Dealing With a Chronic Illness

     I haven't posted for a few days because I've been dealing with a number of things. I've been ill, mostly with head stuff, and it's been difficult to even look at my laptop because of migraines.  I think I may be having problems with my polycythemia again, but I really don't want to go into the doctor's right now.  I know it sounds weird, but you get to the point that you just don't want to see them anymore. At any rate, this quote really hit me because it's so true.  Even the people closest to you who truly see what you are going through become numb or desensitized to your daily struggle, and the end result is a lack of understanding.  People's expectations can become crushing weights that mire your soul in a pit of despair, depression, and a general sense of self-worthlessness.  If you know somebody with a chronic illness, no matter how well they seem to be doing, tell them you love them, and you're proud of how much they do.  It can mean the world of difference to a person who is suffering in their private world of purgatory, all alone.

The Last 5 Years

     The Last 5 Years, Starring Anna Kendrick and Jeremy Jordan.

     This is a musical... with Anna Kendrick... so I was thinking, "Awsome!"  I love her voice, and she's a great actress, and a fun person, so I came into this with really high expectations.  It wasn't bad, but it wasn't as good as I was hoping for.  I also went into it completely blind.  I didn't even read reviews before I watched it, so the timeline mix-up (which was really cool, but confusing at first) messed me up, a lot.

     Cathy (Kendrick) is an up and coming actress.  She falls in love with an up an coming, Jewish novelist named Jamie (Jordan).  Her songs start at the end of their relationship and work backward.  His start at the beginning and work forward.  The whole thing ends in the middle when he proposes.  The deconstructed timeline made the movie, once you figure it out. 

     They are two dreamy artists, so the love is fast and intense, but loses its substance when things get tough, and Jamie cheats on her, ending their marriage.  It's a bit of a cliche, but probably happens more often than not.  They are both so frustrated with their struggles in trying to make it in their perspective careers, that they lose touch with each other.  

     The music was good.  Mr. Jordan is in the new Supergirl series, so it was fun to watch him sing.  I was impressed.  Mrs. Kendrick's voice was beautiful, as expected.  However, none of the songs really stood out for me.  I love musicals because singing is a talent I truly wish I had, but truly don't.  I did theater all through high school, and my drama teacher would always make a spectacle of how horribly I sing.  So, when I watch a show like this, with talent like this one had, I want something that will stick with me.  Sadly, the repeating melody is mundanely present throughout.  There weren't any ups and downs.

     There is quite a bit of language throughout, and they even belt out the "F" word.  I'm sad that Hollywood is doing that in every PG-13 movie now.

     In all, I'd give it

Was Thinking About Star Wars Again Today

Prove Them Wrong

     Very motivational.  A lot of times the voice in my head is the one telling me, "you can't."  You can do it; whatever "it" is.

Dragon Warrior Chapt. 1

     This is chapter 1 of book 2.  Remember, the first two books run in a congruent timeline, so either could be read first.  Most people seem to like reading Dragon Sight first, but Dragon Warrior is faster paced, if you're into that.

Chapter 1

                The great bear stood on his rear legs, rising to his full imposing size.  My heart skipped a beat.  He was going to attack now.  I crouched in a defensive position; one sword in front of me and one behind.  I knew the charge was coming.  There was no turning back now.  I had to face the monster.  I had to beat him back.  Time seemed to slow as I anticipated the imminent attack.  The cool spring air rustled my hair.  The chill of winter had not yet left the foothills of the great mountains of the North.  Some of the trees were still tipped with snow.  The mountains just above us were heavy laden with it.  The cool air was a welcomed treat to cool me from the heated battle.

                In a blur, the bear moved.  Claws were flying.  His great maw was snapping shut with razor sharp teeth trying to get a taste of my flesh.  I was ready.  My blades danced quicker than the bear could move.  Sharp steal took bites out of his flesh.  He roared in anger each time my blades made contact.  The injuries did not stop the beast; they only managed to infuriate him.

                Claws were coming faster now.  This was no ordinary bear.  He moved with purpose and speed.  He lunged for me again, maw opened.  I brought my sword up horizontally, and shoved it into the bear’s mouth.  The blade cut the cheeks to the bone of the jaw and stuck firmly, but the momentum of the animal would not allow it to stop.  We collided.  I went sprawling feet over head backwards, the massive beast rolling over the top of me.  For a brief moment I worried that I would be crushed, but the momentum carried the animal’s massive weight beyond my body.

                I quickly rolled back to my feet, freeing a knife from my weapons belt in the process.  I was none too soon, as the bear had already turned to press the attack again.  My sword still lay imbedded in the bear’s mouth.  He rose up on his hind legs again.  This time, he did not even pause.  His full weight came crashing down on me.  A claw swept dangerously close to my body.  In as quick of a movement as I could muster, I spun, offering my sword in the place of the bear’s intended target.  With the full weight of his body behind the blow, the bear could not stop its assault.  The paw was severed at the wrist. 

                I wasted no time pressing the attack.  The bear hobbled back a step in shock and pain.  I took the ground he had lost in a stride, swinging my knife down in the process.  I added my weight to the blow, and the blade sunk up to the hilt in the bear’s shoulder.  Without flinching, the bear reared its head, knocking me out of the way.  We were on top of one of the foothills, and I rolled all the way down it from the blow.

                The great bear wasted no time.  It was charging down the hill after me before I had even finished tumbling down, myself.  I used the momentum to place some distance between us, and I rolled back to my feet, new weapons in my hands.  The bear swiped at the sword in its mouth with a massive clawed paw.  The weapon went sailing through the air.  The wound it left healed over before the sword hit the ground.  When the bear reached me, it had already grown back its severed paw.  The knife still jutted out from its shoulder, but the wound didn’t seem to bother the great beast.

                I was sweaty, and tired.  The battle had been going on like this for over an hour.  I was down to my last two blades.  Countless blows and cuts to the animal, and aside from the knife jutting out of its shoulder, the animal looked completely unharmed.  I didn’t know what I would do when my last two blades were gone.  I had been fighting since I was old enough to walk, but I was always better with a blade than hand-to-hand combat.  The bear didn’t care if I had a weapon, or not.  He continued to press the attack.

                I decided to make my last two weapons count.  I dug in and waited for the impact.  Both claws were coming this time; the bear had lunged at me and was soaring through the air.  It was a mistake.  I used his momentum to carry me backwards.  My foot came up, and caught the animal under the jaw, closing its massive maw.  I continued to flip backwards, and with all the strength I possessed, pushed the bear upward with my foot.  The kick served its purpose, and I was able to get enough space between the beast and I to swing my swords.  In a mad frenzy I stabbed.  As fast as my arms would move, I stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed.  The bear was soaring through the air above me; I was flipping backwards beneath it, but my blades were doing their lethal dance in and out of the soft underside of the beast. 

I must have poked a dozen holes all the way down the belly of the bear before we hit the ground.  The animal was unmoved by the attack.  Its rear legs came down, trying to stomp me in the process.  I was quicker.  I was on my belly on the ground underneath him, but I rolled to the side just in time to miss the heavy blow.  I came to my feet, a bit slower this time.  I could feel the fatigue settling in.  I wondered if the animal would ever tire.

The great bear turned to face me again.  He paused for only a moment.  I could see the intelligence in his eyes.  Before I could catch my breath, he pressed the attack again.  My blades came up to meet him.  Instead of taking him head on, I stepped to the side, and pivoted.  I swung my sword backwards with all of my might as the bear charged past me.  The blade found its mark, and was buried to the hilt in the bear’s side.  With the massive beast’s forward momentum, I didn’t have enough time to retrieve the weapon before he charged past.

The sword handle, and the knife handle sticking out of the animal gave it an even more menacing look.  It was a reminder that he was immortal; that I could not win this battle.  I was tired.  I wanted to stop, but I knew he would not allow it. 

I took my last blade in both hands, and waited for the attack.  The beast charged again, this time he was watching for a side step.  He was waiting for me to make a mistake.  He was waiting for me to repeat a move so that he could teach me a lesson.  I had learned not to make those mistakes in my training.  As soon as a warrior becomes predictable, he will die.  I knew the laws of war.  I was not about to break them.

As the bear charged in, I flipped forward.  I ran my blade up the back of the bear as it passed under me.  The fur, and skin separated as the blade sliced its way down the animal.  Before I had finished my strike, the beginning of the wound was mending.  The long gash closed up like a zipper before I completed my flip and landed on the ground.

I turned to face my foe once more.  The bear reared up again.  I pressed the attack.  My blade moved like lightning.  I cut across, up, down, jabbed, thrashed, and twisted.  Long cuts were all over the bear’s tender underbelly.  The wounds healed instantly.  I cut faster, deeper.  The wounds healed faster.  My arms and blade were a blur of furious movement. 

The bear started swinging its massive claws.  I had to stop my frivolous attack, and use my sword as a shield from the sharp claws.  The bear stayed on his haunches and fought with its front paws, almost like a man.  Several times I severed the massive mitts, but they always grew back as fast as I could cut them.  Every now-and-then I would thrust the sword into the bear’s chest, or stomach.  The blows, be they offensive or defensive, didn’t faze the beast.

My arms were getting heavy.  The swings were becoming increasingly more labored.  I was slowing.  The bear was not.  With a mighty blow, it knocked the sword from my hand.  With his other paw, he knocked me from my feet.  I flew a good five paces before I struck the ground.

My head was spinning, but I knew I had to get up.  On unsure legs I made it back to my feet.  The bear was already there.  It swung a massive claw at me.  I reached up, and grabbed the arm just in time.  With all my strength, I wretched the arm sideways, and up behind the bear’s back.  The bone popped.  I swung my legs over the beast, and continued pulling the arm until I was able to roll him. 

The bears other paw came around with the momentum of the roll, and caught me square in the chest.  I went sprawling again.  I landed on my back a good eight paces away.  The blow drove the air from my lungs.  I tried to sit up, but my spinning head wouldn’t let me.  I was only just able to prop myself up on my elbows to get a look at the beast bearing down on me.

A bright, yellow, glowing light left the pouch attached to my weapons belt.  I tried to call out, but there was still no air in my lungs.  The little glowing creature flew furiously at the beast.  They met head on.  One would expect the little glowing creature to lose in the collision, but that was not the case.  This was my oldest, and dearest, friend Columbine Iceweb; a fairy who found me as a baby after my parents abandoned me.  When she collided with the bear, he went sprawling.  He flew a good twenty paces up in the air and one hundred paces backwards; flipping haphazardly as he went, with arms and legs sprawling out in every direction.

“No more,” the little fairy voice shouted as the bear took flight.

I groaned inside.  I was going to be in trouble.  I sat up, and waited for her to return to me.

“Colly,” I said, admonishingly as she landed in my upturned palm.  “You do realize he’s going to kill me now, don’t you?”

Columbine’s wings wilted, the way a dogs ears do when you yell at them.  “He’s too hard on you,” she explained.  “I can’t stand it when mean old Marus hits you like that.”

I couldn’t be mad at her.  She loved me.  She only understood love.  I feigned a scold.  “Well I hit him, don’t I,” I asked.

She held her hands behind her back, looked down, and shrugged.  “I guess you do.”  She sat quietly under my scolding gaze for a moment longer.  Then her wings came up a bit with a thought, and she looked up into my eyes, “But it doesn’t hurt him like it hurts you.  I don’t like to see him hurt you.  He’s a mean old bear,” she professed.

I couldn’t hold the scold any longer, and smiled helplessly.  “Awww, you know I can’t stay mad at you, little Colly.  I love my little Colly wolly.”

With that, her wings perked up, and she glowed a little brighter.  She lifted up off my hand, flew to my face.  She kissed me on the tip of my nose.  As she did so, her yellowish glow turned a deep red.  “I love you, Apoc,” she said in her tiny fairy voice.

Just then, Marus came tromping through the bushes.  The bear was grunting angrily as he walked.  He stood up on his hind legs, and continued walking forward.  With each step, his body was transforming.  He shrunk a few feet, then his fur got thinner, his snout sunk in, the eyes changed.  Within a few paces, he was a man. 

Knight Marus was my second oldest and dearest, friend.  He had learned about my birth through a prophecy, and was sent to train me from Mother Gaia, herself.  He was the Shaman of my people.  He had been so for the last eight thousand years.  His calling as a councilman at Gaia’s table had prolonged his life, and given him powers beyond my imagination.  He had taught me how to use some of those powers, but mostly, he taught me about my power. 

He stopped just in front of me.  As I stood up, he removed the sword from his side.  The wound closed immediately once the blade was removed.  Then he reached up, and pulled the blade from his shoulder.  There was not a scratch on him to betray the damage I had done him in the training session.  His eyes, however, were dancing with anger.

“You must keep that little pest in your room when we train,” Marus said.  “We train for hours, and she undoes all our work.  How can you learn if others fight for you?”

I never knew how to answer Marus’ questions.  Anyone else would ask such a thing, and it would be a rhetorical question; Marus never asked rhetorical questions.  He always expected an answer.  I racked my brain trying to think of an answer that would appease him.  Nothing came to mind.

Colly beat me to the punch.  She flew right up to Marus’ face, and said, “You be nice! You mean old bear.”

“Why does she always do this,” Marus asked with exaggerated patience.  “She knows I do not understand a word that she says.”

Colly had the tiniest little voice.  No one could understand her, but me.  I often wondered why that was.  I could hear her from a quarter mile away, but others couldn’t hear her even if she were screaming right in their ears.

“She says, I’ve trained enough,” I said.  “She says it’s time for us to go to supper.”

Colly flashed blue, and turned to fly back to me.  “You lie head,” she exclaimed.  “I can’t believe you lied.  You tell the mean old bear what I said.  Don’t lie.  You lie head.”

I had to laugh.  Marus just raised an eyebrow.  “Ummm. She’s mad because I lied,” I explained.  “She didn’t say it was supper time.  That was my idea.”  Marus didn’t think it was funny, so I quickly wiped the smile off my face.  “What she really said was that you’re a mean old bear.”

Colly looked pleased.  She turned around, and stuck her little tongue out at Marus.  He was too far away to see her tiny features, but she didn’t seem to care.  She flew back to me, landed on my shoulder, and started snuggling with my cheek.

“You must leave the insect at home next time, Apoc,” Marus admonished.  The scowl never left his dark features.  “This is not a game.  We train you for Gaia.  You are to be the Chosen One.  You cannot live life as if it were a game.”

“Should I live like you,” I said out of anger.  “You don’t live, Knight Marus.  Life isn’t as serious as you make it out to be.  It’s fun, and exciting.  Sure, there are tough times, but if all you focus on is the bad, you’ll never be happy.” 

The old shaman didn’t look moved.  “You are young,” he said.  “And stupid.” 

Marus was a lot of things, but he was never belittling.  He must have been more upset than I had thought.

“We are facing grave times, Apoc,” he continued.  “If you continue to live in this fancy free life style of yours, you will get yourself killed.  Then the world will fall to darkness.  We all depend on you.  I do not believe that you truly understand the burden that you bear.  You cannot live a normal life.  I am sorry for this, but it is what it is.  You are right; life should be a wonder.  It is the greatest gift the Creator gave us, but for some, like you and I, we must sacrifice that gift so that others may enjoy theirs.  You will learn to find joy in that sacrifice, too.”

I had heard the speech a million times.  It was losing its effect.  Colly was still cuddling with my cheek.  She let her magic flow into me.  It was love.  All she knew was love.  She shared that love openly.  She wanted me to feel it.  It was hard to keep the scolded look on my face with her wonderful magic flowing through me.  Knight Marus’ speech was having even less effect on me because of it.

I looked up, in the best humbled face I could pull.  “I’m sorry, Marus.  You’re right.  I’ll try to take my training more seriously from now on.  Don’t be mad at Colly.  She doesn’t understand.  She just wants me to be happy.”

The big man just sighed.  “I am not mad at Colly, son.  I am glad that she is so protective of you.  She has saved your life many times.  I would not ban her from our training sessions if she could stay out of the fight.”  He shot Columbine a glare.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw her wings wilt.  “But we must be able to complete our training sessions.   There will be times when you are knocked down in battle.  There will be times when you are knocked senseless.  You need to practice responding, even under those circumstances.  I love you, son.  I do not want this calling to take your life.”

“I know, Marus,” I said.  I no longer had to force the humbled look.  “Sometimes I worry I won’t be enough.  I worry I won’t be able to live up to the prophecy.”

Marus walked over to me, and placed a meaty hand on my shoulder.  “I know, son.  I know.  That is why we train so hard.  I cannot help you in the last battle.  The prophecy says that you will fight it on your own.  The only way I can be there for you is by what we do here, in our training sessions.  It is my prayer that these sessions will make you ready for that fateful moment.”

The big man embraced me like a father.  I never knew my father, but with Marus around I never missed him.  I had been raised by him, and Columbine.  I couldn’t imagine a boy having more loving parents.

“Now,” he said as we separated.  “I think it really is time for supper.”

With that, we hiked our way down through the foothills, away from the great mountains, to the village.

From an Alien Perspective

     

     From an Alien Perspective by Jack Petersen.

     From an Alien Perspective is a fun little story about a group of crab-like aliens (Dejan) interacting with humans.  Iadog (the protagonist)  studies with Finnley (the human) in a galactic college.  Iadog was supposed to spy on the humans to learn what he could about their technology, physiology, weaknesses, etc.  But their species' value system is so different that Iadog can't even begin to fathom what is important, and what is not.

     When Iadog's superiors learn of his failure, they capture what they think is Finnley, but it ends up being an android.  They try to torture the human into submission, but their lack of understanding about basic human physiology, let alone not know that they had an android, leads them to more failure.  

     Finnley, for his part, is truly trying to educate the Dejan in hopes that they will leave their odd religious beliefs and join the interstellar community.

     This was a fun way to portray aliens.  We tend to want to portray them with human values and understanding, but Mr. Petersen does a good job at making them something completely different.  There are several short story with this download, but I could only review one, so I picked the first, and longest.

     I'd give it

The Cobbler

     The Cobbler, starring Adam Sandler.

     What can I say about The Cobbler?  It's an Adam Sandler movie.  If you don't immediately know what that means, you probably shouldn't watch it because you won't like it.  It isn't his usual, immature, Billy Madison or Happy Gilmore type movie, but it's closer to his old stuff than his new stuff.  Yes, there's crude humor; that's just his shtick.

     Max Simkin (Sandler) works as a cobbler in a run-down shop which has been in his family for generations.  Life has gotten Max down as the day-to-day of being a simple cobbler is taking its toll on him.  He's broke, has no social life, and no romantic possibilities on the horizon.  To make matters worse, his shop is in the lower east side of Manhattan and in danger of being shut down.  Simkin is struggling, along with the other shop owners in the area, just to stay in business.

     A thug comes into Simkin's shop demanding some shoes be done by 5 pm that night.  He reluctantly agrees, but his sewing machine breaks, and he has to pull the family heirloom out of the basement to finish the job.  The machine is magic, and when he puts on shoes repaired by this magical machine, he becomes the person who owns them.

     Simkin goes out to live the life he'd always wanted, in the usual Sandler comical way.  He does some funny stuff, inappropriate stuff, and even some kind-hearted stuff with the shoes.  Eventually, he comes back to his problem, and begins to put his life in order.

     Of course, there's a sappy moral hidden beneath the comedy, and the movie ends on a high note.  

     I'm actually a big Sandler fan (don't throw stones).  I have a brother who looks and acts just like him, so when I watch his movies it reminds me of my childhood.  This one was okay; not his best, but not his worst.

     I'd give it

Married vs. Single

Talking too much, not listening enough

     Have you ever had a conversation and immediately regretted everything you said, and wished you could go back and start the whole conversation over?  That happened to me last weekend.  I met a nice old couple, and we were introducing ourselves to each other, and I mentioned that I was a writer.  They said that they were writers, as well, and asked me about my work.

     Now, let me preface this next part with the fact that I don't get out much.  I'm like a stay-at-home mom.  I don't get to interact a lot with adults, so I get a little over-zealous when I actually get to have an intelligent conversation, especially when it's about writing because there aren't a lot of writers in the world.

     So, back to my little encounter.

     I was so excited about talking about what I do, I vomited all sorts of "me" info all over this nice old couple.  Now, I'm by no measure an accomplished author.  In other words, I don't have a lot to brag about.  I wouldn't say I was trying to brag, but I was so excited to talk about what I've been trying to do, that I kind of just took over the whole conversation.  At any rate, we had to do some stuff, and weren't able to talk again for a while after I just spewed my life story to this nice, long-suffering old couple.

     When we got done with our meeting, I came to my senses, a bit, and asked them what they wrote.  This nice old couple were George D. Durrant and Susan Easton Black.  Mr. Durrant was a BYU college professor, and has published over 50 books.  Mrs. Black was also a BYU college professor who has published over 20 books.

     I missed a huge opportunity.  Here were two well established, knowledgeable authors who could have told me all sorts of useful wisdom, and I talked about me...  I can't tell you how dumb I feel.

     First of all, I'm embarrassed that I've become a "Me Monster" as Brian Regan calls it.

     And second, I missed a once in a lifetime opportunity to learn something from people who actually know.

     So this week, for Thursday Truths Day, I have a humbled man's word of advice:  Listen first, then speak, and then listen again.  

Dragon Sight Chapter 1

     I just realized I haven't posted any chapters from my first two books.  When I was writing them, I had an open blog and just posted everything, but now that's a private blog.  So, I decided to share the first chapter of book 1.  Book 1 and book 1 run in a congruent timeline, so either can be first.  Most people seem to like Dragon Sight being first, so here's chapter 1.

Chapter 1

The cool air moved uneasily as the first drops began to fall.  I could hear the rain plinking softly on the tin stable roof a hundred feet above my head for several seconds before the drizzle finally found its way to the ground. A few seconds more, and the light spring air had turned into a heavy downpour. I paused at my work and leaned on my shovel to enjoy the refreshing shower.  The stable was a large “U” shape, and I stood in the center of the “U” exposed to the cool drops.  The water washed away the thick smell of dragon excrement, which always hung heavily in the air around the stables.  Hot steam radiated from my overworked body as the cool water rinsed the accumulated filth from my tattered clothes. I had to smile to myself.

Dressed in only a tattered shirt and a pair of paints which had more holes than fabric, I felt the pelting rain all over my mostly exposed skin.  I loved the rain.  The animals hated it. They danced nervously in their stalls, grunting their disapproval.

With each drop came a sound.  Those sounds gave me a chance to “see”, a rare occurrence, indeed.  Water pelted long necks swaying back and forth, gigantic heads looking this way and that.  The raindrops hit the dragons’ thick hides, sending sound reverberations to my sensitive ears.  Part of my job was to wash those dragons, so I was familiar with their bodies.  I knew every scale, every horn, every scar, but it was nice to hear the rain hitting them and confirming what my hands had felt.

I wasn’t born blind.  I was a toddler, not quite two years of age, when the Dark Clan attacked and I lost my eyes.  It was a raid.  The Dark Clan’s riders appeared out of the pitch black sky, and wreaked havoc on our kingdom only to disappear into the nothingness from which they emerged.  Raids weren’t all that uncommon in the boarder villages, but we lived in the King’s city, right in the middle of Gogaloth, where we had only suffered one other raid in history. Mother tells me that the fire was too thick for her to rescue me from my crib. Such thick, black, choking smoke… It was a miracle that I didn’t suffocate.  My young eyes were burnt by the ashes, and forever closed.  At Seventeen, and having delt with it all my life, I have become accustomed to my world of darkness.  I still wish I had, at least, one memory of sight; a color or face… Alas, there is nothing but darkness.

I shook my head at the bad memory.  I wanted to enjoy the rain, not wallow in self pity.  After all, on a night like this I could “see” better than anyone.  I don’t know exactly when it happened, but at some point sound became my world of sight.  Each noise tells me how far away things are, and the echoes give me a feel for dimensions.  I count steps everywhere I go to judge distances and memorize paths, and I feel the faces of the people I meet so that I get an idea of what they look like.  With the downpour, there’s a chorus of sound describing the world around me in a way that I can understand.  

Leaning on my shovel, and still panting from the heavy work of mucking out the dragon stables, I begin to daydream.  I’m the Rider of Acaba, the prophesied hero of the people.  I’m soaring through the air atop one of the king dragons, a dragon rider army behind me. The Dark Clan has us surrounded.  Someone calls out a battle cry and we rush to attack…

“Calitharious!”

I almost fall off my shovel.  I quickly caught myself, and turn to face my screaming father with my head hanging low.  He’d caught me in another daydream.  My cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“I’ve been calling for you for the last twenty minutes.  Is this how you spend your time at the stables?  It’s no wonder Lycons has been complaining about having a blind boy for a stable hand.”

The burning in my cheeks spread to my gut.  I felt my bottom lip start to quiver against my greatest efforts to suppress it.  I turned away to hide my embarrassment.

“Cal, I’m sorry, son.  I didn’t mean that.”

I felt his calloused hand on my shoulder. I pulled away.  I was once again just the blind stable-boy, good for nothing more than to keep the stables from overflowing with dragon dung.  I could never become the Rider of Acaba.  I could never be anything worthwhile.

With all the indignation I could muster, I yelled, “I’d like to see you get around ten-thousand pound monsters with your eyes closed without getting trampled!”

Too embarrassed to even wait for my father’s response, I turned and ran.

The heavy rain pounded on my head and shoulders as I ran across the field beyond the stables.  Father’s faint voice called from behind me, but the thunderous rain on my head deafened my ears from any distinguishable words.  At one hundred and forty-seven paces, I reached the forest.

I didn’t often enter the woods because the forest floor was always changing, and I hated the scrapes and bruises I’d get from trips and falls, but I pressed forward.

The trees shielded me from the rain as I pushed deeper into their oppressive embrace.  This forest was old.  The new moisture made the air thick with the aroma of rotting deadwood and fungus.  I sprinted onward.  I was gasping air with some difficulty by this point, but my tormented mind made my body seem numb.  It was dangerous to be running at break-neck speeds through such thick woods…  Just as the thought hit me, I felt a sharp piercing blow from a broken branch on my right temple which sent me sprawling to the ground where I was met with another blow to my forehead.  The world spun to oblivion.

When I awoke, I heard birds greeting the warm morning sun.  I sat up, but the world started turning too fast for my liking.  I had to brace myself against the ground to keep from falling over.  My entire face felt dry and sticky. Still a little confused, I touched my cheek; it was caked in a syrup-like substance.  Memory of the injuries came flooding back into my muddled mind.

“My father was right,” I mumbled to myself.  “I am a useless blind boy.”

I felt around and found the rock which had struck my forehead.  It had a long sharp ridge across the top.  I tenderly felt around the pulsating painful spot on my forehead only to find what I already knew to be there; a two-inch gash from eyebrow to hairline, another scar to mar my already hashed face.

The sound of the rushing river nearby told me that I had run farther into the woods than I originally thought.

“A whole quarter mile,” I said out loud, just to hear it.  I began to smile.   “Most boys couldn’t do that with both eyes wide open in these woods.”

“I’d be impressed too, cept I can see da bloody mess dat ya are,” came a response.

My stomach turned.

“Who’s there,” I asked tentatively, trying to back away from the voice.

“Relax, lad.  I mean ya no harm,” the gruff voice responded.

Still trying to scoot away from him, I asked, “Who are you?”

My mind started racing.  Gogaloth was full of dangerous people, and I didn’t know how to defend myself, even if I had the use of my eyes.  He didn’t sound treacherous, but his accent was foreign.  I could recognize the heavy tongues of the other two kingdoms, but his wasn’t from either.

I heard the man stand up.  The gravel crunched under his feet as he approached me.  “Let’s just say a friend, fer now.”

I made a sour face at his obtuse answer, but he kept shuffling towards me.  Without warning, a meaty hand prodded the open wound on my forehead.

“Ouch! Don’t touch it!  It hurts,” I shouted, trying to scoot farther away from him on my bottom. The roughness of his hands led me to believe they were dirty, too.  He was probably just some beggar hoping to get a handout for helping me.

“Now, lad, ya gonna bleed ta death if’n ya don’a treat dem holes,” the strange man said.

“I have a doctor to treat me.  I don’t need your help,” I grumbled, as I stopped trying to scoot away.  I wasn’t in any mood to put up with more people helping the poor blind kid, especially some beggar.

The old man seemed undeterred.  “Now, ya listen good; I didn’a sit up here all night fer nottin.  Hold still an’ I’ll fix ya up real nice-like, den ya can go ta dat palace o’yer’s an’ let dat no-good doctor mess up da fine work dat I’ll do on ya.”

Now I knew the old man was deluded.  I was obviously not royalty.  Even an entire night’s worth of rain couldn’t wash the stench of dragon dung off me.

Unless he knew…

It wasn’t exactly a secret that mother had been stripped of her title when she married Father, but he’d have to be a Gogalothian to know Mother, and his accent was not from anywhere in Gogaloth.  And, he’d have to know me personally to recognize me for my mother’s son.  Perhaps gossip of the crowned princess of Gogaloth being disinherited had reached beyond the three free kingdoms.

I pushed his prodding hands away again.  “I didn’t ask for you to sit up all night waiting to mend me.  I can take care of myself.  I don’t need your help.”

The man cursed under his breath, and stood up.  I heard shuffling which sounded as if he were stuffing things into a bag.  He grumbled some inaudible phrases to himself as he worked.  The only words I could decipher were curse words.

“Look,” I said.  “I’m sure that my parents are looking for me.  I’m not trying to be rude, I just need to get going.”  There was no answer, just more shuffling.  “I do appreciate your kindness for watching over me…”

Just then, I felt the powerful swoosh of air from a dragon’s wings as it took off.  A dragon!  How in the world did he have a dragon?  Only royals and riders had dragons.  Maybe he wasn’t a beggar.  I was left alone to wonder about him.

A fresh stream of blood was trickling from the wound because of the old man’s rough touch.  I had to put off thoughts of the strange encounter for the time and treat my injuries.  I stood on unsteady legs and made my way towards the sound of the river.  My head was spinning, adding to the difficulty of navigating in the unfamiliar terrain.

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight…”

As I bumbled my way across the rocky ground towards the sound of flowing water, it occurred to me how small my world had been.  I knew every cobblestone, rock, hill, bump, and smooth spot within a quarter mile of my home… but little else.  I was unerring in my little world, but here my feet didn’t know their way.

I finally reached the river at fourty-seven paces.  It was a small accomplishment, but it lifted my spirits a bit.  I knelt at the bank, scooped water up with cupped palms, and gently poured it across my face.  It burned as it ran across the gaping holes in my head.  Being early spring, the stream was still icy cold.  After five or ten minutes I couldn’t stand to dip my hands in the freezing water anymore, so I tore what was left of my raggedy old shirt and made a crude bandage to wrap my head.  I didn’t remember crossing the river, so I figured I was still on the east side of it.  All I had to do was follow the warmth of the rising sun until I was out of the woods and back on familiar ground.

The journey back was not as smooth, or lucky, as my flight into the woods had been.  Every few seconds I felt a sharp branch drag across my now exposed arms and chest, and I must have bloodied my shins half a dozen times on rock outcroppings before I made it out of the thick trees.  Following the sun proved to be a trying task as well because the trees were so thick that light only dashed intermittently through small openings in the forest canopy.  At times I had to wander around in little circles in the shade of the great oaks and cedars.

If I wasn’t so distraught I might have stopped to enjoy the sweet musky smell of the cedars, but the pleasant aroma only served as a distraction as my nose frantically tried to sniff out the pungent smell of the stables.  After about an hour, I finally broke through the tree line.  I had lost track of how many paces I’d taken twenty minutes prior, so I wasn’t sure, exactly, where I emerged from the wood.  The dank smell of the forest was replaced with the familiar smell of dragon.  I followed the stink in a stupor, abandoning my habitual counting.

Feeling more at ease on familiar ground, my mind slowly wandered to my father.  I felt bad for not hearing him out, and started thinking about how I would apologize.  Once I reached a road, my feet took over walking as I fell into the familiar path to my home.  The counting started again, but it was just background noise to my thoughts.  Before I knew it, I was home.

I leaned against the old wooden door to my house.  It gave way with a familiar creak, welcoming me home.  Mother gasped from the other side of the room as I entered the Main Room.

“Oh, my son,” she exclaimed.

I must have been a sight to see; bashed, bleeding all over, and dirty to the bone.

Before I could take a step into the house, Mother was there.  She seemed to scoop me up into her arms, though I was a good foot taller than her.  I guessed I would always be her baby.  I felt her tears on my naked shoulder.  The salt burned as they ran across the small scrapes I had sustained from the pine trees.

“I’m okay,” I said as I managed to free my arms enough to hug her back.  “I just ran into a tree branch, and I think I hit my head on a rock.”  She started to sob even louder.  “Are you okay, Mother?”

“Son, there was an attack…”

My senses suddenly came alive for the first time since my return.  The ashes from the fires hung heavily on the air.  The smell of burnt sulfur only dragon’s fire could produce, was burning my nostrils.  Why hadn’t I notice it sooner?

“But it was raining last night,” I said pleadingly.  “There couldn’t have been an attack last night.  It was raining!  It had to have been too dark for riders.”

“It was just like the night when you lost your eyes, Cal.  There were no warnings,” she spluttered between sobs.  “We couldn’t even see where the fire balls were coming from to defend ourselves.”

My stomach turned and tightened.  I managed to choke out the words, “What’s happened?  Where’s dad?”  My mother sobbed even louder.  “Mom…Is he…?”

“I don’t know,” she said, composing herself and releasing me from her vice-like grip.  “The town is a mess…  He never came home… You never came home… I didn’t know what to do!”

She let out a deep calming breath, and then started again, “We heard the first blasts, and he ran to the stables to get you.  We thought it was a dragon in training gone mad.  No one expected an attack on a night like last night.”  Her voice trailed off.

I had to calm myself to think.  How could I have not heard a blast of dragon breath?  Dragons whelp as the fire ignites on their tongues, and the boom as the flame is blown out of their mouths is deafening.  I couldn’t imagine how it could have eluded my finely tuned ears.  It must have been the rain on the stable roof.  I must have been completely in another world with my daydreaming.  I must have…  Why did I let myself go to my silly daydreams?  I should have heard them.  I should have known.

“He came to the stables, and was yelling at me,” I said in a stupor.  “He called me a blind stable hand.  I got mad at him and yelled something back then ran to the woods.  I think he tried to follow me, but I’m not sure.  I yelled at him, Mother… he can’t be gone.  I have to tell him I’m sorry.  I have to apologize, I have to…”  My mother threw her arms around me, and the tears got the better of me.  Together, we sobbed for what seemed like an eternity.

Tears spent, we decided to go looking for Father.  Mother suggested that he might be in the woods looking for me, but something inside me told me that wasn’t so.  She quickly gathered three family friends to help search the woods for him, and then she and I started asking around town if anyone had seen him.

The town guards were busy taking care of the injured and organizing people to rebuild the walls.  We couldn’t rally any more help in our search.  Mother was asking everyone we knew, everyone except the person I felt we should ask the most: The King.  The King would have an army to find him.  At the very least if he asked townspeople to help they’d listen to him.

The King was my grandfather, but he disinherited my mother when she married Father, so I had never met him.  Mother always said I would never be safe around any royalty because of the prophecy.  The King resented that my birth had almost caused a war between Gogaloth and the other two kingdoms.

That prophecy… I might have been a normal kid without it.

Dangerous or not, I had to see the King.  We needed his help. While my mother was busy talking to some of the guards, I slipped away.  I pushed through the crowd towards the palace.

The main cobble stone path to the castle was unfamiliar to my feet, and the bustle of the town made my commute impossible.

“One hundred and fourty-five, one hundred and fourty… Ouch!”

People were bumping into me, and pushing me around until I could no longer tell which way I was supposed to go.  Finally, someone took hold of my hand, and pulled me off the street to a less crowded alleyway.

“Are you crazy Cal,” she said.  I recognized the voice immediately as my mother’s dearest friend Eliza.  I reached up to feel her face, just to be sure.  “You’re going to get yourself killed in this mob.  The town’s hoppin’ with movement from last night’s fireworks.  You best be getting yourself home before you get trampled.”

“Eliza, my father disappeared last night,” I explained. “I think he was looking for me.  We had a fight, and I ran into the woods.”

“So that’s how you banged yourself up so bad.”

I had forgotten about my blood-soaked shirt.  She took my head in her hands, and carefully peeled back the tattered material to inspect my cuts.

“You need stitches,” she announced.  Then she took my hand again, and started pulling me deeper into the ally.  “Afterward, I can help you go lookin’ for him.  Let’s get you inside and look at those wounds.”

I dug in my heels.  “No,” I yelled.  “I need to make it to the King.  He can help.  Three people aren’t going to find one man in all this mess, especially if one of them is blind!”

Eliza gasped in shock.  It was the one advantage to my disability, I could always count on people feeling sorry for me and doing what I wanted when I brought it up.

There was a long silence.  I finally added, “Are you going to help me through the town, or do I have to do it on my own?”

Eliza was silent for a moment longer before replying, in her kindly manner, “Well, I don’t think it’ll help, but I love your father and mother too much not to try.” We switched directions, and she pulled me hurriedly through the crowded street.

“Three hundred and eighty-seven, three hundred and eighty-eight…”

We walked for what seemed like hours, but really couldn’t have been more than twenty or thirty minutes.  The whole way, the last conversation I’d had with my father was playing over and over in my head.  I wished I had at least heard him out.  I wished I had heard the attack.  I wished so many things, but wishing didn’t change what happened.

The closer we got to the palace, the fewer people were bumping into me.  My aching toes were grateful when we finally reached a point where they were no longer being stomped on by clumsy passersby.  Occasionally, we had to check in at guard posts as we passed through walled off layers of the king’s city.  I’d restart counting at each checkpoint.  After passing a final guards’ checkpoint at the palace’s outer wall, I could hear only Eliza’s soft-soled shoes briskly scraping against the cobblestone in rhythm with her stride.  I, of course, walked silently after years of practicing the art.  It made it easier to tell where others were if my own footsteps weren’t confusing me.  The courtyard was immense, and it took some traversing before I felt the tall edifice block out the warmth from sun above us.

“One thousand seven hundred and ninety-six…”

We stopped abruptly, and Eliza announced, “Cal is here to see his grandfather, the King, on most urgent business.”

A deep voice from one of the door guards answered, “No one can have audience with the King at a time like this, not even his grandson.”

“He will see me,” I exclaimed.  The power in my voice surprised me.  I took a step in the direction of the guard’s voice, hoping that he hadn’t moved.  “And I would hate to be in your shoes if he found out that you tried to deny me audience with him!”

The guard stuttered a bit as he replied, “But I… he…”  He thought a moment then continued, “I’ll announce you at once, Your Highness.”

It took me a minute to realize he was addressing me.  Once, a small boy had called me ‘sir’ when he was asking for directions, but ‘Your Highness’.  I couldn’t help but raise my head and stick out my chest a bit.  The guard’s metal armor clanked as he turned and walked three paces.  I heard a loud creak as some great doors opened.  I followed quickly after the guard when I heard the clinking of his armored boots as he entered into the palace’s greeting hall.

The hall was enormous.  Sounds were lost as they traversed the vast opening, and returned as muffled echoes.  It was disorienting.  The ground was a smooth stone, probably marble.  After a five brisk paces, we reached a soft carpet, and I tripped on some stairs.  The guard must not have realized I was blind.  He stumbled about, trying to help me to my feet.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.  I had heard rumors, but I didn’t know for sure.  Please forgive me,” he begged, as I finally found my feet.

What little dignity I had felt seconds earlier was replaced by the humiliation I was so accustomed to.  “It’s okay; just get me to my grandfather, please.”

We traversed through hallways ranging from twenty to thrity paces, formal rooms, fourty paces long, less formal rooms, twenty paces long, and all sorts of other rooms before the guard came to a halt.  He announced me to another set of door guards, and after some worried whispers back-and-forth the large doors to what they called “the War Room” were opened.  It was only then that I realized Eliza was not permitted in with me.  I would have to face the man my mother and father had taught me to fear, all alone.

The Glooming

     The Glooming by John Triptych.

     The Glooming is a Post-Apocalyptic/Mythological thriller.

     Sorry this post is a day late.  My son broke his elbow last night when I was in the middle of writing the review.  We spent a couple hours in the instacare center, then the rest of the evening trying to get him comfortable and settled.  I didn't get back to this until today.

     Okay, quick synopsis.  It's the end of the world.  Ancient creatures from folk-lore and myth appear in random places throughout the world.  People go crazy and swarm ancient worshiping spots, and then the area is transformed into a blackout zone where no technology works, sand storms, or clouds obscure vision, and these nightmarish creatures appear and destroy anyone who stands in their way.  The military is helpless against them.

     A runaway, 15 year-old girl named Tara (one of our protagonists), befriends a spirit-guide-like talking dog.  She ran away from an abusive home, and is almost unaware of the apocalypse going on around her.  The dog halfheartedly guides and protects her for the fight ahead.

     I went into this book really excited.  I was thinking, "The Mummy," or something similar because it begins with a mythological professor being recruited to investigate strange creatures who first appeared in Iraq.  The first couple chapters were really shaping up to be a great story.  Then, it took a turn for the worse.  Mr. Triptych has a weird view of how people act.  It's like reading the things people write in the comments section on the internet which they would never say or do in person because even the most snarky person knows that there are some things you just don't say or do in society.  I get what he was trying to do with the many stories of how the apocalypse came to different people, but the whole thing just rubbed me the wrong way.  I can't really put my finger on it.  There's a lot of racism, stereotypes, and open ridicule of religious beliefs.  It's also bloody/gory, with a few accounts of children's deaths, so not for the squeamish.  If you can get past the first eight chapters without being offended, or feeling ostracized, you'll probably enjoy the book a lot more than I did.

     The book jumps around about every chapter until you get halfway through, and then it starts to follow a cohesive story-line.  I've seen this done before; seemingly random events that all tie together at the end, and it can be done very well, but by the time the story hones in on Tara and Gyle's  (the protagonists), you're pretty lost.  It didn't meld well for me.

     This is probably the worst rating I've given an indie book.  I try to like them because I know how hard it can be to go it alone without much feedback, but I sincerely did not like the story-line.  It wasn't cohesive enough, the characters didn't feel real to me.  There could have been a lot more censorship.  I've read books with all of the horrific things Mr. Triptych described, and they didn't bother me as bad.  The only thing I can think is that he needed to introduce us to him more as an author before he started jamming the cruelty of the world down our throats.

     Sadly, I have to give the book.

Little Boy

     Little Boy Starring Jakob Salvati (as little boy), Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa, David Henrie, Michael Rapaport, and Emily Watson. 

     We went and watched this with the family when it was in theaters, so it's been a while since I've seen it, but I remember it well enough to write the review.

     Little Boy is about a boy who loves his dad.  He's small for his age, and gets picked on by a lot of the kids around town, but his dad makes all his problems go away.  They are best friends.  When WWII breaks out, James Busbee (Little Boy's father)signs up to fight for his country.  He writes home regularly, but when his unit is attacked, the letters stop coming.  Most of the town assumes he's dead.

     Pepper Flynt Busbee (little boy), goes to the Father of his church to ask for a miracle.  He wants the Father to pray for God to send his dad home safe.  The Father says that miracles are rare, and he would have to complete several tasks to obtain one.  One of the tasks is to befriend the only Japanese man in town, Hashimoto.  Pepper hates this idea because he believes it's the Japanese's fault that his dad left in the first place.  To make matters worse, the whole town is pretty prejudice against the old Japanese man, including Pepper's brother, London.

     Pepper wants his father home so badly, he decides to befriend the old Japanese man.  Hashimoto, isn't too keen on letting the boy get his hopes up, and is resistant to the friendship.  Tempers flare as the town thinks Pepper is a traitor, even his own brother turns against him.  Little Boy keeps his faith through the whole ordeal, and even causes an earthquake with his faith (or perhaps the timing was just right, and it was all a coincidence). 

     This was a heartwarming movie, but they seemed to try too hard to push too many values down the audiences throat.  You can't help but get emotional over the boy's undying love and faith that his father will make it home, but they throw so many other lessons in the movie that it gets a bit sappy.  The story of the boy having faith to bring his father home would have been enough, but there is also a story of tolerance, overcoming bullies, family love bringing home the prodigal son, a mother being faithful to her husband, and on and on.  

     However, I can't say I wasn't entertained, so I'd have to give it

Qball

     This is Qball.  My best friend, Shane, invented this cool little microphone/dodge ball.  I was supposed to post this in September, but I wasn't posting at all.  He's doing a really great program where you can donate money to give Qballs to underprivileged schools.  You can donate here.

    My family did a few commercials for him, so I thought I'd share those today.  My kids are in the classroom shots, and Michelle and I are in the video conference clip.  I'll post the vids below, but for now, talk to your boss, your school, your hotel, whatever, about this.  It's a really fun, cool way to do classrooms/conference settings.  My kids wanted us to buy a Qball after they did the commercials because they had so much fun with it.  It's a great teaching aid.  It's a great communication tool.  And, I have to admit, it's fun to play with.

     If you're a teacher, and you would like one of these for your classroom, bring it up in your next staff meeting.  He does discounts for schools and multi-purchase discounts.  If you want one for yourself, or your office, they are pretty affordable. 

Music I Listen to While Writing

     When I write, I usually have youtube playing my favorite music in the background, or I have Pandora on.  I let my daughter use my Pandora account, and she is obsessed with this song.  Both of my girls have memorized the lyrics, and they sing it around the house constantly.  They've even played with the harmony, and whatnot.  At any rate, I found myself listening to it this week because it was stuck in my head.

     It's called Lost Boy, by Ruth B.  As far as I can tell, she's an independent artist.  I listened to one of her other songs, and didn't really care for it, but this one is awesome.

Quotes from the greats

     I wanted to share a few quotes from some of the greatest writers out there.

    "I would advise anyone who aspires to a writing career that before developing his talent he would be wise to develop a thick hide." -- Harper Lee

     "You can't wait for inspiration.  you have to go after it with a club." -- Jack London

     "Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout with some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand." -- George Orwell

     "There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are." -- W. Somerset Maugham

     "If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time - or the tools - to write. Simple as that." -- Stephen King

     "Remember: when people tell you something's wrong or doesn't work for them, they are almost always right. When they tell you exactly what they think is wrong and how to fix it, they are almost always wrong." -- Neil Gaiman

     "Imagine that you are dying. If you had a terminal disease would you finish this book? Why not? The thing that annoys this 10-weeks-to-live self is the thing that is wrong with the book.  So change it. Stop arguing with yourself. Change it. See? Easy. And no one had to die." -- Anne Enright

     "Substitute 'damn' every time you're inclined to write 'very;' your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be." -- Mark Twain

Prelude to War

     I've posted as many chapters as I'm going to post from my book.  So, on my my writing days, I will try to share something I've learned that day from what I've written.  

     Today I was writing about Apoc trying to get Erai back.  It's been difficult because I wanted to make this a turning point for their relationship.  It made me think of how difficult love can be.  Even if things are going perfectly, it seems like there is always something trying to make things difficult for the couple.  I'm sure all of you can relate to this.  The relationship may be perfect, but it seems like the couple has to stand together against the universe.  I think there is a force out there that does this on purpose to make the couple bond.  I know a lot of cynics out there think that it's all in the young lover's head, but everyone seems to experience this. 

     I know that my wife and I have had our share of ups and downs, but all of the challenges have only brought us closer together.  It doesn't even have to be drama, or fake stuff.  When you find your significant other, your lives become intertwined.  You begin to take on one another's trials.  You share your lives.  There are twice the problems, but the two of you get to face them together.  This builds depth in both of their lives, and it also brings them closer together.

     It's my hope, as I'm writing, to be able to recreate this with my fictional characters.  I want to make people feel their love, make it real.