But there is the fact that we both have full-time jobs and home relationships we have to work with. And that’s that. We’ll finish this at some point, but when that point will be, who knows.

Here’s the link to our cast, Across The Wheel.

One thing I do know is that this podcast that’s on right now, GWF* (*above), is not something I’m into. It may be because I’m not a girl and the girls who listen are the girls who understand. Regardless, Not something I’m into.

Oh, there is another thing that I’d like to bring up here regarding audio entertainment – audio books. If you’ve never shared the love of an audiobook, I would say that you may be missing out. Yes, agreed, they are for some people and not for others, but I still think it’s a convenient way to get some stuff done. It doesn’t have to be a book you listen to, it could be a movie, or other things. Those “other things,” I’ll have you know can be a wide variety, but most of the day we’re using our ears. It’s not that they don’t pick up the audio book, but to really enjoy an audio book you really have to be into the story and into the genre. Oh yeah, and they are there for a long time. Hours.

Another great thing is that there are professional audiobook readers that read the story to you. They do the voices, the accents, and the narration. It’s fantastic.

That’s about it regarding audiobooks and podcasts. If you’re up for it, you can go to over to Audible.com to start your free account. They let you have one free book, just for signing up. If you don’t like it and don’t want to start after 30 days, you’re all set. No obligations on your part.

But, if you haven’t done it, taken the leap in audio entertainment. Now’s the time. Find something that interests you and look for a podcast or an audiobook.


Book V – done

Jer and I have rolled through Book V of the Wheel of Time series. Damn. I’m still surprised we are where we are. I’ve tipped my hat in this direction before, but if you’ve never read the Wheel of Time and you’re into fantasy and terrific writing, you’d be in for a treat. The yarn Jordan spins is well worth the time.

Check out our progress Across the Wheel and join in if you’re up for it.


Tourmaline – Part II

There was a tickling sensation which grabbed her then – a lovely gripping coolness which sprayed giddy chills across every pore of her. She smiled, wanting almost to cry at the same time. The flooring felt soft and her toes curled to feel what it was made of – it seemed a mass of miniature cushioned fingers, each welcoming the weight and feel of her feet. Her legs moved through the coolness, her nose catching the weightless blips of spray as the water from the fountain’s center fell into the pool. It was dangerous here, an easy place to fall and not wake up. But she was here for a purpose.

Quickstepping to the center of the fountain, her toes digging into the fingered flooring beneath, she ducked into the cascade, her body covered by the raging water. Once inside, she grabbed onto the center column, from the feel, made entirely of marble. As grip-less as it was, she managed to pull herself up the high column, one step at a time, steadily going up the pillar. She was happy for the raging sound – up this close, she felt it was just herself and the water. This close she could near nothing but the water’s raging speed as it welcomed her to be a part of it.

Yet, she knew they were there on the outside and she knew that they were coming for her. The raging water as peaceful and comforting as it may have been, was not going to simply keep them out. Steadily, one step at a time, she climbed. As there were branches which came out of the center shaft of the pillar of the fountain, so there were also some handholds, areas for her fingers, at least for some time.

Some of the water came in droplets which seemed to pepper her cheeks as she climbed and there was the other water falls of the water which came at all times, cascades of it, endless pours as she climbed. Several times after areas of solid footing, she would have to turn her head to catch her breath. It was on one those times that she happened to notice two things. First, how high above the ground she had climbed (and not even made it have way up the spire). Second, that there was a darker cloud of insidiousness which was rolling toward her. Sand dogs. Another deep breathe, and she turned her attention back to her climb.

Once out of an area of high water, she looked up again, The sky was blue, just as she had remembered when she was running up to the fountain – out of breath and with pained heels digging into the sand. Beyond the highest point of the spire a small glow found her eyes.

“Cruan!” She muttered to herself. It is in the light of Cruan that you’ll need to make the pull. She had never meant to count how many time Alaster’s voice had come to her. It was almost as if he had never died.

It was a giddiness that she felt which helped her jump up to the next step of the the long central pillar. She could see the next handhold clearly. In the cool water of the falls she left her footing with a smile. Whether she wore that same smile on her face was something no one would ever have been able to say.

And it was when she felt herself leave, that she slipped.

It was her footing, or the water, or the thought of almost making it all the way to her goal, to the place where Alaster and the team had placed all of their training and faith. Even in the small seconds that passed that told her she was going up, she felt herself falling.

On the descent, she had somehow made herself face downward – if not to see them coming, to see where she would fall and die.. One of her first thoughts was more of a wonder than anything else. Will it be in the water? The water was there below her, certainly, but her body wasn’t entirely over it.

She yelled, and did nothing. There were too many thoughts in her to do anything else. Eve the thought of berating herself for the pride of the jump was lost in the sea of the other thoughts. No clawing; no cursing at herself, no saying good-byes. Last time. I won’t reboot after this. None. Nothing. Of anything. All that was there and all that came from her at that time was as cream. It was all that she could think of – all of her thoughts combined into this one sound. Not even one for help or anger. It was simply the only thing that her body knew how to do.

Before she hit, her eyes took in the black mass that was the army of Sand Dogs, the hunters – those who had been sent after her – her the traitor, the runaway. She couldn’t be upset with them; they had been given their orders and it was something she could understand. No. She wasn’t upset with them.

She closed her eyes before she landed.

All she felt was the force of the ground, half mixed with the ledge of the fountain’s water basin, crack into her.

“Take her!” The voice of the rider from somewhere in the back, commanded the high energy of the esurient animals.

Pain fled through her system; it would have been easy to say that it was something she was used to. She had been through a series of varying degrees of pain in her lives. Death was always easier. Somehow, in as many times as she had done this, it just wasn’t anything she was used to. The ground rippled through her and the voice in her wanted to scream just as she had done when she was several tens of feet in the air several seconds ago. But, it wasn’t there – on the outside at least.

The current of the pain staggered its way through her limbs and rattled ;her bones and it rippled through the small several cubic meters of ground that she covered in her fall.

“Decode!” His yell came to her then and there and it was as though he was coming closer. She was surprised she could hear his yelling commands over the wild beasts as they came upon her. It was just as she had expected after slipping form the top, well nearly the top of the spire. She was right there, and after all of her lives, this was how it was going to end.

The dogs individually were unsightly. Vermin which had no qualities of civility. Their coats were disheveled and matted for the most part. They subsisted on carrion or smaller creatures in the sand. Their snouts were malformed almost all of the time, and with their lips hanging down only halfway to the bottom of their chins. Their gross teeth were always exposed and no part of them where white; the color of them had decayed with their diet of feeding on the dead and the exposure to the air and the sand. She remembered at one point wondering why the grains of sand never whitened their or at least made them softer. These were the thoughts she had they came upon her.

Like an untamed virus, they came on her to feed.

“Decode and dismember!” The voice of the hunter was softer now, somewhere off in the distance. She could feel their warmth, and their snouts rubbed upon her with a coolness. It was the entirety of the pack at once. All of them, seemingly came to feed on her. It seemed unlikely that it would be all of them; there were thousands. Only the first who got there would be able to take her. If there was any of there left over within a few seconds, it wouldn’t be much.

Pain. Her back groaned and, with her own cognizance, she realized that she could feel nothing from her legs down. Her eyes only caught colors here.

The dogs’ snouts were more now; they growled and shredded the clothing from her body. It wasn’t much to work with, however. Her body never had enough meat to give.

Her blouse, the white snap-on, and her shorts were ripped from her person. The snouts of the animals continued to sniff her and the sounds became to get softer a bit and there were more growling from the three around her body. Pain.

She prepared as best she could for the pain. This would be the last time.

She watched the clothes leave her body as she let go. She saw something odd as they left her vision, there was a spot there – in the shorts. A green lovely circular spot.

Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.

“Tourmaline,” she smiled. There was no pain, and her questions were answered. There was no pain because there would be no pain. The drug. Left in her back pocket had shattered upon the drop.

Her eyes fluttered and watched as the dogs walked away. They walked away slowly against the yells of confusion and discontent of their master.

“Get the code, NOW!” he yelled. “Rip it from her! No! No! What are you doing?”

Constance turned her head (no pain) and saw him in the background. She saw him there way off in the distance. He was there in black with dust swirling around him. His image swirled and rolled with the hazy distance as his limbs jerked wildly. The dogs were growing farther and farther away from her. They steadily walked from her, panting. They had run so far and with so much energy that they seemed to feel they had all met their objective. It was though they had crossed the finish line, had their fill of whatever treat, and decided to head back. They had dropped her clothing just feet from her. No longer interested

In the distance, the dog master had given up yelling his whips and his orders. He decided to run toward her.

No pain.

Her neck had not hurt when she turned it. The drug. Tourmaline.

Constance smiled and lifted her head before pushing herself up on one elbow. She looked in the distance after a quick rub of her eyes. She felt her breast softly dip down and rub against her upper stomach . The man was coming toward her wildly and with a knife drawn. The blade flashing with each cycle it completed in his hand. Her nakedness felt good then. There was a sun in the sky – a large golden globe, and a cool wind found her cheeks.

She lifted herself to her feet and for the first time again heard the water. She turned back to see what she could still see, where she should have been buried had she not stuck the vial in her pocket. The water fell as though a tipped flower vase from the heavens, emptying upon the dry land in endless drips, showers and hails. She stood there looking at the pool at first, the stem which she tried to climb. She noticed where she was when she fell. Almost made it. She needed to finish her task.

There was blood of course. Her soft skin on the back side had been cushioned by the hard sand and punctured by the titanium vile. How can titanium break? She was glad it did.

“AAAhhh!” The man was behind her, but everything happened slowly form that point. Everything was slow; time was all hears. She was becoming more powerful; she felt it. It was inconsequential to watch the man or to worry. Facing away from him, she could almost see him.

She focused on the water. His hand was raised above him, the knife high pointing down. There was a glint upon the blade that no human eyes would ever notice. It was a shame as it was very pretty. It came down, but only fell half way before the man was taking down by jaws by the thousands. His own pack. Their growls were just as heightened and powered as they had been when digging into her the first time.

There was a clank at her feet and she looked down seeing the knife, just as it was supposed to be – for her taking.

“Thank you,” she said and walked again into the pool in front of her as the echoes of his screams were lost in the raging of the waterfalls. She stepped in the water and focused on her steps. On the water, on the cushioned flooring of the pool. This was the whole of the last vial of Tourmaline. In her mind she knew the dogs were behind her, all of them. Sand dogs. She did not have to look at them or for them. They were quiet now, the ones in the front, eight of them or so, were stained with the neck blood of the man they had before then obeyed. She walked on the floor; she twirled. The knife in her hand gleamed with more of a magic than it had seen ever, more than they had seen in years.

When she was ready, she returned to the spire and climbed. The army of sand dogs sat and watched.

Up through the raging of the water she climbed. This time taking her time. The coolness of the water, the splashes, the dumps, the sprinkles, the sprays, all of it, the entire ocean of the water of her childhood fairy tales; she wanted all of it. Yet, she did not dither here. The drug was in her inner self. She was the last one to use it. She was the last one to have snapped the vial.

Open the vile over the Cruan, and bring then the green to feed the land.

 “Yes, Alaster,” she said, water filling her mouth, her pores, her face and all of her. Her hair was the wettest it had been. She shook her hair and answered. “I will do as you say, just as you have taught me. This is the last of it, you know.” She climbed farther upward and as she climbed, she rotated her body around the spire of the fountain in the middle of the desert. A quick glance at the army of those below. They had all sat eager for something. For her to return?

The water pouring of the fountain lessened as she got higher and as she gained more ground. This was the time. At the end of the spire, she found two perfectly wide and flat points for her to stand upon.

The Cruan. Its surface… just the surface had filled her head with all manner of childhood stories and questions. She pulled herself to a standing position.

“I’m here, Alaster,” she said.

For a moment – the only moment she would have here, she took a breath and straightened to look up and about the land.

The desert. She began from the backs of the sand dogs and followed it back. In the distance far off, beyond far, she saw the thick grey walls of the Institution. The ominous place where they told her that her parents didn’t want her, where they told her the existence she led was nothing – that she was nothing.

That was enough. Again she looked around once more before getting back to the task.

She held her wrist over the top of the spire, the Cruan. Before she began to cut, she looked around the top of the pillar for the halo, the glow. Nothing. No, it’s here. Of course it’s here.

She held her free wrist above the top of the Cruan and cut with the blade. Blood, dark and thick, moved as though it had just been awoken form a long slumber. It dripped down the last mote of skin and fell through the air to the top of the pillar. One drop, then two, then fifteen, a stream of blood.

The structure began to shake and a pulse of light lit the entire structure. Once. Again two, three times.

Constance cut herself again twice more, the tears in her eyes were blurring her vision.

The blood ran from her in heavy streams and the top of the pillar was covered. Her footing began to weaken and she saw chunks of the pillar fall away from the main and into the water below. What was standing in its place was a patch of light burning more brightly than the sun in the sky. Patches and patches they fell from it, more and more and quicker and quicker. They fell. As her footing gave way and the placeholders for her feet fell into the water below, Constance jumped to the hold on to the top of the spire.

The heat shook and seared her. Her eyes, her skin, her spirit burned from within. The structure shook more and more violently and from within the voice came to her.

AAhh, I thank you. Here is were it begins. Here and now.

Constance did not scream with the pillar of the fountain exploded outward in a far-reaching burst of white light.

It rocketed across the sand dogs, the desert whole and for leagues afterward in every direction. Every mote of life of every plane where the light touched was burned and changed from whatever it’s color was to a n easy meditative sort of brown. And then there was quiet and the light died down, easing itself from its reach into the sky, in competition with the sun, and it pulled back from its tracts along the desert.

The sun dogs were quietly decimated below; they went without disagreement. It was her they were following; her, the keeper of the drug.

When the light slowly pulled all of its reaching fingers from all places anid reverted into itself, it crumbled.

There was no water, no fountain, no life. Nothing remained. Nothing yet.


Somewhere else, somewhere behind the veil which separates this world from the next a long-white haired man looked at the spot where the Tower had lain. His eyes, blue and silver, surveyed the image. He nodded and recovered his tea and saucer from the table at his front.

“Good,” Alaster said. “You’ve done well, child.” He lifted the cup to take a sip. China, it was called somewhere else. She had heard it before. “Green will be restored and the good civilizations will be back here in a few millennia. That’s sadly what happens when you incur an Ice-Age in the middle of history – especially one they’re not ready for.”

“I just want to keep going,” Constance said.

“What do you mean?” Alaster said, his loose white robe folding with predictable movements as he walked She was used to his walk.

“I mean I want to be somewhere else. Another planet, another time. Something.”

He set his teat down and gave her a pat on the knee. “Well, I for one, am very happy to have you back, I’ll have you know.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Alaster.”

“You were always good at listening.” He smiled back. “Now cheer up. I happen do have a new destination for you. But first, supper. We’ll speak after that. Oh, and Constance.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Mmm?”

“May I suggest that we not involve ourselves in drugs on this next run?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be brought back in the first place; seems like drugs are working out perfectly for me.”

He nodded. “Your point, although taken, is irrelevant. You drugging yourself accidentally doesn’t really count. Yes, the drug gave you another life, but ~”

“Nope,” she said, “no ‘buts’. I’m here, and if drugs keep me alive, I will do it. Now, supper please.”

Alaster nodded and continued forward. “As stubborn as your mother. Come, come.” He moved through the doors and let it slam behind him.

Constance stared at the screen for a few more seconds. The brown hold where the fountain stood, the fountain she had climbed. She turned the screen off and followed the man. Tourmaline in her blood.

July Goings

Here’s the deal – I haven’t written anything here in FOREVER. It’s no one’s fault but my own; that I know, and there’s no excuse I’m going to post here that would make any difference. If you’re looking for excuses, there is an endless ocean out there from which one can cull. They come in all shapes and sizes, and they are all customizable in every degree.

I know I owe you the rest of the “Tourmaline” story. That’s a given. And here forth I’m not going to make any promises to you, but more to myself. The next installment of “Tourmaline” will be released before Wednesday night (July 5th).

Q: What is the consequence if you don’t make good on this “promise”?

A: Yep – you gotta have consequences; that’s a given. So, if I do not fulfill this promise, then no chocolate and no games for a week. I think that’s pretty good. And for me that’s some motivation.

In other news, Jer and I are moving along on the Wheel of Time. We’re on Book V. You can follow along here.

All moving along as planned. Again, Wednesday. You’ll see the next “Tourmaline” installment before that.


Thoughts in Early February

Writing despite, Chuck.

Some would consider my living situation a bit unconventional. I live in a house with another…(counting)…14 people. Fifteen in all. Fifteen, in one house.

To answer your questions (one of your questions), my answer is I’m not sure. I’m not sure really how I do it. There are some factors we have to consider here, maybe to help paint the clearest of pictures for you.

Eleven of those fifteen are adolescent boys, specifically boys in the junior/senior age range. Given, that’s relatively easy, since, for the most part, all adolescent boys want to do is play video games, jerk off, and go to sleep. They want to be left alone. No drama, either. I mean, for the most part. But again, I have eleven of them. It’s not that there’s drama, but shit, that’s a lot of stinky grown-up five year olds running around in circles in this house.

There is a certain point of the night where I’d like them to be quiet, or at least lower their voices. That doesn’t always happen. In fact, I’ve yelled at them more than I’ve liked to about shutting their faces, but for some reason, it doesn’t seem to stick. Perhaps I’ll have to sacrifice one of them in front of the others. I’ll pick one of the least hard working ones.

…and they’re watching the Super Bowl right now. I fucking hate football. So, there’s that. There goes another one, deciding to mix some stuff in a bowl and make a cake at nearly 10:00 at night. <sigh>

For the most part it’s good; I’m not writing this to complain about the situation. It’s actually all been pretty good.

There are no rights and wrongs in life; it’s all about how you view it.

I’m reading the Wheel of Time right now with Jer and we’ve recently jumped over to The Dragon Reborn (Book III – the commentary for which you can find here).

Writing’s going well. Working on a short story, draft one deadline is Saturday February 18th. Listening to Roll Play Swan Song as well. If you’ve never seen the show, it’s one of the best sci-fi stories I’ve ever seen.

Thanks for all the encouragement from all you out there. Keep at it. More coming up.



by L.P. Stribling

    There was wind, light wind, upon the hillock that night. Wisps and whips of it at least. Yet, in the middle of the near-lightless twilight. The only color to the distant sky was a slow-waking maroon. Both women held each other clenched in the an unbroken gaze, unaffected but bonded by that wind.

    Holsters were hollow, their contents barren as the tempered steel of the women’s barrels languidly locked on the center points of the other’s face. Cobra revolvers – the starry glints of each hollow-point tip hugging the triggers faded slowly with the passing seconds

    With her free hand, Kumiko flicked her head and repositioned the long stray tuft of black trail hair that stood apart from the rest of her buzzed brethren. Before jumping behind her, it ran down the glossy full-body red pleather she wore opposite her enemy.

    “Smoke?” she asked.

    Maiyu shook her head, a slow concentrated shake. “Nah. But please, take what you need.”  Maiyu’s eyes were an almost-emerald dark as she motioned her gun for the girl to proceed.

    Kumiko holstered her gun, took out a worn packet of cigarettes and, after a moment of selection, lit one before scrunching the pack back into her leg pocket. A lighter appeared out of nowhere, served its purpose, then vanished.

    The girl drew, blew a burn of smoke into the air and looked back at her rival.

    “Why didn’t you shoot?”

    Maiyu cocked her head with the girl in her sights. “Excuse me?”

    “You could have shot me. Plain and simple. Reasons?” She took another drag as if giving the girl a chance to answer.

    “Do I need reasons?” Maiyu said. “Regardless of what happens here, the cycle is broken. All you need to know before one of us dies, Siranes and her people will be loosened from your shackles and there will be no repeat this time.”

    Kumiko took a drag and nodded in easy understanding. “I see,” she said, exhaling into the night. “And you’re certain this time will be far different from every attempt in the past century? You were sure of yourself countless times before. Well, no matter. That’s my opinion, anyway.” Another drag she took then, easy, calm.

    “I know some things,” Maiyu said.


    “Like what will happen to you if you return to your lord empty-handed.”

    Kumiko thought about this and exhaled. “Mmm,” she nodded. “You’re right . I don’t know exactly what he would do, and yes, the consequences would be disastrous. That’s why I’ve ensured that I will not be going home empty-handed.”

    Maiyu cocked an eyebrow and steadied her aim on the woman. Lightening pulsed behind the overcast evening and in a matching of drums, the neon ashen end of Kumiko’s cigarette spewed her opponent in a fiery burst of orange trails. Maiyu’s lithe body dropped in quick reaction, and she rolled as quickly as she could, but she wasn’t fast enough. She felt the irate claws of the liquid fire before the smoke had a chance to rise from the glossy pleather of her suit.

    The streams of lava roared into her skin and Maiyu cried out. Tears rushed from her face and began streaming downwards as though they were racing one another in competition.

    Maiyu continued to roll – her only attempt to stop the burn, somehow managing still to hold the Cobra in her hand. The hillock sloped and after the initial tumble, she managed to slow herself, dragging herself painfully toward wide boulder – one of the night’s black giants, one quiet and without judgement.

    The steel of the gun tip clanked on the rock before she scooted behind it. She ducked then, evading another wave of heat.

    “I thought you were so sure of yourself?” She heard Kumiko’s voice, it had risen as the woman stepped toward in a lazy obligatory approach. How many more waves within that cigarette did she have? Why did I allow her a smoke? How many times had they fought? How many times had she lost, been killed of her own folly? She was always so sure of herself. Why continue to trust “always?”

    There would not be another chance. The time was now. She peeked around the stone wall of her cover, her head shaking. Kumiko’s mini molten glow still hung between her fingers as she approached. The sky was darkening. Dark misty swirls high above began to fall. Rain. How long until I feel it? Kumiko pulled up the cigarette again and flung it at Maiyu.

    “How’s that for some confidence in the end?” Her tone was pretentious. Cocky. She strutted as if she knew she had won.

    No. This would not be the way of it. The true way had already been spoken for, had been foretold. All she needed was a window. And there, through the haze, the blur of it all, she saw it. Kumiko brought the cigarette to her mouth and Maiyu crouched to brace for another shower of lava. But no. She just wanted to take one more victory drag. She saw Kumiko pull her head back and empty the smoke into the air. It seemed as though the puff of her own smoke was going up to meet with the rain clouds that were coming down. When will I feel the rain? It must be soon.


    Maiyu raised the snake and took aim. Kumiko’s face in her sights was unnoticing.

    The first drops of rain fell upon her skin just before she pulled the nickel-plated trigger of the snake. A blessing in black.

    If there were stars out then, they would have burned out.

    The lift from the gun almost lifted her prone body off the blackened earth. Her eyes shut with an automation that came from her body’s (her spirit’s) desire for protection. She would look back at the moment as a small fraction of a bliss she would have loved to indulge in – the frame-by-frame of the red-pleathered body going limp as its command center shattered and fed the dark grass with the nutrients of blood, cranium meat, and a fragmented globe of haughtiness.

    Nor did she hear any of it. Maiyu simply remembered her body’s confusion in the thoughts of almost. It was just as it was destined to be. It almost wasn’t. It almost was me.

    The rain sheltered her then. That was the next thought, the only thought that she was able to carry into her future – the beautiful dark rain, feathering her there in the field, easing the lava away from her wounds, lending good-night kisses to her skin.

    It was there that she melted. Looking up in blinks, the sky was dark. She lay there in a field of pain and falling angels. She no longer felt the wind.

Happy New Year and all that.

If you haven’t heard, I’m reading the entire Wheel of Time with my brother, Jeremy, and we’re documenting it online. Yes, we do realize what kind of a commitment it is, and I think the more we get into it, the more we feel the weight of it. It’s not a bad kind of weight though; that much should be stated up front. It’s a very nice weight. It’s a weight that grows not so much on you, but into you. It becomes a part of you, and as we are just beginning the journey, we’re feeling those tendrils make their way into us. At least that’s how I’m feeling about it.

You can catch our 100-page updates, our end-of-book podcast discussions, and our individual observations over here at our space. Come hang with us as we travel Across the Wheel.

In the mean time, Happy New Year! Here we are; 2017. Damn. I think the overarching feeling of the nation is that shit’s about to go way south real quick. I don’t know myself, and I don’t really care. There are always political oscillations in a given economy, and it looks like we may be in for a tidal wave of sorts.

But whatever. Be what it may, we must press on. Press on with our art. We must keep our brushes poised, our fingers flexed, our filming guns warm, and our tools of expression fully cleaned and polished. This is how we express ourselves in the world, and if there something out there that is going to threaten that, we need to be ready to fire.

What did you do for your vacation (if it is that you had a vacation at all)? I’ll tell you that I found myself in Korean food heaven. We flew out of state to visit family and the wonders of Korean cuisine came to me daily. I am very thankful of that as well.

That’s it for the time being. More fiction on its way.


Arting Harder

If ‘to art’ is a verb (as Chuck is clearly using it), then what would be the past tense of ‘to art?’ Is it “arted?” Like, I arted in front of my wife last night while making chocolate chip pancakes? Does that really work. Well, Chucklodytes, guess what??

I wrote another 1,500+ words today! I arted so hard today, ’bout blew a fuse! It’s like those scenes in the old Rambo flicks where John Rambo (by complete happenstance, of course) comes upon a game-breaking automatic weapon and just fires until the smoke fills up the theater seats.

Yeah, that was how hard I arted.


Outline and Tumblr

This outline has taken me much longer than the first book. The point is it’s done. I’ve finished the outline for Black Sun and I’m somewhere around 89K into the first draft. What does that mean? It means I’m a whole lot of words into the draft that doesn’t matter.

Well, maybe things aren’t quite that drastic.

The general writerly view of the first draft is that, like Hemingway said, it’s shit. I don’t necessarily concur with these findings. That same group of writers will also likely agree that you have to finish the first draft so as to at least have something to work with. I’m with that group. Yes, the first draft is likely going to be mostly trashed as it goes through the revision process, but it is the clay mould on the spinning wheel (or whatever it is you call that stupid wheel that Swayze and Moore practically humped all over in Ghost). That’s the draft that gets plopped on the wheel. All subsequent drafts are different knives and sculpturing tools used to carve the artwork into the piece – they’re used for the visual. That’s how I see it, anyway.

I did add a nifty little word count off to the side of the blog here for those who visit to see where I am in the process. Also, I’m not sure if you were able to sneak down and see that I just finished Pressfield’s The War of Art, which really asks the artist to truly take a look into themselves and, with blunt honesty, state who they are as a creator. Are they just someone who says they create and don’t, are they an amateur creator, but talk about it like it’s bigger, or are they somewhere else on the spectrum, perhaps someone who talks very little, but does very much?

I hesitate to provide too much here on the work. When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. There’s a reason I’m writing this to you now. There’s also a reason you’re reading it. If you feel like you’re a creator, but inside you know that you really haven’t created much, I would suggest giving this book a read. It’s a very short book – one  you could read in a few hours, but the information within (mostly points out aspects of yourself – the reader, very self-introspective that way) is very necessary. It’s stuff we need to hear/read. 

In other more self-aggrandizing ways, I started checking back into my Tumblr account. If you haven’t heard of it, just know that it has cool stuff like this.


Very artsy-kind of site. Dangerous too. You can just start scrolling and be there for quite some time if you’r not careful. Check me out and take a look at all-things-Tumblr if you’e up for it.

Lastly, I’m working on Week 24 of Roll Play: Swan Song.

Perhaps one of my favorite space operas ever. If you’re into table top rpgs, I would definitely check this out. Adam Kobel is one of the finest GMs in the game. 

Much love, my people. Stay classy.


Playing D&D

Some of you out there know that I game. Some of you have just read the first sentence and really aren’t quite sure what that means. Someone who games, in common parlance, is considered to be a gamer. A gamer is a person who games.


Now, what kind of games does that mean? It probably means video games and some table top games. I play both, but what I was referring to in the above first sentence for this post is D&D – Dungeons and Dragons for the laity.

I have been playing for the past three years (I think) with many of the same guys. Many of you are not up to speed on how the game works, I’ll try and simplify it here. It’s a role-playing game. You make up a characters (there’s a process), then in your adventuring party, you narrate what your character would do in given situations (which may include using his/her voice.

In video games, you control the player with a controller. You press buttons and your character on the screen performs certain actions. In fact, I’ll explain it as I heard a very good game player describe it once: Video games show you what you can do in the game (pressing buttons shows the player what they can do), while DnD shows the player what they can’t do. There are only a few things in DnD that you can’t do in the world. Everything else is fair game.

General gameplay looks like this:


There is one person called the DM (Dungeon Master), who is the storyteller/narrator. This person is, for all intents and purposes, “the game.” This person keeps the flow of the game, telling the party where they are, what is going on, and keeps people interacting. The DM basically keeps the gamer from hitting PAUSE. The others are the gamers. They are the ones who are pressing the buttons.

The adventure is not played on a screen, but on a table, and the story is playing out in the minds of each of the players. Players run campaigns, long sessions of adventure running across large portions of the game world. Campaigns (games) can take anywhere between one session and several years, depending on the playing style of the players and their level of strategy and cooperation with their party. It’s all a big game of social dynamics. You can play with people who played before and whom you know very well, or with total strangers. Your game mates can be great to play with or complete dicks. In general you’ll get a hodgepodge of all of these.

One of the big things that DnD needs for long-term play is consistency.

Okay so why am I talking about this?

Because I was hoping to game with my brother this weekend. Didn’t happen, and I’m sad. There were three of us (Me, J, and S) who got together to design a game – a real good game. S gathered some folk from other games and J and I showed up so we could all get together and design out party. Then we had to get to the final questions – is the time going to work for all of us. J and two others conflicted. J bowed out.


No one’s fault, but just a bummer. I know S and I were both looking forward to gaming with you, bro.

So, that was my weekend. Good overall. Went to Costco this afternoon, had an early T-Day meal. Life is good. Bummed I can’t game with Bro, but the gaming must resume. We must game on. He says he’ll come in on some one-shots every now and again, which will be great, and he’s also going to look into getting a game together on R20. I’ll have to see how that works out for him.

The games move along.