I Would Like To Thank The Academy…

Ethel The Dean (she is analagous to Robert The Bruce in that she will free Canada from England’s imperialism and be crowned on the Stone of Scone in Edinbugh…I think) of the wonderful blog Rant and Roll, has very kindly and likely with no small amount of pity, nominated me for a Kreative Blogger Award. In acceptance; I must give seven secret truths about myself and nominate seven blogs that make me smile (this is tough to do).

7. I always drink exactly the right amount. No more; no less. If you see me sleepy after a beer or two, swinging my pet swords around with red wine staining my entire face or passed out face down in a sink; I have drank exactly the right amount. It is a skill, nay a superpower, that I have developed over the years. I am two sheets (drinking Flying Fish and a 16 oz. sidecar of Canadian Club and Ginger Ale and soon to be three, don’t worry) to the wind right now and I have work at 9 am EST. This is totally acceptable, because as I’ve mentioned, I always drink the right amount.

6. I’m a little bit over half white (mostly Scottish), nearly half black (brought here to harvest tobacco and other delightful crops), and a smidge of Cherokee (followed the mammoth herds) thrown in for good measure (it shows though, I can’t grow leg or arm hair for shit, so its embarrassing to wear shorts in the summertime). But despite this hodgepodge of ethnicities, there are few things I love more than a good racist joke. Don’t misunderstand me; racism sucks and I know it first hand. But a good racist joke, there are few things better.

5. As Bob Lutz, former GM CEO, said about “the Europeans” on The Colbert Report; I have an “enhanced sense of [my] own infallibility”. As I’ve written elsewhere, the only thing close to being actually right is convincing someone who is right that you’re right instead. For better or worse (usually worse) I always think I am right and usually am (seriously I think I am smarter than other people and I get most of my news from The Daily Show and then have that news disputed by The Colbert Report. I decide which news is true by which was funnier).

4. My wife is super jealous of my cat Loki. While we have three cats and one dog, Loki and I have been together since before the wife and I got married and have a certain bond and rapport. The secret is, Loki isn’t just a cat; he is also my son. He was crawled fully formed out of my mouth one morning after I had a dream about a cat. His whiskers tickled my nose as he was climbing out and as I sneezed I bit down on his back legs; crippling him for life. I feel pretty guilty about that; but he gets around nonetheless.

3. My hair is longer than yours. This is probably a true statement; in the last decade or so I’ve only gotten my hair cut about 5 times (always for the ladies, only to be laughed at in derision and disgust once my lady saw it. Several of these times it was my wife and she still occasionally asks me to cut my flowing mane). Seriously my hair when untangled and combed is about two feet long. Straightened (being half black it is naturally pretty curly) out it reaches down near my waist. My hair is pretty fucking long.

2. I’ve broken all of the fingers on both hands. Except for my thumbs, each of my fingers is a misshapen scarred mess (my thumbs kinda are too, just less crooked). I had suspected I had broken my index and middle fingers but several years ago, the last time I was at the doctor’s office, my doctor stopped me as I was filling out some forms. She had been looking at my hands and asked me to hold them outstretched. Then looked in my folder. Then asked me how I broke all my fingers. I didn’t have an answer for her as I didn’t know they were broken. It seems that from all the fights I used to get into as a troubled youth I had either fractured or broken eight fingers and there was deformed remodeling when they healed. Proof that I’m either pretty badass or a terrible fighter who isn’t smart enough to know when his fingers hurt.

1. I am dying to sell out. This nomination is just the first step in my two step plan to sell out and get rich. Step two is sell out and get rich. If you have some sweet connections that can help me with step two; that’d be pretty sweet.

In addition to spilling all of these secrets; I must also nominate about a billion other blogs for this award. I am happy to do so, here they are:

Ethel the Dean is a super badass kung fu master from the Shaolin temples of China. Occasionally she goes to Vancouver and just karate chops people in half.

Haley Welsh is a nereid who travels around the world using her sea nymph powers. One time she high fived a mermaid but it was underwater so no one heard it.

Stories by Williams are stories by Matt Williams. Mr. Williams is actually a time traveler who knows a lot more about time travel than I do. He once traveled back in time to publish a book under his pseudonym H. G. Wells. It was called The Time Machine.

Rae from Peas and Cougars is basically my blog hero. She makes me want to draw again but I’ll stick to my words for now. I oftentimes gush effusively about her blog and if you click the link you’ll know why.

Mike is not only one of my best friends but also a kickass photographer and bear wrestler. One time he broke my neck which was pretty funny. If you click his link you may even see pictures of The Wife and I.

The Team at Unnecessary Words are my comrades in arms. Obviously this is something of a shameless plug; but seriously, the three people who aren’t me are pretty great. Brian, Liz and Ken are cats I’ve known for a long time and there is no one I’d rather work with.

Jenny from Caffeinated and Random drinks so much coffee that her blood is probably foamy. She makes me pretty jealous because I want to drink coffee every day but am way too lazy to make my own.

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Middle Earth Holidays

Middle Earth Holidays.

I cannot stress enough how much I love this blog. I actually missed this post when it was posted due to a weird email on my phone issue (I do most of my computing and blogging from a Droid 2 which is a great phone for blogging with its awesome qwerty keyboard). But I see the light now.

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Thai Times

Thai Times.

My little brother is in Thailand right now; currently traveling while on his “summer break” from teaching English. I miss him greatly, he spends a lot of time at my house when he is home and is basically best friends with my wife. These photographs by a stranger helped me feel close to him at a time when he is so far away.

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Fine Art(ist)

A friend of mine does really great paintings of predominantly fantasy-related works. A lot of the stuff at her website http://www.navate.com is of original characters she is working on; and some is stuff she has worked on professionally for other writers and just other stuff in a really excellent and cool and dark portfolio.

I highly recommend checking her stuff out.

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Writing Fiction

In my last post, Things Remembered Before Death, I had posted a brief short story set in a fictional world that I am creating. I made a slight tweak, my editor from http://www.unnecessarywords.com suggested that the people from Wingard, known as Wingardians, might sound to similar to a Harry Potter spell. This was something that was bothering my but I figured as it was different and Harry Potter isn’t very popular, I could just leave it and no one else would make the connection. Well she did, so I changed their ethnic group’s name to Wingardish. They are somewhat analogous to Scots or Picts and so others on their large Greenland sized island also end in -ish. It seems like a good change. Please leave me feedback so I know if I am doing alright, or not so alright.



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Things Remembered Before Death

The captain, a mac Cargan, was shouting again. Something about how every Wingard man was worth five Tambrians. Urian laughed to himself quietly. They were standing on the lines, nearly five hundred Wingard footmen and fifty Wingard horse against about six hundred foot and thirty horse from Tambria to the east. Urian mac Callen was not a soldier; he was a cowherd. His older brother Uribe stood about three feet away with a pike. Uribe was the fighter in the family. When men from Tambria or Serebrenna would come onto to mac Callen lands to raid villages or steal cattle, Uribe was the one who would gather the men and drive the invaders out. Uribe was the one that the Cargan had asked to lead one hundred foot. Urian thought that was a good choice; though he knew that when it came to battle, both lines would just rush at each other and ignore all orders until one side was beaten. Having his brother and his cousin, Valric mac Callen, nearby made Urian feel a bit optimistic. Uribe and Valric were both nearly six and a half feet tall and had corded muscles from tilling fields and lifting sacks of grain.  They also had more experience than him, Urian had killed a man in a duel and shot arrows into a few raiders but those were fights not battle. Valric was Uribe’s right hand man, there were few better with an axe or a Fain broadsword than Valric.

Uribe stuck Urian in the side with his index finger. He motioned towards the mac Cargan captain who was still droning about how the Wingardish would crush the Tambrians. Urian was pretty sure on the other line; the Tambrian captain was saying something similar. History had proven that men were men; training and discipline mattered but a man was pretty equal to any other. Urian was hoping he didn’t die today. He hoped he was worth five men of Tambria or would at least be lucky enough to be knocked down in the mud where no one would bother stabbing at him. He was no coward, he had killed his first man, a raider from Kerix, when he was 13 with an arrow to the lung. He had killed a few more raiders, Gandians, Altish and other men of the Fain with his bow before his first duel. Urian had always had a reputation for his temper, beating older boys bloody for teasing him as a youth, and his temper hadn’t softened with age. On the 19th anniversary of his name day he had been drinking whiskey and dark ales in the pub with a few other cowherds and Uribe and Valric when he heard chain mail clinking into the room. Fain men rarely wear armor; only the richest and most cowardly men would want it. As it turned out, the armored man was a dandy lordling from House Carpent. Urian had slept with the man’s little sister a few times and every one knew that the mac Callen clan planned to join the two houses in marriage to avoid embarrassment. Alexus Carpent was a big man, broad of shoulder and chest and with thick arms from swinging practice weapons in training. He would be the heir to the lesser branch of House Carpent, with a large keep and substantial income from farms and sheep and village markets. Urian was the second son of the mac Callen clan, Uribe would inherit the great hall and the lands and Urian would inherit his father’s sword. He might build a fort and have a few followers if he was lucky; but there would be no income that he didn’t earn. Alexus had pushed him and called his own sister a whore and Urian had challenged him. Alexus had no choice but to accept but only had the chance to swing his broadsword twice before Urian had split apart his ribs with a long dagger and had drained his heart’s blood.

This time, Valric snapped him out of his daydream. The mac Cargan captain was done shouting and the drums were beating to ready the men for the charge. Urian could see the Cargan’s horsemen kicking their horses and readying their spears. Urian thought about Renna Carpent, his girl back home. She was beautiful with dark brown hair like varnished mahogany and cream colored breasts tipped with pink. He remembered getting lost searching her body while he was supposed to be tending his herd. He remembered getting caught with her after they had spent the night at the tavern where he had killed her brother. He wanted to live so he could marry Renna, so that she could get fat with children and he would get old and his long black hair would go gray and then white and then fall out. Battle was no way to die when you could go in bed with a beautiful woman or as an old man surrounded by babies. Uribe and Valric would protect him from dying, and the three of them would drink sweet malty ales and laugh about how weak the Tambrians were. They would take trophies off their enemy, swords and daggers and old family shields and they would give them to their sons as mementos and name day gifts. He would use the gold he won in battle to buy Renna the biggest shiniest ring he could find; a hunk of gold with a green stone the size of his knucklebone. Urian would find her something so gaudy as to make all the other girls jealous of her. He would return to her alive.

He hadn’t realized he was running. Uribe was dragging him by the collar of his shirt as the lines charged toward each other. Urian raised his little buckler and pointed his long dagger towards the enemy charge. He may not have been worth five Tambrians but Renna was.

He would not die today.

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Unnecessary Words

In case you’re not already aware, most of my posts are for the blog Unnecessary Words. Its a blog about a little of everything and a lot of nothing. We would love for you to check it out.

Posts of particular note (at least to me):

Winter Never Came… An Open Letter To Nature 

Potent Quotable #23

Where Have All The Prophets Gone? A Crisis Of Faith

The Great Pi Day Pie Poll

The Sexist Insitution of the Necktie: A Disparate Impact

When You Play The Game Of Thrones, You Win Or You Die

A Writer’s Cup

Shit My Teacher Says #1

Humor of the Estruscan Variety

Today I am a Million Pieces: No More, No Less

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