the priest of smugglers run

February 28, 2019December 13, 2020

Ancient Northernmost

“My father told me the story once.
To hear my dad’s people tell it, it’s our creation myth;
all people used to be Acians and all Acians were slaves.”
– Jest Rovanna

Hear then the tale of our people, of all people. For all people were once Acians, and all Acians were once slaves. Long was our enslavement, measured not in generations, but epochs, before there was such a thing as history or words. Our masters were of no tribe, no people. They were the masters of monsters and things for which we have no names. They tamed the universe and its secrets and for a time, our masters bowed to nothing.

February 1, 2019December 13, 2020

Protharious

Well, I told you there’d be fiction again! I figure after that doozy of a post, I should lighten stuff up. But I also want to stay on target somewhat. While thinking about what I wanted to write in the previous entry, a thought had occurred to me that I might have another outlet for expressing my anxiety, one that would also allow me to work on the well overdue The Priest of Smugglers’ Run. Of all my characters, the one that would absolutely struggle with anxiety — in fact, I think he does without me even having known about it — would be the titular priest, Protharious.

January 5, 2017December 13, 2020

Back to Work

It has been a while, hasn’t it? Oh sure, there was that other site, and that took time. And yes, there was a novel draft, which was finished literally as I returned to the states; somewhere above the Pacific. That felt good, let me tell you. So much so, that I immediately cashed in on the whole first class thing¹thanks tiny Oregon shoe company and asked the flight attendant for two whiskeys on the rocks. She brought me two of these fall-themed apple-infused Jack Daniel’s cocktails that actually were delicious. So I asked for two more, and when auntie looked at me strange, I smiled and told her, “Hey, I just finished my book and I’m moving back to the States.” Since we were still in the future, the looming nightmare of Trump was still visible and she took pity on me and brought me three and some ramen.

So passed draft three; with a toast as I hurdled towards the day before at 500km/h.

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