NaNoWriMo 2011 — Day 9

I’ve run into a problem when it comes to my writing, readers. Well, at least for this project for NaNoWriMo. It’s not writer’s block, luckily. Wouldn’t that be a shot in the leg… *daydreams about scenario*

Author: “Well, dear, it would appear that I have writer’s block.”
Wife: “Writer’s block? Is that like an illness?”
Author: “Not exactly. It means I lack the mindset to write anything.”
Wife: “Well get over it. I’m going off to work and it’s not like I can call with with ‘doctor’s block’.”

The problem is that I’m already frustrated with how I started this piece. As I throw another 1,200 words onto my budding masterpiece, I realize two things. A) That I’ve rushed Part One too much, and B) It even sounds as thought I pushed it too much. I figured it would be at least a week before I hated what I’ve written.

But I can’t stop now, as Queen says. I’m having a good time. I’m having a ball. I’m sure as I near the finish line I will have a little time to fine tune the beginning. But currently I am 7 and a half days behind, beings as these two days have barely netted me that many words. I need to catch up!

I’ll keep you posted. When Part One is finished, I’ll quick-edit it and post. Thanks again readers!

Word Count: 1,810

 

NaNoWriMo 2011 — Day 8

Welcome back to my blog, my loyal (and new) readers.

As November reaches its week-old state, I have come to the realization that procrastination is no longer going to cut it. As most of you may know, November is part of the male tradition of “No Shave November” (which I have already failed at; My beard needs regular trimming so I don’t look like Wolverine). What most of you will not know, however, is that November is also National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo for short.

NaNoWriMo is a mostly online program (totally free, by the way) where a good number of authors bounce ideas, chat, and basically water-cooler-time it up. The big picture of this program? Write a short novel, 50,000 words, in a single month. 50,000 words doesn’t seem like much, does it? It depends on how much time you devote to writing. I spent an hour launching myself into my “novel” and only succeeded at knocking out 750 words.

My novel (which will end up more like a novella, I’m pretty sure) is titled The Curse of Decay. It is about the son of a baron, who gets into conflict with a lich and becomes cursed as a half undead, half human entity. That’s pretty much all I have. But I’m working on more. I plan on this being a 7 part story, and attempting to write my way to 50,000 words. As I finish each part, I will post parts of it here.

Until you hear from me next, wish me luck, and I wish you luck if you’re giving it a try!

Word Count: 750

 

Post 16 — Mental Stability

Hello again, readers. Imagine yourself in a cube. A box of sorts. Now think of the most impenetrable material possible. Steel? Titanium alloy? Adamantium, for you comic book fans. The kicker here, is that as you can constantly think of more impassable materials, it gets harder to think of ways through them.

It’s a battle of your own will. I’ve seen plenty of movies with this idea. Take Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. There is one scene where Bill and Ted think of certain plans that they would go back in time to do to help themselves out of a pickle.

This vicious cycle becomes an obsession. This is how I observe my moments of writer’s block. The pen, along with my precious muse, are being trapped in a box sealed so tightly it would take, well, my imagination to break them out. The best part, of course, is that the more I imagine and war with myself internally, I realize that I’m expending my natural creativity, and thus, that the box was never there in the first place. Whew, talk about a Matrix moment.

The point of this story is that I’ve recently begun to relate the workings of my mind to more physical objects. Such as the common belief that our memories are like folders in a huge warehouse. Sometimes the bookkeeper is just a bit too tired to find the correct memory, and we find ourselves drawing a blank. My favorite is the thought that my white cells are like paladins. When the evil marauding hordes of infectious cells invade my body, the white blood cells formulate a perfect battle strategy and wage microscopic battles. And that soreness you feel while your body fights the infection? That is the paladins demanding tithe from the ordinary serf blood cells or conscripting them into service.

As you can tell, this idea is both insane and creative. It lets me grasp control of my volatile confusing body, and also think of interesting new ideas. My best novel idea, which is heavily under wraps for fear of ruining it’s pristine core, had been enhanced with these thoughts. If one can relate the body’s blood workings as actual beings, then what about our soul/brain/feelings? What if parts of the brain could actually be infected, with no physical signs? What if… evil was contagious? You see, my brain may think of the most insane ideas, but every once and a while one of them clicks perfectly into a missing puzzle piece somewhere in my life.

Well, this is all I have on my mind right now. I’ll leave you with the usual video, and hope to catch you guys on here tomorrow!

Random YouTube

 

Post 15 — Dungeons and Dragons

Lately I’ve been playing Dungeons and Dragons with my girlfriend, her brother, and a couple of our mutual friends. We’ve got an elven druid, her wolf companion, a gnomish sorcerer, a halfling rogue, and a human cleric. Together they have been pushed and prodded by the clergy, the city guards of a harbor town, and taken revenge on a village burned by orcs. They are currently riding hard upon their horses to save an innocent girl from the hands of The Cult of the Damned, evil worshipers of the Xoriat.

I love being the Dungeon Master. There is nothing better than creating suspense, antagonists, and enough plot to keep them coming back to my apartment for more. It also plays directly into my love of writing. I’m currently taking some of my short story ideas and turning them into plot points for my players. It’s a rewarding experience, especially when they say things like “Oh crap, I knew we should have checked that for traps!”

I started thinking about the game in general, and started straying to the past. I mean, most people are playing the 4th edition of this amazing series, and if so, when did the first edition get made? I found out on wikipedia that it was created in 1974. I knew that Gary Gygax had created it, but I had not known that there was a co-creator, Dave Arneson.

This should have made more sense to me, as a player of Dungeons and Dragons Online… there are two items which are dedicated to these men, the Mantle of the Worldshaper and the Voice of the Master. These items were dedicated to Dave Arneson and Gary Gygax, respectively.

Not to mention that two of the adventure chains, Delera’s Tomb and Ruins of Threnal, are narrated by these masters. AND there are even two in-game locations with monuments dedicated to them! I felt slightly out of the loop.

But I do love this game, both on paper and online. They are very well-thought out, and allow plenty of interpretation and customization by the players and the dungeon master. A true game, in the fullest sense of the term.

So today I give my thanks to these masters, Gary and Dave. Thanks for a great game.

Semi-Related YouTube

Image courtesy of GUComics.com

 

Not Your Average Day at the Library (1267 Words)

Now this one actually was a lot of fun to write. I’ve been getting back into Dungeons and Dragons Online hardcore lately, so as I listened to some very great “epic music” compilations, I got a very suspenseful idea in my head… Killing is included, just not a huge focus this time around. More character fleshing and whatnot.

*****

The bolt fit perfectly into the slot. I wound the cinch back slowly, carefully. The last thing I needed was this crossbow jamming on me. As I finished winding the machine, I was pivoting around the wall and bringing my weapon to bear. Eyeing a perfect target, I sighted, and fired.

The action in the room summarily exploded. My bolt flew true, and the cultist took the missile to the forehead, falling quickly. My companions jumped into the room, following my footsteps. Drake, the swordsman, yelled out and swung his greatsword into the group of skeletons rushing at us in response.

“Tell me again why we’re here, Jacob?” Matthew yelled. He waved his long-fingered hands through the air, creating a slight distortion that produced a long finger of flame. The ray slammed into a skeletal archer across the room and exploded, disrupting their ranks.

“Money, fame, fortune!” I responded, placing a well-aimed bolt through an especially clever undead warrior trying to get behind Drake. It cracked the skull and the enemy fell.

“Don’t listen to the rogue,” Drake shouted, cleaving a skeleton in half then turning to block the rusty scimitar thrust his way, all in one swift motion. “He’s only in it for the women.”

“Women?” I retorted, reloading. “The last woman we saw was that crazy dwarven seer wanting us to save her son from sacrifice. Which, should I remind you, was her own ritual killing. That lady was nuts!”

Matthew arced a quick lightning bolt through the quickly thinning ranks, stunning the undead in their tracks long enough for Drake to rip through them with his gleaming sword.

The witch doctor in the back of the library was quickly backing up, then turned to sprint off towards the back room.

“Dammit, the slimey bugger is trying to run off,” Drake said, hacking down the last of the skeletons.

“Not if I have anything to do about it,” I said, taking a quick aim and sending my death bolt speeding towards the fleeing man. It was just my luck that the bolt missed by mere inches, hitting the wall and ripping out a chunk of old decrepit concrete.

“Never trust a rogue to do a mage’s job,” Matthew laughed, and with a quick gesture fired off a green sizzling ray after the man. The streak sunk into the cultist’s leg and he stumbled to the ground a few yards shy of his escape.

The trio sprinted off to the fallen body. The cultist was ash-white in the face, sputtering and clutching at his leg. The wound was sizzling as the acid bit into the flesh. Every few seconds the gash would spread up the leg a bit more. “S-sp-spare me, adventurers…” The man sputtered.

“Oh bugger off,” Drake spat and crushed the man’s skull in with his gauntlet. “Now that he’s dealt with, let’s just up and gather this gem Arkuk wants.”

Arkuk’s directions were simple. Get in the library, take out the cult, and get back the bloodstone. Simple, clean, and lucrative, as there was a hefty reward promised. I didn’t know much about this cult, but if it was raising the dead, it was worth the time getting rid of those abominations, treasure or not.

The room after the library was a simple office. There was an old desk piled high with books. “Man, if somebody so much as lit a match near this place the entire building would burn down in seconds,” Matthew said.

Within moments, my rogue senses sniffed out the small chest that held the gem. I flicked open the gold hatch and there it was, the beautiful deep red bloodstone. According to Arkuk, it was a powerful focus for mages. Matthew didn’t know much about it, though.

Drake scooped up the gem quickly after he had followed me. “Well, I’ll be–”

“Ah, holy mother of Tensau, man, you didn’t let me check for–” A flicker of flame met my gaze, sparking in the center of the box where the gem had lain just moments ago. This small flame shot through a line past the box and onto the table, where it set ages-old parchment aflame within moments.

“Traps,” I finished lamely, then quickly grabbed Drake and pushed him aside as the flame sprang off the table into the air, catching even the ancient dust ablaze. Matthew began to wave his hands, no doubt working to cast some protection on the rest of the documents, when the flame reached a vial of ink and exploded. The three of us were thrown into the walls.

As we got back to our feet, the flames were eating the room up quickly. Smoke was filling up the small area quickly. “C’mon guys, let’s get the hell out of here!” Drake bellowed, tossing the bloodstone to me. He picked up his greatsword and began to run. Matthew dusted off his robes as quickly as he could and followed, and I pulled up the rear.

Just in time, too, for the room suddenly burst into a complete sea of flames, which leaked out and set the bookshelves on fire as well. With a quick look back I could tell that the entire library would be destroyed,

And if we weren’t quick enough, we would be consumed in the engorging blaze. “Run, dammit, like you ain’t ever ran before!” I yelled, and began to sprint as quickly as my stubby halfling legs could. The flames quickly chased after us. Drake, in full plate armor, obviously couldn’t continue running full tilt for long, so we had to at least get ahead of it enough to reach the exit.

As I turned away from the hunting conflagration, I got a sudden suspicion in my mind’s eye. “Wait! You guys have to roll, right now!” I yelled out in desperation, sensing before seeing the huge metal blade whipping out from the wall to cleave my head off my neck.

I tumbled quickly, springing to my feet and pivoting quickly just long enough to see my allies struggling to their feet not nearly as gracefully as I had. Poor Drake was flushed and panting, but we had outpaced the flames. There weren’t as many books in this section of shelves as before, but the fire was still chasing us. But it was slowing down, and we easily reached the door leading out with plenty of room to spare.

We burst out into the cool evening air, staggering a few dozen yards from the door before collapsing to the dirt. We watched as a few moments passed and the door was blasted off its hinges by the explosion.

I looked around to my friends. Drake was busy catching his breath, and Matthew looked calm enough despite almost becoming a roasted marshmallow.

“Now, Drake, what did we learn there?” The mage asked.

“That our rogue blows at noticing traps?” He retorted.

“Hey now, you’re the moron who just grabbed the gem out of the obviously trapped chest.” I defended myself.

“You shoulda noticed it long before I got to you.”

“Ah shut up you two. We survived, Drake learned a lesson, and we torched what was most likely hundreds of years of important research and histories. All in all, a fantastic day.” Matthew said, standing up and brushing off his robes yet again.

So I stood as well, helped drag Drake to his feet as well, and moved our way to the inn where Arkuk was staying. For adventures, it had gone well. And tomorrow, it most likely wouldn’t be as easy as that. But that was a story for another time.

*****

I hope you enjoyed it. Again, I had a blast writing it. Grand adventure, plenty of suspense, and a nice dose of action to get your blood pumping for the “chase.” Leave some comments below on what you think!

Oh, and P.S.: That screenshot? That’s of Akthuri, my Wizard character I made. Apparently aiming a fire spell into a bookshelf sets it ablaze. Perfect picture for the short story, in my opinion.

 

Death’s Hope (922 Words)

Small steps at a time, and the first small step is to write a story without a single murder. Try this short story on for size.

—–

Michael sipped his beer, and looked around the bar. He saw the band playing its sad song. Saw the barkeep cleaning his multitude of glasses behind the counter. He saw the many other patrons all avoiding each other, drinking their own sorrows away as the night passed. He saw death.

At least, he assumed it was death. The hood of her long gray robes was thrown back, revealing sunken eyes which bored into his own. Long black hair framed her emaciated skull, and she did not smile as she looked upon Michael.

Michael has no reaction. He simply looked back into his glass, and took another sip.

“Do you know who I am?” She asked.

“Death,” he replied quietly.

Death said nothing for a while, and Michael did the same. After a few moments of this, she pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Do you know why I’m here?” She asked. Michael did not respond. He did not know, and she knew that. There was no reason to answer. At this point in his life, he had to admit, he didn’t care anyway.

“You have no reason to live, Michael,” she said plainly, knowing his thoughts. “No reason to care. Men like you, they end up fed up with life. Are you?”

Michael shook his head, taking another drink. “I have my daughter.”

“Your daughter who does not love you?”

“Still my daughter,” Michael stated.

“Your ex-wife poisoned her, you know that don’t you? Her angry words after your divorce. And even though that divorce wasn’t your fault, you watched as your entire family turned against you. Even your parents. That doesn’t make you bitter? Angry?” Death pressed.

Michael kept his silence for a few moments. He looked around the bar again, at all the other dejected patrons. How they too felt the sorrow he did, all of them attempting to drown it in their mugs. Death was right. Soon they would snap in some way or another. And within a few months their stool would be replaced by some heart-broken lover, or some newly-unemployed dunce.

He finally exhaled and responded. “Of course I feel those emotions. But you see, Death, those emotions aren’t going to solve anything in this day and age.”

“So you stay in this tavern, drinking light beer and waiting for sleep to come to you? How does that solve anything?” Death replied.

“I guess it doesn’t, Death. But I’ll still go to work in the morning, and maybe things will change. I can always hope.”

Death sighed. She stood, her black wings extending around her. “Come with me, Michael. I want to show you something.”

Michael drained his glass and stood calmly. He knew better than to deny Death’s suggestions. He followed her out of the tavern.

Death stopped him outside the road. “What do you see, Michael?” she asked.

Michael took a slow survey of the road around him. Friday night had just begun in the city, so the streets were filled with cars. Cars that seemed to be moving in slow motion to him, but going somewhere nonetheless. “I see people who still have their whole lives intact.”

“Polar opposites to those inside your bar, aren’t they?”

Michael nodded. The door to a coffee shop next door opened up, and a trio of young women came out, laughing. They began walking towards him and the angel of death. Michael recognized one of them as Courtney, his daughter. She either hadn’t noticed him or didn’t want to acknowledge his presence. Most likely the latter was true.

The girls began to look both ways and started to cross the street.

“They look happy, don’t they. Are you still wondering why I’m here, Michael?”

Michael was not. He knew that Death would not reveal herself to a mortal unless that person was to die. Death could see the realization in his eyes.

“I have come for you, Michael. But I have only come for a soul. You have a choice. Your daughter, or your own life.” As Death spoke, a car ran a red light a block or so away. It was moving fast, right towards the group of girls, and none of them seemed to notice.

Time almost seemed to slow even more, and Michael finally looked to Death. Her eyes gleamed maliciously. He could tell that she wanted him to choose himself. She wanted to take a fresh soul, a young and pleasant soul, to the abyss of death.

“You said you had hope things would change. Hope pushed you through every day. Where is your hope now?”

Michael replied without hesitation. “My daughter is my hope.”

And he began to move, running towards the road, towards Courtney. His last glimpse of Death revealed a glare of hatred. Michael would not let Death take home two souls tonight. Without his daughter, Michael did not think he would have the strength to go on, and Death would have won.

He charged onto the street, and yelled at Courtney. She turned to him, shocked, and stopped moving. He motioned for her to run, but even as she started to, Michael knew she wouldn’t make it in time. With only split seconds to go, he slammed into her, shoving her into her group of friends.

For barely a moment, he smiled at her. He knew he had done the right thing. And in doing so, perhaps her life would change and the poison would be gone.

Then time finally resumed its normal pace, and Death got her soul.

—–

Now, it’s not the happiest ending in the world, but I think it’s progress!

 

Post 14 — The Return of Aran Dyer?

Recently I took a trip down to see a friend of mine and my girlfriend’s, Kaity. She’s a pretty eccentric woman with a vibrant personality and a great sense of humor. Every minute with her is an adventure, that’s for sure. We had a great time running around a brand new town doing bowling, hitting a bar, and an amazing appetizer meal.

On our way down to see her, while taking the scenic route apparently, I was asked about why I haven’t been writing anything lately. Well, I didn’t have a very good reason. Hell, I never have a good reason. It’s not like I spend every waking moment of my life super-busy. So I just explained the only thing I could think of: a lack of motivation.

It’s funny, because when you’re a kid you create patterns for your adult life. If you sleep in late all the time, believe me, you are going to hate those early mornings. If you play a lot of video games, as I have, you spend quite a bit of your waking moments playing them. When I was a kid, I also spent a lot of time writing. I hit my career beginnings in the fourth grade when I wrote a short story about a leaping fish who was just like a Pokemon. Then I wrote more and more elaborate tales until my final novel attempt, The Mall.

The Mall was a great story concept. I was knee deep in R. A. Salvatore’s “Drizzt Series” (as aptly named by me). These were grand massacres of blood, love, and overall killing sprees. I loved them! So when I wrote The Mall, there was plenty of gritty action involved. But I sacrificed a lot of plot for cleverly planned action sequences. It was utter trash. But… the story plot was still salvageable, I realized while discussing it. With my new style, and my more mature mind, I could revamp this idea and finish it!

Aran Dyer, the hero, will rise again. He has new facets to his main quest, a more intelligent mindset, more believable character cast… and overall, a more efficient plot. I’ve decided to give it another shot, once I can snag my old manuscript from my father. I know I have other novel ideas floating around, more than enough to keep me occupied for years. There is something about finishing this piece that draws me in though.

Before I do any of that, however, it’s time to write a good solid piece. Not one of the short stories I’ve been up to lately. An actual in-depth piece. I’ll get some working on that done and post some here for you guys to read.

Some thoughtful music for my readers….

Deep YouTube

Until next time… catch you later.

 

Post 13 — Cataclysm

“While we’ve been off fighting Arthas and leaving a piece of ourselves in the cold northern wastes, Deathwing the Destroyer has been brooding in Deephome, the elemental plane of earth, for some time now. As he regained his strength and was patched back up by the denizens of the plane, he prepared for his assault on Azeroth. With cataclysmic force, he burst through the ceiling of the elemental plane and brought destruction to Azeroth.

Nearly all areas of Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms were affected by the eruption. The Barrens is cleft in twain, with an enormous volcanic fissure splitting it into two different zones. Orgrimmar has been destroyed, prompting Garrosh Hellscream not only to rebguild the city, but to voraciously expand the Horde’s territories. The Desolace shoreline was cracked open, allowing water — and life — back into the zone. Auberdine has been flooded and destroyed, forcing the Night Elves to move north. Everything and everyone is affected.” (wow.joystiq.com)

Now doesn’t that sound like fun.

When Cataclysm went live on December 7th, I anxiously downloaded a final patch, then swarmed the first zone (Vash’jir) along with probably hundreds of level 80 characters. It was madness. I’ve never been a part of an initial release before, and I was not disappointed. Blizzard cleverly placed the starting zones of both the Horde and Alliance quite nearby, but just far enough that it would be a quest or two before the two factions would be able to interact. And beings as this was a PvP server I was on, there was plenty of interraction. Chaos.

I didn’t see the Alliance characters for a while, didn’t even realize they were in our midst slaying other members of the Horde. Then chat exploded with yells and cries for help. I figured if I quested quicker, I could get out of the war path. But then I spotted a Lv 80 Warrior with less health than me… and I couldn’t help it, I struck, knocking him down. I am proud to say that I was not a victim of world PvP until a few days later. I won all the battles I started.

Release was fun, intense, and now we’ve slowly settled into a slow grind of new gear before the new raids are released. Things have died down quite a bit. It was fun being a part of that launch. Exhilarating.

Onto other news: I have decided to further my short story “The Black Knight” without any further procrastination. That means, on the next two days (which I thankfully have off), I will finish it. That is the plan, however. We know how good I am at those. The actual knight of the story is going to be a half undead man, who was cursed by the very undead he now hunts (his revenge, you could say). Only by killing these undead can he prevent the curse from completely taking over his body, due to a weapon that actually absorbs the necromantic magic of his foes, thus rejuvenating his own animation. Pretty crazy idea.

Anyways, I’m off to work on that story. Your usual YouTube…

Happy YouTube FTW!

Catch you all later.

 

Post 12 — I Blame Depression

I wake up in the morning, and as I yawn and stretch, I catch a glimpse of a beautiful wisp of a woman in the corner of my eye. Having spent the entire previous night with her, I smiled. I sit down at my laptop with a bowl of cereal, looking over the beginnings of a short story I had started yesterday. The idea still burned in my brain, a nagging desire to finish it. But I needed to shower, say good morning to my woman, and head out for work. Thoughts of my sleepy woman make me quite happy, and despite my lack of motivation for work, the day actually goes well. I’m in a great mood as I punch out for the evening.

Freeze frame.

This is when I should be realizing that I just forgot about my story. My good mood has made me unable to focus on the silent assassin stalking his prey in the sewers of some fictional world. That woman in the morning? That was my muse. I wouldn’t say that I am cheating on my girlfriend, but there is a certain lust involved with my story ideas. She wraps herself around my mind, heart, and very soul, and enables me to pour out perfect prose. When the rest of the world ignores, hates, or otherwise disrupts my life, I retreat and find her waiting patiently for me. Expecting me.

Even now, at 5:30 AM, I am feeling the beginnings of what I can only call depression. I have been in a moderately good mood for most of today, but thoughts of certain people and events have weighed on my shoulders. This weight pulls me further away from the rest of the world. Into my own world, and the arms of my muse.  She urged me to write this blog entry, to get out into the world what I feared was true.

I write best when depressed.

I can’t ignore the facts:

1) I write the most when I’m in a bad mood. I find myself hurling my emotions onto the paper, then crafting each virulent phrase into a piece of literature that I love. I write quickly, purposefully, music blasting my eardrums out. Then, as I calm down, or something cheers me up, my writing speed drastically slows, to the point of weeks of no writing. Why must I be in a horrid mood to write something?

2) My writing isn’t exactly the happiest stuff to read. When the swordsman stabs his longsword into the jugular of an evil cultist, blood coughing up from the man’s throat and his eyes bulging out, the average person does not get a warm, fuzzy smile on their face. Those smiles are for kittens.

I’ll take it, though. I’ll take the inner turmoil that creates my writing. I embrace it at times, and I get a finished copy that I’m quite proud of. But it makes me fear I may never be a real author. How can I live a happy life where my life is drowned in forced sorrow to make my life? It’s not like I can snap my fingers and be like “Oh hey! I’m in a bad mood! Now I can write something.”

So I am blaming my hiatus on my depression, or lack thereof in this situation. Hopefully I can fix this rut I’ve stuck myself in. I’ve got a couple ideas for short stories I’ve set out. I’ll try to get one of them on here tomorrow or Monday.

Until then, your usual music video…

Randomly Depressing YouTube

Catch you all here tomorrow.

 

Post 11 — Of Gods and Facebook Pages

Please make sure you pay the ferryman before your journey across the River Styx. He accepts gold currency, usually in the form of coins. If you fail to do so, you may become victims of his wrath and join the countless who didn’t pay their way, down in the bottom of the river.

Welcome back, readers. Wikipedia is a great resource. I never know if what I’m reading is completely true or not. I will admit, however, that I have found some pretty interesting articles on the site. For instance, when trying to figure out whether “river” in River Styx was supposed to be capitalized, I found myself immersed in Greek mythology. It was said that the gods actually swore to the Styx. They were bound by that oath, and if they failed, they had to drink from it. This would cause them to lose their voice for 9 years, and then also lose their place in council for the 9 years after that. Crazy.

Of course, that story then lead to me reading about god’s impregnating mortals, which is all fine and dandy. Those gods sure got whatever they wanted.

Another topic on my mind are the increasing number of Facebook pages being created. When I first got into the Facebook network, sometime in the beginning of my senior year in high school, there were very few “pages.” I mean, I think I joined R. A. Salvatore’s page, Monster Energy Drink’s page, and I think some page about Nicolas Cage, but I am not certain about that last one. That was it. I rarely ever got invites to new pages.

Nowadays, all I ever see on Facebook is “Person X likes ‘I heard what you said, I’m not stupid’” and the like. Now, I’m not going to lie, some of these pages are quite interesting and humorous. The majority, however, are senseless or simply scams that some person thought would be amusing. And yes, many people are suckered into downloading that “dislike” button that you have to become a fan first to get access to. It’s becoming increasingly ridiculous. I started blocking those friends of mine that join every single blasted page that comes their way.

I have nothing against Facebook, I use it to promote my blog and to see what’s going on in the life of those friends I don’t have quite enough time to talk to. I sure hope, however, that this is simply a phase the networking site is going through, and that the admins will get smart enough to stop this before it gets even more out of hand. I think it detracts from the experience.

I recently posted Sand Rat, my latest short story. Now that the muse has kissed my inner creative soul once again, I feel as though it’s time to start up the rest of the furnaces in my brain. I can’t be posting one short story and then let it all die again. I felt just a little bit empty when I wasn’t writing. Now that it’s back, I have to keep it. I will be keeping you posted as to what the next one is about.

Until then, as always, your random music infusion of the day.

Random YouTube

Linkin Park this time. This music video is well done. I wonder who actually drew it all. I know that one of the members of the band is a great artist, but I can’t remember which one. Anyway, enjoy.

So let me know what you thought of this post, as always. I’m continuously looking for some insight into my blogs. If you guys have any blog suggestions for me, maybe something I should check out, I’d love to hear it. So feel free to leave a comment. Thanks again for reading.

Catch you all tomorrow.