Podcast or vlog? Take your pick as I talk about some of my favorite books this year
A letter from the archives of the Realm Leapers, following up on a post years ago about villainous complaints.
To whom it may concern,
Thank you kindly for your willingness to speak up on the wrongs done to villains everywhere. All the stuff against wearing black, hiring incompetent minions, resorting to brooding as a pastime, and indiscriminate killing holds as true today as it does then.
We humans know lots of things. Do we act on them?
If we did, I wouldn’t be writing this article.
Ages ago—or maybe it was only a year ago—I listened to a podcast laying out how evil Enneagram is. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
Perfect times don’t exist.
Perfect moments, maybe. Golden sunlight mixes with laughter and for a moment everything is pure bliss. Then the moment passes, as it always does and we’re back with both feet solidly on the ground as shadows and wistfulness close in.
Because gifs and Doctor Who is amazing.
Josan clutched the doorframe, doubling over with a ragged cough. Smoke pricked his eyes with a hundred tiny daggers. He gagged, pressing his face into the crook of his arm.
Orange flickers laced the opposite side of the great hall, wreathing ornate tapestries in smoke. Josan’s guard gripped his shoulder from behind. As if Seris could defend against this siege.
I love music. I listen to it as I write. I find songs for characters. I listen to it on the way to work. I find a song I love and listen to it twenty times in the next three days.
When I sat down in February and scheduled three months’ worth of blog posts, I thought by the time I wrote this post that I’d be getting ready to leave.
I’m a walking contradiction.
A paradox in a pair of shoes.
in a plodding mortal frame.
bound with bones.
chained with fear.
weaving dreams of air.
My mind wanders among the clouds
but my feet are fastened
to the earth
Mapping foggy, crooked streets.
Boots measure weary step
by weary step,
Far behind my racing thoughts.
My chest aches
for what I can’t…
Ash and dust in the wind
Tears from the sky,
water and starlight,
Paradox in paradox.
Trickling past with
each grain of mortal sand.
For when one day,
the way shines clear
the light undimmed,
will be the end.