Whence came the Heart of the Lonely Mountain, the Arkenstone of Thrain? What do we know about the Heart of the Mountain? It was found by the children of Durin beneath the Lonely Mountain, and it shown with its own inner light, as even the hobbits attest in the Red Book of Westmarch.
One often hears the statement these days that science fiction needs more strong female characters. When pressed for examples, those pushing for these new characters are almost without exception meaning without saying it “women who act like men.” Why do these people hate women so? Yes, put strong women in your writing, but make these […]The… Continue reading The Strongest Feminine Character I Know — Frank Luke – Writer
http://www.declanfinn.com/2020/01/the-night-my-father-shot-werewolf-by.html?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=facebook When a boy is nine, his Dad is the most important person in his life, and he should be able to look to Dad to defeat the monsters that hunt in the dark. Sean Grady always knew his Dad would do whatever it took to keep the family safe: this is Sean’s story. Thanks… Continue reading On “The Night my Father Shot the Werewolf”
Information is not enough.
One of the seminal reasons I opened this sporadic blog in the first place was for a venue to air my writing-- some of it going back to high school, twenty years ago-- that was mouldering on my hard drive without a chance to be read by readers. The story The Wolf's Cry was one… Continue reading The Wolf’s Cry: Author’s Notes on an Unfinished Tale
In which the manosphere and GQ are both wrong.
There are two heathen altars in American cities on which ordinary citizens sacrifice their children on a regular basis, and it's unclear which has done the most evil, overall. I'll let others decide which is Molech and which, Chemosh, but the first, most obvious idolatry takes the form of Planned Parenthood's so-called "clinics" and other… Continue reading On Sacrificing Children to Educational Abstractions
Donald's gane up the hill hard and hungry
Donald comes down the hill wild and angry;
Donald will clear the gouk's nest cleverly
Here's to the king and Donald Macgillavry!
"One of the most important things that an author should know in order to write good and even great stories, readers and future writers, is that evil in fact exists."
It isn't politically correct, but if true, these proposals will be validated for all male and female human characters, respectively, and resonate with the disproportionately human Reading Public.
H/T to Cane Caldo.
Re-posted from the inimitable Sarah A. Hoyt: During the weekend, while doing my normal weekly cleaning (usually a running affair lasting 4 hours and starting at around 9 am, involving dusting, vacuuming and making wet-areas (kitchen and bathrooms) sanitary, yes a little easier now that I’ve been keeping things more … organized) I listened to… Continue reading Teach a Child — According To Hoyt
G. Scott Huggins on writing "real" religion in imaginary worlds.
And by “we” I mean writers and parents and teachers, and anyone who is supposed to give them an idea of how the world works. By “children” I mean those of us who were children in the last 50, maybe the last 70 years, and although the problem is most prevalent in America, it has […]… Continue reading We’re Failing Our Children: repost from Sarah Hoyt’s blog.
Jonas had never been so far up in all his life. The sidewalks he was used to had no railings because it was only twenty centimetres to the street, not hectametres. He walked more carefully, one hand against the reassuring wall. The air was clearer up here, and the early morning light was almost blue after thousands of yellow and grey-green mornings below. He looked again at the address as a tungsten-yellow Phœnix Valkyrie roared past, freely sharing bullets with the DPD at close range. Jonas pulled his coat around himself, thanked the OneTrueGod for a day out of the factory, and prayed for Clara's safety.
Kriever didn’t like public trans, and insisted on driving his old Sting Ray everywhere. He glanced over to the passenger seat, where she sat with his coat still over her shoulders.
“Which way, doll?” he asked. The rain had eased up, for now...