"Now, here are my maps, all very incomplete, of course—a little hobby of mine. Folks from all over come in here, mostly gnomes, of course, but a few dwarves not too proud to duck a bit sometimes. The Father has blessed all his children, and I feel my blessing is to share in hospitality."
Were those footsteps? He hid himself behind a massive oak—greater than any he had seen in Europe. The trunk was more than five feet in diameter, and smelled musty—very musty. He could almost smell the centuries of age in the bark. But there were the footsteps again! This time he was sure of it. He peered out around the trunk...
http://www.artofmanliness.com/2017/10/30/adoption-101-options-process/ Take care of the widow and the orphan...
Then a roar like the fall of a second Atlantis tore the jungle behind us. The great pillar stood shuddering, and then it fell, smashing branches and saplings on its way. It shook the ground when it fell, and the treetops parted ...
Ladies and gentlemen, and scoundrels of all ages, this is the page for the stories.
"I'm wondering if there isn't a connection between this Viking’s appearance and our man's disappearance." "Yes, but I still don't know. It's all...so...well, I don't know. So unusual..."
Wordsworth wrote an endless poem in blank verse on” the growth of a poet’s mind.” I shall attempt a more modest feat for a more distracted age: a blog, “Things which a Lifetime of Trying to Be a Poet has Taught Me.” AIR A Song of Taliessin While walking out under the greenwood fair […] via… Continue reading Shameless Plug for a Friend’s Poetry.
Tigers walk here, where Maharajahs rode, with jackals as their grooms and serving men. There lies the ancient, ruined city. There lies Delwaar San.
"Good reflexes," Hazard thought: "just the sort Sarge appreciated when the brain behind them could keep up."
A slender girl was silhouetted in the doorway against the early light.
He checked his Kruger in its holster. It felt good in his grip. 'No', he told himself. 'Not just yet. Not yet.'
A brilliant light threw their shadows against the far wall and vanished. The office and its contents were gone.
It only occurred to me this week, some few days after I opened the Stories shelf with The Bestiary and The Legend of Gnat Bunker what those two pieces have in common. They are not merely "creative" but meta-creative. They're about how we create what we do, and in a deeper sense, why.
Check back each week for new stories!
He was back on Geiger Seven and his right hand was cold—so cold like the night after Doublenight. Where was the Sarge?