Act One – Scene Five: Exsitentialism and Conspiracy

Well, I’m back… Sorta.
Somewhere between an already busy life, a suddenly booming day job, and getting married, I seem to have let two weeks slide. But that’s all over now. Oh wait, not really. Tomorrow I’m gone for a week to a tropical resort to “recover” from the happiest day of my life. In the mean time I have absolutely nothing to report, so really all I’ve done here is waste your time. I’d go on doing just that, but my eyelids are drooping on me and Simon and Garfunkel are playing tricks on me so I’ll be back in give or take a week – hopefully with a bit of an update from my “King of the Line” project.
In the mean time, if this site hasn’t got enough content perhaps it’s because YOU haven’t contributed yet. I’ve got an uploads page here and I’d like for it to be used. Alternatively, if you’ve got something that perhaps you think might suit this site well, why not find me on facebook and tell me about it.
Until death part us or dragons devour us, etc.

Snippet From Rowlan

Cold was the first sensation he felt. They must have dumped a bucket of ice water over him to bring him to. Most of his body was in shock from the extreme temperature change – not that being knocked unconscious wasn’t damage enough on its own. His head was full of noise, but most of it wasn’t coming from his ears.

“What’s your name?”

A rough hand grabbed the back of his neck and forced his face toward the blinding light. Even with his eyes closed he winced. The sudden motion made his head spin, and he nearly passed out again. What time was it? Was that sunlight on his face or more of the piped luminescence that filled this place? Why was his head so noisy?

His ears picked up a loud crack a moment before his face started to burn.  He knew there were already welts on his arms from the wood stick they were using, though in the haze he couldn’t recall getting them. The stick had struck him across the cheek and cut into his nose. He felt the blood dripping onto his lip, and tried to spit it away from his mouth.

“You’d better speak when he asks you a question!” said a voice that was very clearly not the first. His face was burning up. He could all but feel a great welt growing across his cheek.

His neck was stiff. Perhaps he had been sleeping on it wrong? He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept. In fact, he couldn’t remember much of anything. He thought he should know the names of the men torturing him. He had heard them address each other often enough. But his mind was foggy and he couldn’t hold onto details. Things seemed to slip back and forth, like waves on the seashore, and calling them up was like grasping at the sand when the water came. All the facts became the same.

“He’s a cheerful one,” said the first voice again. “Maybe this’ll find him a tongue!”

The stick struck him again, this time dangerously close to his eye. It cut another wound into the bridge of his nose, right above the first. The pain followed a moment later. He tried to move himself, to sort himself out. But he was trapped. They had him in some sort of chair, and his arms must be bound behind him. When he tried to move, his wrist opened up a world of pain all its own. He clenched his teeth and tried not to scream. Was it broken?

He needed to get his bearings. The waves inside his head were still crashing, making it difficult for him to figure things out. Had they tied him up before or after he went unconscious? He shook his head, trying to remember, to clear away the haze. He couldn’t recall being put here, but what came before that? They had been dragging him through a hallway with a flickering light. He remembered his head hanging down and seeing a bloody trail where he had been. But was there anything before that?

This time the blow must have been from a fist. It wasn’t very hard, but it still hurt plenty and disrupted his thoughts. It also cleared his head up a little. There was the snow. Before the hallway he had been in the snow. It had been dark then. The snow had been in the to.

He looked up again, and tried to open his eyes. The light was brighter than he thought it would be. It dazed him, and he tried to turn his head away, but the hand caught him again, and held him roughly in place for the stick. This time they struck him from the other side. His body jerked from the shock, and all the nerves in his wrist sent him murder messages all over again.

“Speak up! Who are you?”

He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a dry cough. He tried to reorganize his memories, but the waves were flowing back again. What had come first? Had it been the hallway? He closed his eyes tighter, concentrating on the details that came to him. He needed to remember.

“Answer the question!” his torturer grabbed him by the hands and began to pull. That was more than he could endure. The haze rushed in on him, and he choked on a mouthful of blood. Pain chased away memory and he went into frenzy. He needed it to stop.

“I don’t know,” he rasped, before breaking into a cough. He shook his head violently, in a futile attempt to break their grip. The light aggravated his eyes, and brought back splitting headaches. He fell forward and his bonds came taught against his wrists. The pain returned to his brain, but this time he hardly flinched. He was done. “I don’t know…” he repeated.

He lifted up his head as a last effort in defiance. The light hurt his eyes and as the waves washed over him again he wondered if it were more of that piped luminescence that filled this world, or if perhaps it might be sunlight. He began to wonder why his wrist hurt so much.

On the side

Should you find displeasure in the things you read here, please find the nearest bridge and jump off. However, when asked you will not be permitted to tell anyone why you did it. Should you enjoy the things you read here, I will allow you to tell your friends about it, and share it on facebook.

Should you be in the habit of creating on occasion written segments wich others like yourself might find enjoyment in reading, you are encouraged to contact me and tell me so.

That’s all for now.


I thought I’d take the trouble saying that I’ve got nothing to say. That’s all.

Act One – Scene Four: Concerning Hobbits

Wait, that can’t be right. That was somebody else’s story. Dang good one, however. Ahem.

News: Yes, I have some real news. I’ve just added a Text Upload page to the site. I’m hoping this will encourage people to start copy and pasting things in that monkey-slapping small Content box (I’m still working on how to fix the size). It should be noted that there are NO limits to the amount of text that can be pasted into that box, so even if your story is twenty-five thousand words long it will all fit. But I think you’re missing the point here. It’s not about the size of the BOX!

It’s about what brilliant things you put IN the box. Do you notice how as of yet only has one A: tab? well, that “A:” is supposed to stand for Author and the only reason there’s only ONE is because YOU haven’t given me content for a second and a third and a tenth yet. So whether you’re the ugly duckling breaking mirrors to feel good about your self-image, or Narcissus walking around with a head capable of supporting its own weather system, why not drag out your old floppy disks and notebooks and wrangle up some of those stories. The world is listening.

You Know What Really Grinds My Gears Pt.2

And now, it’s time for anothe edition of… you guessed it! Once again, our host Peter Griphin will not be joining us tonight. He’s in North Korea for his aunt’s funeral – indefinitely. Sitting in for him is the always illustrious Hiram Webb.

You know what really grinds my gears? The skier-snowboarder wars. Like really? Are you serious? You’re really going to make fun of your cousin whom you otherwise love dearly, simply because he straps one birch to his feet instead of two? I mean the practicalities are obvious, and I agree that there needs to be some further research into the matter, but is all the drama on the ski hill really worth it? And there’s another point. They haven’t started calling them snowboarding hills yet. Mister, that kid you’re picking on for the sole reason that he’s different… yeah, you’re on his turf.

But sking is sorta like going to a rich person’s home and actually using both the forks they set out for you. Okay, either your motor skills are nill, or you’re just waaayyyy too happy because you don’t have to wash the dishes. Anyway, whatever the reason, I think we can all agree that skiers are living in excess. Mind you, on the other hand, snowboarding is a little like riding a unicycle or walking up staris when the elevator was empty, or making the bed when you won’t be back in the bedroom until night when you’ll mess it up again. Like seriously man, you’re trying so hard, and nobody’s even watching you! There are so many easier ways to get down a hill. Doing something hard is kool. Doing something hard when there’s an easire way is not.

So clearly, as evidenced by my original statement, I think it’s clear that skiers and snowboarders can never be friends, and that they must stage an epic battle on the snowy slopes until one of them overcomes the other and a definite victor is decided. Then the loosers should have their mode of transportation removed and burned in a victory bond fire. I feel this will be the only way to bring peace and enrich our society.

You Know What Really Grinds my Gears pt.1

And now it’s time for another episode of ‘you know what really grinds my gears’ with Peter Griphin. Sitting in for Peter, during his time in the hospital, is the well educated Hiram Webb.
You know what really grinds my gears? Critics. Now this is a bit of irony for me, since this segment probably falls under the criteria of criticism. But specifically I’m referring to the type of critics that end up on the cover of movies to rave about how good they are. First of all, nobody knows what the heck “insert popular American city + insert variation of verb indicating news or university” is, if in fact it even exists. Probably it doesn’t. And “five thumbs up, stunning, timeless masterpiece” isn’t criticism. Actually, it’s closer to propaganda. “this sucked” or “script is juvenile” would be criticism. Just once I’d like to see a movie with a two star rating on the cover.
Imagine a world where movies displayed the tomatometer or an IMDB rating on the front cover. No wait, they’d never go for that. In fact, I think this entire rant is paramount to beatin a dead horse. I guess if there’s one thing I hope to accomplish it’s that the next time you pick up your favorite movie you notice the flagrant words of the ‘critics’ and have a good laugh.

Act One – Scene Three: fan pages, pdf embeds, and a lot of hulabaloo about nothing

I’ve just added what might actually, at last, be called content. Under the persuasive, yet indirect, instruction from my sister at I’ve allowed the site to spill over into facebook land, and with the addition comes chapter one of “The Fall of NaRasch”. That was at the beginning of the day, but this is now the end and among my day’s accomplishments are a second and third chapter of NaRasch included in and available to everyone with a free membership. Note to self, set up jetpack plugin, as that’s probably going to be important in the near future? Maybe I’ll do that now.
And while we’re on the subject, why ‘The Fall of NaRasch’ anyway? Well because I think a book title should probably say a little more about what the book’s about then ‘Garawain-the gateway document’. That could be just about anything from a royal edict to a shipping record. And who really wants to read a book called Garawain anyway? We all love strange long fantasy names… but this time around I’m leaning more towards the ones that can be spelled and pronounced – which brings us to the second point.
What the heck is NaRasch? Because if any of us actually lived in a city called Fwackniersh we’d all rebell, even if we were already king. So, let’s clean up the names, fix a few run-on sentences, and generally fill in the grey areas with a little black and white where needed. Racubons is no more. Karbaan is a generic name for the ruler (like Pharoah) and as such a nameless father suffices. Slackrem becomes Slacer, Cracknos – Cranok, and so on and so forth, and where before i didn’t care about what word 2010 told me about my akward grammar, now I’m paying attention, and what do you know, the crazy software has a point! Adding to that an extra four years of growing up and another battery of editorial attacks, and we’re shaping up for something different enough to deserve a new title.
And on that note enter the Arlen Bresh Publishing Company. Online is the first step. An e-version of the book will be available upon completion for somewhere from six to ten dollars (I think) and some time after that my plan is to start printing. I mean, don’t get me wrong, outsourcing the material for twelve dollars a copy to author plus eight hundred up front was fun and all, but this is 2011 and dang near anything is possible thanks to the wonder of affordable laser printers! In the mean time I’ll be writing more short works and looking for unpublished bits form other authors to add to the collection, so find the facebook page, become a fan, and drop in now and then, because there’s much more to come!

Act One: Scene Two–with the man in the leopard print suite

I’ve done it. At last I’ve done it. After two long days of toiling over crummy plugins and turning my head inside out with CSS and PHP my latest project has at last come to an end – and by end i mean beginning of course. This is the fourth instalment of WordPress that I’ve set up. You’d think it’d be easier by now, but as some crackpot once said, with great power comes… yeah you know that one. The more I know how to change the more I’m obligated to change. So with puffy eyes I sit here among a field of empty pop glasses, coffee mugs, and coke bottles, and declare to be complete-ish. By that I mean it finally looks good – it just hasn’t gotten anything on it; which brings me along to the next item on my agenda – actually writing something. Happy father’s day.

As always the Fall of NaRasch is coming along nicely, but by now I’m pretty sure that even the few who still remember precisely what that is are tired of hearing about it. So I’ll not fall back to that topic, though I should mention that my next upload should be a sample chapter of my revision work – perhaps to incentivize FB likes or some such shenanigans. No, what a wordpress site needs are updates; blog posts. An overtired author’s ramblings about nothing and everything all at once, hoping desperately that some of the clicking sounds coming from his keyboard will eventually correspond to a cognitive thought.

Hey, here’s a fun fact: did you know that if you’ve got windows7 and IE9 you can “break off” tabs from your browser and drop them in the start menu? It works great, especially with mainstream sites that are equipped with proper favicons like facebook, twitter, and jango. Oh, and FYI, it works for as well. Check it out. I went and built myself a clean little blue icon that up n looks dang pretty nested against the bottom of your screen. Heck YES! Okay, maybe I’m a little too excited about that…

Oh, and hey, for all your proud iPhone owners out there, heck anybody with access to iBooks, if you’re interested in a good read, check out ‘The N00b Warriors’ (yes, those are the number zeros). It’s a bit of an unusual read, but I think it’s the first thing my fiance and I have been able to agree on (besides strawberries) so for that I’ll deem it noteworthy. Also, it’s free in iBooks, and who doesn’t like free stuff? There are other ways to get it, but I’m not positive at the moment. I’ll look into it maybe and feature it here.

Anyways, that’s all I’ve got for tonight. This over exhausted writer is calling it quits for the weekend.