The long road home.

I have been away for awhile. That's not what this post is about. 

"Calamity Cash and the Town with No Name" is finished, and off to the printers for an initial run of around ten. Test copies, I suppose you could say, but still a fairly big milestone for myself, and for my illustrator Justin Cornell, and or third collaborator, Laura Calandros.

"Town with No Name" is kind of a unique project. It's existence predates this blog, and even predates Justin's involvement. I was just coming out of my dry spell, my post-Bennington, non-writing funk, and was sort of adamant about all my projects I had coming up. Nothing stable, or money-making, or anything like that, but for the first time since graduation my mind felt fertile again, and I had a remarkable focus, at least for me. One night while out with Laura, she mentioned an idea she had, and played a song for me, the latter of which I don't remember the name of, the former, the mother/daughter vigilante team who would eventually become Calamity and Tana Cash. Laura had the name for the daughter, the eponymous "Calamity Cash," but not the mother, and not much else. She sort of graciously said if I  had any ideas, I could play with her toys, and play I did, sketching out a rough, Kill Bill-meets-Hunter S. Thompson-inspired modern day western. 

These original stories mimicked what appears in "Town with No Name" in spirit, but boasted a more over-arching storyline, and every bit of popular culture inspired craziness I could come up with. I sketched out a series bible, some rough storylines, all that, but didn't have an artist lined up, and wasn't entirely sure anyone would be all that interested in getting involved in a "Preacher-with-women"-style of thing. [All of this work still exists, somewhere, and there is still a part of me that very much wants to tell these stories. Who knows what comes next? Let's keep talking about what came first.]

I was approached by Justin who was looking for something to draw, a comic-related project which he could get some practice in on, and try and judge how he'd work, how fast he'd work, what equipment he'd need, etc. It was kind of a "jump right into the deep end" way of learning, and I thought it was ballsy as hell of him, and was equally excited because I though a Calamity Cash story would be the best thing for what he was talking about trying to do. People who have seen my comic work know it's not terribly dynamic - my paneling leaves a lot to be desired, I mostly leave layout decisions to artists [or did back then], and the bulk of the story is usually people talking back and forth to each other, Clerks-style. So something with some action, something that would allow Justin to dip into a bunch of different genres, and try out a lot of different things - well, that was something else a project like Calamity Cash was perfect for. And the chance to show Laura her Calamity and Mama Cash kicking ass seemed like a nice perk too.

I took about six months on the script, partly because of a breakup, and partly because I was struggling with just what story in my whole Calamity Cash canon would be best to tell. There were things I wanted to get in, and again, I wanted a story with as much actiony-stuff as talky-stuff. I was basically in what Steven Bach would call a George Lucas situation, where I needed to look at all the stories I had to tell, and pick the one - the "New Hope" of the bunch which was closest to a story with everything I needed, and everything a story needed - particularly a complete narrative, a beginning, a middle, and an end.

"Town with No Name" was the winner of the bunch.

And then it got kind of out of hand on my end. I'd written a lot of comic scripts at the time, very little ever getting made, and it probably would have been smarter had I stuck to something simpler in style. But since Justin was approaching this as practice, I thought I would too, and try and stretch what I was capable of. For Justin's sake, I really shouldn't have. But I went with something complicated, because I wanted to see if I could. And in writing that complicated thing, what was supposed to be a 25-ish page comic became a 45 or 46 page monster.

Might have been fine. 52 pages with the supplemental material we wanted to put in it, that would have been large, but still comic-sized, still what most printers are comfortable doing without tossing us into graphic novel territory.

When I finished, I felt sort of bad at the project's size, but Justin wasn't phased by it, or at least didn't seem so. I think maybe he felt like if he was going to dive into the deep end of the pool, what was twice as much water anyway? And with the extra time I'd taken to put together so much content, work on "Calamity Cash and the The Town with No Name" started, fittingly, slightly behind schedule.

It would be a trend. Justin speaks about it much more eloquently in this post on his blog, though there were also a lot of outside factors, some on his end, some on mine. In the four plus years we've spent working on this thing together, I've watched Justin grow, and change, nearly lose an eye, throw out his back, move a couple of times, get married, and become an uncle. And probably a hundred different things that I never bothered to write down, nor did he, which will just be reserved to our late night conversations in the IHOP about what kind of desk or chair might make his job easier, or how certain "artistic staples" might only be around to make the work harder. And alligator clips. How alligator clips are worth their weight in gold.

And then, there's me. I re-wrote "Calamity Cash and the Town with No Name" at one point, after roughly half of the pages had already been drawn. I honestly can't recall if this was requested, or something I just decided to do - I believe it might have been the latter, however, as I had to rewrite one or two lines, and suddenly kicked into editor mode, and wound up doing the whole last half of the book. So not only did that stall things out for a short period of time, it also significantly altered some later stuff in the book, and changes had to be made to earlier parts as well - even though I tried very hard to avoid that [now there's a interesting writing/editing practice for you writer types out there - make sweeping changes to the end of story without touching it's beginning. Note: if you like callbacks, you will hate this "exercise"].

Naturally, as we were coming near the end, some... incongruities were starting to become clear to us. For clarification's sake, I've always found Justin's art to be tip top, but as he got more comfortable working on the page, and got better at setting his own layouts up, he started to voice concern about the first half of the book and the last looking too different to be combined in one volume. And considering I had re-written the last half, the optioning of splitting the book into two for printing sake didn't seem too outrageous to either of us.Nothing was decided for sure, but were leaning heavily towards that.

And then a computer snafu made the decision for us, eating half of Justin's work, and all of the backup files. Justin decided scanning and toning everything all over again wasn't worth the time, especially considering he wasn't crazy about his work on the early sections of the book [again, this was his call, not mine - I think Justin's art was excellent throughout - though there is a marked difference between the first and latter half], and I more than supported that decision as we already sort of had plans to split them up, and dammit, it'd been years. We both knew it was time to get this thing done.

Justin quit his job, and knocked out the last few pages at record speed. I did up a new intro, a sort of "Last time on Calamity Cash..." page, which summarized about 24 pages into four-five panels, and then I spent the last several days editing, still haunted by the memory of a single typo in "Sulk: The Morning After" and a malapropism that wasn't, but at times I will swear was. There were more than a few panicked emails, me wondering if the thing I missed the first time had already been sent off to be printed, but Justin was taking his cues from the Ents, and not being the least bit hasty in polishing everything off.

The end result is "Calamity Cash and the Town with No Name No.2." Sort of as a throwback to something Justin and I both remember from collecting comics, getting that issue number 2 of 2 from some mini-series or other, maybe as a reprint at a big box store, or in huge pack of comics you'd buy at flea market [outside of this particular post, don't be surprised if at some point I herald the the first issue as an unprecedented sell-out and success in storytelling, rivaled only by Dante's Inferno, and now forever out of print]. The order's out now, and what comes next is the wait, to see just how it all turned out.

I have a pretty good idea. Without flirting too much with hubris, the book, editing-wise at least, should be immaculate. And the art, the half tones, the layouts, not to mention the cover, which looks awesome and pulpy and distressed and... well, awesome, has really come together into something I'm proud to have my name on. Justin's done great work, found us a printer, and put in a small order to see how the book will look in-hand. Assuming everything goes well, and the printer comes through [which, this is really Justin's wheelhouse, so I'm expecting top notch quality], we actually have the funding to do a small run. If anyone's interested, naturally, email me at mojo.wire.productions@gmail.com, or message me on Facebook, or hit me up @themojowire on Twitter. Having some idea of how many we'll need will make things easier, but while we have a pricing point, we haven't really decided how we're going to handle that yet, if we're even going to worry about selling them at all.

This was about making comics. This was about Justin seeing if he could. This was about Laura seeing her characters come to life. And this was about me giving her that, and seeing my work actually on the page, paneled out, which to this day brings me a level of satisfaction I can't begin to describe.

And it's done.

Happy Birthday, Hawkeye.

I am momentarily at a loss to remember how I usually ring in a New Year here on the blog. There is something about tradition that I always feel bound by, and when I forget it, I have these... solemn moments.

I took down the tree today. All the other decorations too - it makes the room feel a touch sadder, there's too much space now, to much room for things. It's the mandatory concession, is what it is, the acknowledgment that all the pomp and pageantry that I put so much work into, to try and make the holidays special, that's over, and there's no time to squeeze one more gesture of goodwill out, no trappings of the season for me to lean on as I try to make those who matter to me feel... special, unique, loved. Now we are in the long winter, the gray of January and February, where I'm left, not entirely unlike I was before Christmas this year. Hoping for a clean, white snow.

I lament too much.

Finished my last review just after Christmas. I'm fairly certain I have enough banked to break even for the holidays. Saving money has been so important this year, that even though I feel a little more secure, I find it kind of digs its heel in, insist that I keep those numbers up. Anywhere near my once usual poverty-line bank balance and I get nervous now. There are worse habits, and some would say such worries are just a sign of growing up. Shame on them.

Still, it's a load off. The next one's already in the mail.

Got a Christmas e-mail from Ander - apparently he's had some internet-related problems. It was great to get back in touch, and wish him a proper Merry Christmas. It'll be great to start talking to him again, once every thing's sorted..

Had the privilege to be a beta reader for a friend's novel. Talked about it a little here. I am not entirely sure if "beta reader" entails something more specific than "reading, editing, and being critical," but that is how I approached it nonetheless. I'm used to looking at fairly large pieces of finished work by friends of mine, but this was, or is tied with, the largest thing I've ever given notes on. I got through it twice - one time less than I wanted to, but it felt good. I enjoy doing this kind of thing, not the same kind of enjoyment I get from my own writing, because when doing that there's no middle man, there's what I wrote, and what I think needs changed. And the hand-wringing goes here. Plus, I'm never worried about not reading too close, or offending myself.

Still. It's writer's work. I know some writers who wouldn't think so, and I'm not sure I'd call them real writers. I suppose that's as close to a public judgment as I'm comfortable making. Funny learning things about yourself like that.

Enjoyed the experience, and my friend has an impressive of novel on his hands. Exciting enough to make me want to get back to work on... something.

Not sure how this week is going to go yet. I'm hoping to see an old friend, and a new friend of hers, soon. Good chance Justin and I will resume our weekly meetings too. My sleep schedule is just strange, and getting stranger as of late. It's to the point where I don't think I care when I get it, I just wish that when would be at the same time every night... or day.

Today is the birthday of someone very special to me. I remember when I was very young, having the difference between birthdays and holidays described to me, and thinking it was all very unfair, that someone's priorities were fucked. Years and years later, I met someone who put it all into perspective for me, in a way that... well, is very easy to get through to me with - Alan Moore - and just conveyed to me what an amazing thing it is any of us - specifically us, as we are now - are here, so each birthday for someone you know is really special, a true one of a kind thing. And it's easy to forget that, because there are so many us who are special in that way. But it's true.

It's also so funny to me to just think that a year ago, today was just the 2nd of January. And yet, during the passage of that time, I found someone who, by today, by this 2nd of January, has made me want nothing more than to fly across the country with a particularly large cake and celebrate with. Though, I'm sure those TSA bastards probably have some kind of problem with I don't know, frosting or something, but still. It's an amazing thing, the people who come into our lives, so unexpectedly.

Many happy returns.

Amending my Christmas List.

I'd like some snow.

The near sixty degrees that the five day forecast is currently touting is more than a little disappointing. Hell, it doesn't even really have to snow. I'd just like some nice, crisp, cold weather. You know. The kind of cold that overcoats and thrift store sweaters were made for.

It's Justin's birthday today. We've been good friends for several years now, working on a comic together, playing Magic, taking up tables in IHOP for hours at a time. Hatching crazy schemes, and actually seeing some of them come to fruition. Okay, so that's mostly Justin, but still. Christmas is a pretty crazy time for him - his wedding anniversary is at the end of this month, as his birthday, as mentioned, and his wife's birthday, and then, of course, also mentioned, Christmas. I just wanted to wish him a happy birthday here - he's not much for internet salutations, but what the hell.

It's more and more looking like "Calamity Cash and the Town with No Name" will finally be finished after the New Year. We talked about some other things we might do for the occasion, too. Justin's picked up some neat toys over the past few years while we've been working on this thing, so there might be some neat extras, if for no one else, then for us.

Christmas has really come together. I have one thing left to wrap, and you know, a few people on my list didn't quite get covered, which is unfortunate, but it's late enough now, I figure it's just best to wait, and make it up when just the right gift jumps out of me. I did my best, and I've really enjoyed myself this year. I've stayed busy, and I haven't gotten down, or at least as not down as I have been in the past. Ideas are percolating, and I've been reading a lot of things, and even though it isn't the same as writing something for yourself, it's been nice to help others, or just remember what polishing work is like. I think I got pretty discouraged there, and forgot that there are a lot of different parts of the process, things I love just as much as the writing. It's easy to look at it all as just... the work done after the fun part, but it's not. I'm looking forward to getting back to my own stuff, even put out some feelers to some folks, who might help with some perspective things. And right now, I'm enjoying the reading, the editing, etc.

Anyway, just wanted to chime in. Been neglecting this space. Don't see that changing until after December is over. But we'll see.

Christmas List - 2011

This is the tree this year. It's pretty similar to the years past, and the picture was sort of... haphazardly taken with a computer web cam, which explains the quality. It's just not really a point and shoot job when you're dragging mouse work, and separate monitor into it. Angles, and angles. Apologies.

It's sparser than last year. I didn't use as many lights, or as many beads, and that's weird for me, because I generally think a full tree is the best kind of tree, and last year I thought it was pretty sparse too. But the tree's getting kind of old, and it sags a little under too much weight, and even though I spent the whole night on it, more of that might have went to watching Red Dwarf than digging through the decorations.

Plus, I had to cannibalize some strings of lights for the lights that wound up on there. I don't think I ever realized how simple Christmas lights were until I had to pull out bulbs and take a few sets apart. The upside to this is that fixing them was not as beyond me as I expected it to be. The downside is, as with most really simple things, it's really simple to screw up the perfectly good lights too while trying to fix or replace the bad.

Still, it made me feel handy. That doesn't happen very often.

I was writing last week, this short fantasy story called "The Mouth Devours." The plan was to post it on Friday, but the honest fact is, even though it was only a couple hundred words long, I decided it wasn't really up to my standards - which, if you've seen some of the prose I've put on here is pretty low. So, I nixed it. I meant to pop in on Friday or Saturday and write... something, but I didn't really see any reason to force it if I didn't have to. And I didn't.

Things have been busy. I actually only finished my Christmas shopping today, and that was "finished" with some caveats. There was a new book to review, and I actually polished it off a little faster than usual, just because the extra income to recover from said shopping would be nice, especially with other expenses that might be coming up after the first of the year. I'm also reading a friend's manuscript for them, and I'll admit I didn't really think about doing that with all of the Holiday-related merriment, which was... terribly short-sighted of me. And odd, because I really have procrastinated myself into a crunch in a very long time.

I'm actually pretty good at controlled procrastination, so that's odd.

Justin and I hung out on Thursday night - the long Magic games have been a lot of fun, and something I've come to look forward to each week. Surprise news this week, but Justin thinks on his current schedule, we could see "Calamity Cash and the Town with No Name" finished by February. Once the pages are finished, there will be a lot of work to be done by me again, and I'll detail it all here, as usual.

Something I wanted to add... I do something like this on the blog every year, where I write a letter to Santa, asking for whatever it is I want for Christmas. I have an Amazon Wishlist I sometimes give out which is embarrassingly huge, and my guess is, given the date, anyone who was going to get me anything and knows about it probably has already has. And anyway, the more I think about it, the more I realize that, honestly, I don't really want anything.

I mean, yeah, I know everyone says that. And I'm not going to turn down some book I want, and yeah, my scarves have all seen better days, and I have a Steam Account now, if anyone's interested in getting me a game or something on the cheap or just friending me to play Spiral Knights when I eventually get to that, and a bottle of Scotch wouldn't be so... sorry, no, no, I really am kidding with all that... because this time of year, like that's not what this is about for me. I just enjoy all this, you know? The music, and the shopping, and the decorations, and all the trappings, be they self-indulgent, commercial, and obnoxious, or just quiet, modest, and stirringly heartwarming. A celebration should be both, I think. I think that is what celebrating is.

So really. I don't want anything. If you must spend money on me, make a donation to some charity. RAINN's good, not perfect, but good. Honestly, anything pro-women's issues, or some place that's gay and/or trans friendly. Anything social justice related. Hell, try out some micro-lending. Just... nothing religious, no food banks, make sure you know where and what the money's going to.

It's gloriously cold out. There keep being promises of snow. It's Christmas time. I have this marvelous girlfriend, and a, at times mercurial, yet still incredibly affectionate cat, and yeah, things happen, setbacks like the thing with the story that I was going to post on Friday, but I feel like... it's slow, but I'm getting it back. I'm writing again, and I feel comfortable in that skin, being "the writer." Specifically, being the kind of writer I am.

Mind you, my moods are about like my cat's, so this could all change spectacularly, and soon.

So I'm enjoying my Christmas specials, the decorations, all the prep, so much of it I will never see the payoff of, but just knowing that payoff is there, maybe some of what I do will brighten someone else's season, that's really enough for me.

All right. I am not so sentimental that I can't tell when things are getting kind of saccharine. So here's the thing, Santa. I just want the mail to run a little faster, so everything can get to where it needs to be on time, and I just want a little bit of this confidence to stick around after the New Year. And that's all I'm going to ask for.

Happy Holidays, everyone.

...

...

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P.S. I put something like this on Facebook, but I want to put it up here, too. I'm no stranger to depression. It's very much a part of who I am, and maybe it shouldn't be, maybe it's mad that I put up with it sometime. Being tortured is quickly falling out of vogue. But all that aside, I do still find it in myself to enjoy things, enjoy things like this time of year, but I would like to say, I know it isn't always so easy.

Look, it's hard. Life is not what I'd call the most pleasant experience... most of the time, but there are bright spots, and it's easy to let all the times without them get you down - sadly, especially, when there are bright spots. I know what it's like to be celebrating something, but also feel depressed, disgusted, just generally worn down by everything. And I know that for most people, the first thing you get when you mention to someone, especially this time of year, that you're down, you're probably just going to get a nattering "Why can't you just be happy?" Anyone who thinks it's actually that simple is mad, and not nearly as sensitive as they think they are. And anyone who's said as much lately... contemplate sending a very apologetic Christmas card.

Sometimes it's not as easy as just cheering up. And it can be really hard when you can't reconcile the good with the bad. And if you're feeling like you're struggling, well... be damned with the cheer up people, and don't be turned off by suddenly more upbeat disposition. Call me, write me. Or if not me, find someone to talk to, reach out. It's hard. You might have to do it a couple of times, before you find what you need. But keep trying.

To quote myself, it takes some serious mad skills to handle it all on your own, and trust me, not having said skills is probably more healthy than not.

Take care of yourselves.

Merry Gentlemen.

Christmas time. It is early yet, but I'm starting to get the feel for the season.

Stayed up all night putting up the tree. It may seem a little silly, maybe even ill-advised for someone so insomnia prone, but there's a bit of thrill to be had from the look on my grandmother's face when she wakes up to see a lit and decorated tree. Is this the fourth year I've did this, or only the third? I swear, I only remember two previous, though I have been here for one Christmas more. The blog proves to be woefully inadequate at helping me figure this out, so since I can only recall going to "all this trouble" two other times, I'm going to assume that this is my third.

Was glad to post "With Apologies to Regina Spektor, and Aaron the Moor" last week. Felt good, like I might be getting a handle on writing again, even if just in short spurts, and even if, for the most part, what I was doing was just transcribing and editing things scribbled down in the old moleskin. That process was interesting to me - I noticed again I have this habit of editing over myself, by which I mean changing things actively, as I type them up, only to find much of what I change is actually present in the next sentence - that the work was now following the direction I was wondering moments before why I didn't think to put it in. I guess by the end, it feels a lot like I'm cutting myself off at the pass, but it's not really a bad thing. I just need to be more patient, and probably not try to edit while taking things from paper to the computer. Patience is important.

I was thinking of a friend I don't see as much as I'd like to. He and I share some similarities in our outlook on things, and in reflecting on that, and wishing we hung out more, I wrote up the skeleton for a short comic. Not entirely sure what's going to come of that - but I'd like to put it into proper format in the next couple of days.

Should have posted about this earlier - but one of my awesomely talented collaborators, Ander Sarabia, and my oft-linked comic-loving compatriot Eric Esquivel, have a Kickstarter going for their next book "Thor: Unkillable Thunder Christ," a loose continuation of their "Blackest Terror" outing, which I believe is due to be released soon. They've already made their goal, and doubled it [and then some], but realize that making comics isn't cheap [even without this level of penetration and the support of a label like they have, you're liable to spend a thousand dollars or more just to get a book to print], and any extra they get not only goes to making up the deficit the first comic put them at, but also assures funding to get the third in the series made.

The holidays are a great time for giving, folks, and it's a great project to get involved with. And us creatives need to look out for each other - who knows when we might need similar help?

More soon.

With apologies to Regina Spektor, and Aaron the Moor.

Matters of succession – you know, sire, these things all started with a sort of logic, a man becomes a king, takes a wife – a queen – and begets a son, and when the king dies, the son becomes king himself. And other sons and daughters, while complicating things, were sensible too, as after all, no king lives an… unaccompanied life, rather none should, and with the world as it is, other sons, other daughters, are, well, a necessary evil. Which, no, my lord, apologies, my lord, not that I’m suggesting you’re – not that I’d suggest anything of the kind, of course. Just illustrating, how something quite logical became not quite so, and thus, we can’t just think of it as such.

Though I suppose, if we could – if I could be very common for a moment, if you might humor that, and speak of these things logically, and we could consider them such again, as they were meant to be. You are, and again, sire, I mean nothing by this but what it is, but you are one in a line, and you were, let’s be generous – and truthful, my lord – set in that line as a contingency, a back-up, an “understudy” as I’ve heard the players it call it, if I may be so profane. And if allowed, while being profane, I might well point out the obvious, not to imply that you are not aware, but just for the sake of frankness that you are not the first, or second, or even third of said contingencies – you are, remarkable by the very nature of it, the thirty-second of the line.

Which is never to be taken lightly, as one thirty-seconds from the king is greater blessed than all but – yes, thirty-one others, well met, my lord. But despite that, your title will always come with its own privileges, its own rewards and responsibilities, the greatest of which, and perhaps, to some, not you sire, but perhaps to your brothers and sisters, the most burdensome, is that you, like them, have been tasked with the protection of your line, the kingdom – no, your kingdom, like your father, your king, and your country. And yes, all its citizens. Your citizens, sire. And so important it is to secure these things that even you, the thirty-second child of your father, our king, both as chosen by God, could be called, by great circumstance or terrible tragedy, to serve.

The weight of it! The consequence of king and country, that it needs not two, nor three, but thirty-two to safeguard itself. Thirty-two for the line to endure! Does anything better illustrate the importance of the throne? How you bear it, how you live with such a burden placed upon you, even with the illusion of being so many times removed – for I know you feel it as though you were first – I cannot fathom it, my lord. Yet I see you, and it, your onus, lying heavy about your brow every day.

And knowing how it weighs upon you, seeing you wear such worry on your brow – hidden so well, I might add, that only I, who humbly your lord must love so well as for you to drop your guard to – I must – no. No, I must not. To disparage your siblings – I couldn’t, though it’s just, no, sire I just wonder, for you have never said. And I, courteously, have never queried. So respectfully, I must ask, do you trust those who come before you, do you believe they grasp that? Do they know the responsibility that you so plainly see?

Apologetically, my lord – my prince, as you are the, and mine, of any of them, I must now speak honestly, tempered but honestly, and if that answer you would say is yes, that they know, that they appreciate it as much as you, why if any man but you would make such a claim I would think them a fool, if not call them such. And if sire, if you are of the mind that would say no, or even say yes with doubts, just doubts, then can you say truthfully that the order of succession should really, truly be managed just by order of conception? That men and women, even if of your own blood, who cannot, or will not – yes, who might outright refuse – understand their responsibilities do one day deserve to be placed on the throne? Superseding even someone who grasps the concept so fully, implicitly?

Which would be impudent of me to suggest, and I wouldn’t dare, of course, as it is not my place to speak of your family in such terms, and raising such questions, well that, that is the privilege of a king… and his children, I might think, but surely not one such as I. And you, you in your wisdom, so young yet, but already a man of intellect and breeding, I know what you would say of the manner, only because I know the measured, benevolent response – that when it comes to your siblings, your brothers and sisters, all of this which we speak is their right, and theirs alone. That they are your blood, and more importantly, the king’s blood, and they need to greater vindication than that.

And I know, my lord, that some, some of them you love. Others, I know of others among them that at least command your respect, your fealty. Their rank, more, their place as a part of the king’s line, of your line, rather, your family’s, demands loyalty. Protection. Submission. And the last, as thirty-two, you know much better than any of the others, and the rest, the privileges they have, which only you, if I may be so bold, have ever properly grasped as to why they are afforded to them, and to you at all.

But yet… their not grasping this, their… forgive me, shortcomings, they vex me, sire. As your servant, and as your friend, and as someone who sees you suffer stoically beneath them. And for you to see their abuses, which neither I nor anyone of my rank would – should indict them for, but rather in just recalling them, as instances – yes, that’s more proper, you’re right, these instances where they wield their power, their privilege, what you so aptly noted as their right, with no regard for the price that others must pay… do you never suppose such behavior, it threatens the line? Is not doing so, despite any other reckless disregard they commit, a danger to the line, nay the very crown and its dominion itself? For is not their very presence owed to it? And in not safe-guarding it is that not a debt that goes unpaid?

I hear the men in the square some days, criers for the church, talking about moral deaths. And how they befall families like waves upon the shore, engulfing many until the strongest among them, the rocks upon the coast, pushes back against the tide, and send the wanton roil back into the ocean. Moral deaths threaten them, your brothers and sisters, and I see from your face, you think perhaps they have befallen a few, maybe more. And you worry, my prince, I see it on your brow again, because you allow me to, I’m sure, wondering who the burden to be the strongest is upon now– who among them can hold the line, and push back to assure it perseveres, no matter the cost?

I am sorry for my forthrightness, but we both know you worry it is you. I tell you my lord, it is no cause for concern, for there are no worries in that which you already know. And you, I promise, even as the thirty-second child, indeed perhaps because of that, have always remembered what too many have forgotten – that the burden is yours, that is has always been yours, just as it has always been theirs. And no matter their actions, their dalliances, their character, you have never wavered. You are prepared if called upon to serve in succession, even when, if any, then you, could be lax.

No sire, again I say none of this lightly, though nor do I dare suggest treason. Some things are just not for me to say. You are my lord, more than even my friend, and though my love for you is great, I know my life rests totally in your hands, and I would take no such risk for a lesser a man. I only wonder – and worry, I worry too, sire, what the responsible, what the logical thing is to do? We seem to agree that the throne is in peril, and there’s no question it demands protecting, but who is its true protector? Even you, with your great knowledge of this burden, and your willingness to bear such responsibility, feel it is not a prince’s place. And I in my impudence, I can barely stifle myself to ask – should not these concerns fall to the King? Does not the shield beneath the swords we have both been raised under, does it not proclaim the King will guard his kingdom, the crown, his line? Is that not why the King keeps the line? And those swords, do they not mean that said protection must come from eliminating threats, be they man, or heretic, or even enemies that come from within?

Even if… they’re of the King’s own blood?

You know well, my lord, you know why no one speaks of you as thirty-three, that if one of those who precede you steps up to claim the throne before the King’s death – may he live long, of course – there would be no exile, no mercy on that day. They would be dealt with, and swiftly, as sure as the hangman would have a new set of boots on that day. For threats against the throne, the King must deal with summarily, be they from a single man, or ten thousand on the battlefield. And you sire, that is why you are here, and by your grace why I am blessed to speak with you, to safeguard something worthy of striking down ten thousand men, and if so called for, to strike down ten thousand more. And I know, you say, ten thousand, nay twenty, is but a small price to protect your line.

And you would be right to ask, if you dared to ask - just what is thirty-one more?

Quick note.

Still alive, still here. Not writing nearly enough.

Finished a book review today, way behind on something I promised I'd look at for a friend. Plus reading for myself, and I hope another couple books to review because getting paid is rad, plus reading for myself, plus... all kinds of other things. I've got a ton of non-writing stuff to do, and hey, you know what I'd really like to do? Write. That'd be awesome. Trying to dig myself out of this hole, and I imagine I'm failing at it spectacularly. But then again, I'm imagining the hole too, so...

I want to take the opportunity to thank everyone who weighed in on my previous post. I was actually hoping in my absence, some more responses would trickle in, and I got a couple of emails too. I might try and break up the broad strokes, and just have a single post with the best stuff in it, to stick in the sidebar for easy access. I appreciate everyone weighing in - the response was about what I expected, but not who I expected it from, mostly. And it's always nice to know who's out there, watching.

If you're reading this now, and would still like to add something, or respond to something someone else has said, then feel free. I'm... sticking to my story that I said my piece, so I won't be adding much myself, unless, I don't know, the Metatron appears to me with something that needs put out there.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Mine was beyond excellent, great food, the best company, Margaritas, and "The Muppets" and so many other good things. I usually do a fairly maudlin "what I'm thankful for" post, but hey, this year, I just unplugged from the internet and enjoyed myself. Even I can't be tortured all the time. It's exhausting.

And lately, not as productive as normal. But the fruit's still there, just gotta find another way to get the juice.

Begs the question.

I want to know what you think [I fear this is going to wind up looking pathetic].

I don't have many rules here on the blog, but one of things I've said from the beginning is that it's my space, and I naturally have the time, so I'm always going to have the last word. Just one of those things I can exert some measure of control over, and it helps me feel comfortable here. Plus on the rare occasions crazies show up, I don't feel bad about moderating.

But here's a rare occasion - chance for anyone reading to chime in without me butting in, because I'm going to get my two cents in right off.

My last post I talked about struggling with some of my ideas that didn't really feel like they had any soul to me - just self-indulgent stuff, stuff without a reason, a message, or anything personal behind it. And if that is even self-indulgent, or if that's just fun.

Post prompted this comment from my good friend John [that's John Wiswell of "The Bathroom Monologues"], fresh off writing his novel, which I think deserves highlighted:


"The question of whether something is worthwhile if it's just self-indulgent will probably last another age, until we're all digital and things are decided by sub-protocols for us. But for now perhaps we can jerry-rig a second question onto it: is it okay to do something self-indulgent if you wouldn't do anything else with the time otherwise? Might be better to finish your own Hobo With A Shotgun by the end of the year rather than end the year with nothing finished. It's a conundrum that paralyzed me for a long time."


Now, first, let me just say "Hobo With A Shotgun" was excellent, and I'm sure John meant nothing by that comparison. Second, I personally don't have a ready answer to this question, and even John seems to only be leaning in a certain direction with his statement. About all I do feel comfortable saying on the subject, and I feel like I can say this quite adamantly, is that one of the reasons I write is to write things that I would want to read. And if I'm being perfectly honest with myself, I really just have no interest in reading heartless, soulless stories right now, and the thought of writing more of those, adding to the... pile, which I feel is kind of a fitting word, doesn't exactly spur me forward.

But that's all I've got. So, look, I know I don't have loads of traffic, but what I do have is fairly steady, and I'm just asking that if you read this post, no matter how you come to it, that you tell me what you think about the question. Especially if you're a writer, or an artist, but if you're not, if you're just a consumer of these kinds of things, I'd still like to hear your feelings, hypothetical, or actual, or otherwise. Feel free to comment anonymously. Feel free to write a lot, or a little. Just... chime in. I'd like to know what people think.

And make sure you visit "The Bathroom Monologues" in thanks to John, for asking the tough questions, or if you just want to read something good.