Monday, August 31, 2015

Status of the Blog and Writing

My next project involves physical layout for Grenademan vs the Zombies in Scribus, which is both harder and easier to use than word...it is a new learning curve and I have learned a lot due to the an excellent online coarse by the editor of GIMP magazine.  The good news is that it doesn't think it knows better than I do so I can do anything with the pages including implementing some of Andrew's suggestions. The bad news is that 'simple' things like the page number have to be done manually until I can figure out how to quasi automate it.  Its learning but worth it.  Unfortunately, due to the 12 hours I spent fixing the sound files on the TGAW podcast archive, I was totally burnt out this weekend and unable to work on it.
Speaking of which, given the numbers on this blog at least, it sure looks like my writing on this blog and scripts are a hell of a lot more popular than the tossing grenades at windmills podcast. :D Moreover, Saved from the Circular file, the 'b side' unedited podcast about not my writing but other things was more popular too....tells me that after I finish my life goal about seven novels maybe I should stick to scripts and producing/publishing for other people and just dabble in short stories or the occasional novel...we shall see but I will give at least one good try at touring and marketing my own book (Forever West) in 2016.
Current plans in the blog include a full weekly schedule
Monday - Status/Blurbs from Rhombus, the occasional short fiction piece from the 500 or Naked City.
Tuesday - Script
Wed - Fairy Tale (also moderately popular and thus the sixth novel will likely be 8 interweaving fairy tales...)
Thur - Script
Friday - Second fairy tale
Sat - Tossing Grenades at windmill's podcast
Sunday - Saved from the circular file.
Current writing projects
-Desktop publishing for GMVZ
-Desktop publishing for Spiders in the Sugar Factory
-Proofreading for Forever West
-Cover for Forever West
-Map for Forever West
-World Notes for Forever West
-DeskTop Publishing for Forever West
-Edit Making the Demon
-Edit remaining TC Ricks Stories
-Begin writing Rhombus Ticks stories
-In November do 6th Novel, The Heliotrope Book of Modern Fairy Tales (Working title)
-Keep writing TGAW (7th novel) - need to restart
-Write three or four more poems for the League of Christmas Darkness for the TGAW Podcast
That's a lot.  Right now, I'm focused on the first.  Likely to have one or two writing and one or two editing and one or two desk top going at any given time.
Oh, forgot to add, looking at Jay's script for the Sentinel Chronicles, working with Greg on DADS (Sanford, not Ricks), and the 500 and Naked City....busy times. :D
I'll try to do one of these a month....

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Grenademan Vs The Zombies - Chapter 10b


The battle for the town is in full swing and Grenademan is trying to rescue one of the four in the straights of the ....Caribean...which are totally not actually straights.

 

Written by TC Ricks

Sound Editing: Greyson Bergmann

Editing: Fiona Skye

Performed by Rhombus Ticks


Check out this episode!

Thursday, August 27, 2015

[Script] Unfood - Page 16

16. There is a collective groan from the crew on the ship and the Blob is absolutely horrified. A large group of guards show up at the door and begin escorting passengers to escape pods which are then ejected from the ship. ACT 1 SCENE 6 SCENE EXTERIOR – OUTSIDE OF THE MARGARET APPROACHING THE FATSHIP – NIGHT The Margaret has a large sheet of tin foil draped in front of it. It is obviously jury rigged and tied on. It approaches the Fat ship. SCENE INTERIOR – RADAR SCREEN – NIGHT The Fat ship’s radar does not show the Margaret. SCENE INTERIOR – HALL OF THE FAT SHIP – DAY Freight opens a door onto an empty ship. He accidentally drops a wrench and cringes at the noise. There is no sound. He scratches his chin. FREIGHT (WHISPERING) Hello? There is no sound. FREIGHT (LOUDER) HELLO? Still no sound comes. FREIGHT (YELLING) HELLO? ECHO OF FREIGHT oooo....ooo...oo Freight is fairly nervous. He wanders and sees nothing but empty quarters. He finds the Blob’s quarters and drops the candy bar as he has agreed to do. He gulps. FREIGHT (NERVOUSLY) Hello?

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

[Fairy Tale] Elowyn Wisp - Part 3

You can learn of the rules here.  I felt this story deserved a title at this point.  None of the members of the group suggested a continuance, so I moved it forward.  A second story will occur on Fridays starting this week or next.

There were three green bands with three green men on three green rocks who each juggled three green swords.  They juggled with such skill that not a one of them was cut and not a one of them broke into a sweat.  Though surely flesh and blood, these three beings might as well have been automatons.

Elowyn's father watched as this marvel went on.  He was reluctant to break their concentration, but he had not run into another in many days, and these folks seemed to hopefully know the answer.  He was quiet for a time, hoping that they would take a break, and he could answer them.  But they did not stop. 

Finally, he could stand it no more, and asked, "Excuse me, but have you seen my daughter Elowyn?"

"We have not."  They answered as one. 

Dejected, the man sighed and started to walk off.  But then he remembered what the Wren had called her.  "Wait.  She is also called by the name Elowyn Wisp."

The three men smiled and and sighed with such delight that their swords flew up and out to the four winds, landing upright in the ground around them.

"So beautiful." said the first.

"So wise." said the second.

"So kind." said the third.

"Yes, we saw her."  They pointed to the east.  "Not less than one day past."

"Wonderful!" The man said and thanked the sword jugglers and ran to the east.

For six days and six nights he walked on and saw nothing, but on the night of the sixth night, he saw six blue bands and six blue monkeys juggling six blue wands while they wore six blue hats with such skill as they put the three men juggling the three swords to shame.  They did not stop, and they did not speak, but simply smiled and juggled the wands between them on the top of the six blue bands.

Again the man waited but again his patience could not abide and he asked.  "Have you seen my daughter Elowyn?"

They simply shook their heads.

"Elowyn Wisp?"

The delight at hearing her name called all the monkeys to hoot and howl with delight and all their wands flew to the four winds, and thunder and lightning and fire and tides and wind and earthquakes shattered the land all about, but the monkeys did not care.

"So wise." said the first.

"So beautiful." said the second.

"So kind." said the third.

The other three nodded in agreement and said, "We have seen her.  She passed by here not more than day passed.  Best of luck!"

The man thanked the monkeys and ran onward.

And for nine days he continued to the east, and saw nothing.  The land was bleak and soon the woods faded, and the hills turned flat, and even the wind stopped.  There was nothing but bleakness as far as the eye could see, and just when the Man was despondent and could go no farther he saw a menagerie of nine bears, nine lions and nine tigers on nine gold bands each juggling nine cups.

"What is this?" the man asked wondering how such a group was gathered together, and asked them, "Have you seen my daughter Elowyn?"

They shook their heads.

"Elowyn Wisp?"

The cups went all akimbo and run on the ground, filling the land with food and plants and seas and rivers as plenty filled the world around them.

"So wise." said the first.

"So beautiful." said the second.

"So kind." said the third.

"She came by here but one hour passed" and they pointed to the east.

Heart heartened, the man ran as fast as he could after his little girl.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

[Script] Unfood - Page 15

CONTINUED: 15. FREIGHT Give it to me. BLOB hands Freight the schedule. BLOB The timing is precise. You will get only one shot. Still interested in taking the job? FREIGHT (beat) Yeah. I’ll take the job. ACT 1 SCENE 5 INT – INSIDE OF THE FAT SHIP BLOB’S QUARTERS. The Blob gazes left and right around shiftily. He wakes up in the middle of the night. He slowly gets up, trying not to make any noise and wake his room mate. He carefully takes out a lighter and raises it to the fire extinguisher. He lights the lighter. An alarm sounds through out the ship. The BLOB raises his hand and smiles with triumph. BLOB YES! SHIP’S CAPTAIN (V.O.) Attention crew, it has come to my attention that someone is trying to start a fire on the ship, probably in some misguided attempt at a distraction. BLOB suddenly appears very worried and scrambles to put the fire out. SHIP’S CAPTAIN (V.O.) Now, normally I’d be willing to take a change that this was merely a filthy lie and simply let you all asphyxiate but since most of you are ’VIP’s’ merely because you are rich, I’m obliged to follow the proper protocol in this instance. Which means that we’re going to drop your sorry asses down on the nearest planet and let the ship drift for the next ten months. Surprise!

Saturday, August 22, 2015

Wisdom Lust Sloth


Naked City is a literary venue in Atlanta with five minutes and a single word theme.  Here are three of those pieces.

Check out this episode!

Thursday, August 20, 2015

[Script] Unfood - Page 14

CONTINUED: 14. BLOB The confederation really is everywhere, isn’t it? FREIGHT Fuck you. BLOB Seriously. Stop it. I’m planning on paying you enough money that you should be nice to me. FREIGHT Fine. You look handsome. BLOB (LAUGHS) I said be nice to me, not lie. OK, do you know what you’re dealing with here? FREIGHT I can imagine. But at the same time I’d like to hear the particulars. BLOB Right. So here is the deal. The place is a fortress. It has all kinds of sensors to detect any kind of food but I know a material that can shield your ship. FREIGHT Good. I’m still not sure though. BLOB 500000 coins. FREIGHT That’s double your last offer. BLOB Its worth it. FREIGHT Fine. Fine, I’ll do it. Do you have a departure date? BLOB I do. (CONTINUED)

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

[Fairy Tale] Elowyn Wisp - 2

You can learn of the rules here.  I felt this story deserved a title at this point.  None of the members of the group suggested a continuance, so I moved it forward.  A second story will occur on Fridays starting this week or next.

"Thank you!" said the Mother Wren as it sung a hymn to the sky of the purest dulcet tones, pleated with gratitude for the lives of her babies.  She sang so long and so sweetly that for a time the man forgot his cares and wept at the beauty of it all, but when she was done, the Wren asked,"What brings a fine strong human like you to these woods?"

"I am seeking my daughter." He asked hopefully.  "She is a small human girl with beautiful black hair and eyes as the sea at storm.  I have misplaced her."

The Wren larked sadly, a soulful cry, and replied,"Alas good sir, I have seen no human girl!"

"I shall never see Elowyn again..." he sighed, resuming his search though his heart was not in it.

"Elowyn?" the Wren asked hopefully.

"Yes.  That is the name of my daughter."  His cap came off his head and by his grasp lay in his hand.  "Have you seen her?"

"I have, but I saw no human by that name, only Elowyn Wisp, daughter of the Garland."  The Wren was confused.

Not being the brightest man, he did not ask questions but jumped up and askance,"She was here!" He beamed and jumped, "She was here!"

"She was, not more than half the day passed!"

"Which way?" He looked east and west, then up again at Mother Wren.

"That which way the sun flows!" She sang and pointed with her wing.

And off the Man went after Elowyn, but deep the sun set and dark the moon rose in the silver hue of the starry night and no sign nor hint of Wisp there were. But not passing to sleep, through thicket and wild bramble the man pressed on, never giving up hope. For three days and three nights he did this till at last a curious noise he heard aways forward.


Tuesday, August 18, 2015

In a Dead Man's Shoes

Posted here because Live Journal is becoming more and more of a pain to log in to every year, and I would rather write the poem in the wrong place than not at all.

In A Dead Man's Shoes
By Emmit Other

The Rhombus Trick
Is really more necessary than my nonchalance appears
I was done
Burned out
More than a multi month recovery
The kind that takes a decade
Maybe more
From which one might recover
But I have seen the killing of a brilliant gentle soul
I have the painting no one else wants
Or cared about
But it has an audience of one
Of a mother's love of her son
Frozen in time
Before mammon and El conspired
To crush a dream
The poet in me thrives
Because I don't give a fuck what you think of me
These words are mine
And you are welcome to them
Freely given
Freely written
But with prose there are Expectations
Of a lever great enough to change the world
Even to move the world just a little bit
Off of the rodeo traintrack of self deceiving doom.
But writing is that balance
Between delusion that you can win
And self awareness that you need to polish the turd
Until it shines
But after the GMVZ8pt2
There was no shine left in the can
The sham show was what it was
So understand folks
Rhombus is as real as he needs to be
To keep the parade party started
Because the alternative
Is a life of service to something
That couldn't care less if you live or die
And spawn that mostly go through the motions
I will not fade gray or die away
I shall sparkle on wondercuss
Half of the legitimate ones are phonies anyway.
I am in plenty good company to keep.
March on dented sqaure.
March on.

[Script] Unfood - Page 13

CONTINUED: 13. GERALD (cont’d) most experienced cheaters. There will be absolutely no way for you to sneak food on board. Wide shot of Gerald again pandering to the camera on the desk. GERALD The confederation will get you. Count on it! ACT 1 SCENE 4 EXTERIOR – PARK - DAY The BLOB is grossly overweight wearing an extremely fine and intricately woven robe. He is meeting with Freight who is dressed very disheveled. Freight is riddled with guilt. FREIGHT This sounds too good to be true. BLOB Can you afford not to? My sources are pretty damn good. FREIGHT No, I can’t afford not to. But that doesn’t mean that this is too good to be true. BLOB My loss is your gain. FREIGHT You say that, but tell that to my crew. BLOB Ah yes, your crew. I’d heard about that. Terrible tragedy really. FREIGHT Shut up. BLOB I can go if you want. Freight doesn’t say anything, but just sulks. He rolls up a cigarette. He lights it, takes a puff. A short while later they hear sirens in the background and curses. He puts it out. (CONTINUED)

Monday, August 17, 2015

Mr. Right Writes Letters

So I heard a bit more on this story. The only guy who knows it likes to dole it out a bit at a time...really, it pretty obvious he's making it up as he goes along.  I'm not sure how that makes it a legitimate tale but stories are weird.  Maybe there is an invisible duck whispering it into his ear or something...

Mr. Right was right yet again.  The details of the offense are unimportant.  The gentleman who offended him was a vile cur, all Mr Right's relations told each other so, and the act was so vile that it even threatened his fiancĂ©, the would be Mrs. Right.  So all were in agreement that his incredibly well planned action to notify and lecture the authorities was a sound and well acclimated one.

100 pieces of paper in 100 days with 100 stamps and 100 envelope.  It was a lovely solid number that everyone enjoyed.  Mr. Right was not Mr. Kind, but everyone who was anyone felt a certain solace knowing that Mr. Right was off doing something Right in a solidly moral clear way.  But Mr. Right did not enjoy doing this by itself.  Being Right didn't offer much comfort and being an example was important but if Mousekind was to be his business, would it not be better to be Kind?

Mr. Right decided that some of the letters should be about Mr Wrong (the vile cure who had endangered Mrs Would Be Right) but spent the bulk of them writing to people who needed it.  Mr Right would never be Mr. Kind, but if enough of us TRIED to be Mr. Kind, maybe the world would be a better place. 

In the end, Mr. Right was no less Right, Mr. Wrong was still Wrong, and Mr. Kind was still Kind, but the over arching kindness of the world was increased, and that made Mr. Right happy.  Which was the right choice.

Saturday, August 15, 2015

Grenademan Vs The Zombies Chapter 10 Part 1


The world finally sees the results of Jarvi's and Chaos's Apocaylpse.  The circle fights them as best they can.

Written by TC Ricks

Edited by Fiona Skye

Sound Editing Grayson Bergmann

Performed by Rhombus Ticks


Check out this episode!

Thursday, August 13, 2015

[Script] Unfood - Page 12

CONTINUED: 12. JUDGE (cont’d) it is. You knew what you were doing. And now you are going to pay for it. ACT 1 SCENE 3 SCENE – BUSINESS OFFICE – INTERIOR – DAY A man sits at a desk and slowly moves in front of it. GERALD Hello there. My name is Gerald Danes. I’m hear to speak to you on behalf of the new Confederation government. He sits down on the desk and crosses one leg over another. GERALD As most of your are aware, public health care is a right in in the Confederation and as such, you’re all going to get access to it. But as you are also aware, there are certain individuals that feel it is their prerogative to take advantage of the situation. For them... He stares back at the camera in a close up. GERALD Being fat isn’t merely a problem but a badge of honor. They flaunt their ability to bribe the system, to corrupt it in a mockery of the purity of what it really is. But we can’t allow them to succeed at that. Every time we have tried to regulate their weight, they have found a way to get around it. Patriotic music plays in the background. He salutes and salutes at the camera. GERALD Well no more! Now we have come up with a solution that will take care of the problem once and for all. Now we have created the Fat ship. This mobile prison is specially designed to foil even the (MORE) (CONTINUED)

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

[FairyTale] Introduction and Elowyn Wisp - 1

Hello.

For quite some time I have been trying to resurrect a wonderful project I started with some of TC's friends and family members earlier this year to find new fairy tales.  But due to life and a series of other happenings, these got started but were never finished.  These tales were to be released under the Creative Commons License....

The original people involved in this project were TC Ricks, Andrew Greenberg, Greg Sanford, and Julie R Ray.  Others showing interest were Bill Bridges, Josie Burgin Lawson and Fiona Skye.

Creative Commons License
New Fairy Tales by New Fairy Tales Group is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

The original project was to start a story and then turn it around, round robin style with each new author adding to the original story.  There are currently four 'seeds' and I'll be randomly selecting two and pursuing those until done.  Anyone who wants to participate may submit a possible answer to anyone else in the group by the following day...

For example, after I post one of the four seeds here, all written up to this point, anyone on the list can continue and anyone else on the list can vote for the next version they like most.  No one is required to continue it at all, and you may write a continuance under an alias and be added to the group list in this post.  Elsewise, I will write a continuance a week by default until 'done' and then finish at least the first four seeds, maybe more after that if the group so decides.

If you want to join (or leave) the group, email me at redanvilcreative at the google mail.

Anyway, here is one of the four seeds, selected at random.

Untitled (For Now)
Once there was a man and woman who had no children, despite their best efforts. One evening, when the woman was feeling especially melancholy, she took a walk down by the pond, gathering wildflowers and humming a soft tune as she went. Her fingers moved absently, weaving a garland of the flowers as she walked and thought, until she found herself on a path in the forest. She glanced down and was surprised to see that she had woven a small person of her flowers- with a head, two arms, and two legs. She felt a stab of foreboding in her belly, but just then she saw a flickering of light a little way off the path. She could not help herself wandering closer to see what the light was. When she came closer, she could hear singing and music, and see the shadows of people dancing about. Far to the edge of the revelry lay a small bassinet. The woman crept closer and saw inside the smallest baby she had ever seen. She thought that she could hold it in just the palm of her hand, and, picking it up to see, she lay her garland down in its place. No sooner than she had it, she could not put it down again, and quietly she walked back the way she came, cradling the small baby, a girl, she saw, with all the love a mother could give. When she arrived back at the small cabin she shared with her husband, she walked in boldly and said, “Husband, look, I have born us a daughter. Her name is Elowen.” He never was a very bright man, and, it was a very small child, anyway, so he did not question her story. The woman handed the girl to her husband and suddenly felt very ill. She told her husband she had a pain, laid down in her bed, and if she woke up again, it was not in this world. The husband ever after said that she had died in childbirth.


The man did his best to raise the girl. He gave her milk from the cow and from the nanny goat, but she would have none. He made porridge sweetened by honey, but she turned up her nose. All her life she drank naught but the rain as it fell from the sky and ate naught but the dandelion wisps in the wind, but, grew, all the same, until she was but a little small for her age. Her father loved her, as he had loved her mother, but did not understand her very well. She, for her part, did not understand him either. Why did he become so upset when she brought home spiders and rats and other small things and made them a cozy place in her room? For all she could see, he acted as though he were afraid of the things, but she knew that could not be so. And why did he insist that she stay inside on nights when the moon was so bright, it was like the day? He would go so far as to lock her up in her room to keep her inside. Yet, she was a very clever girl and he was not such a clever man, so she always found a way to get out, and she would lay down by the pond and let the moon bathe her in its light.

It was on such a night that she saw off in the forest a small light. She was over taken by curiosity, and followed it down into the forest. As she walked, it seemed to move further and further away, and so she stepped away from the path and walked deeper and deeper into the forest.

The next morning, the man awoke and unlocked her bedroom door, but, in her place on her bed, he found only the dust of withered wildflowers.


A slight breeze came through the open door, and the old man hurried to collect the dust in a jar. He was not a bright man, but he knew his lands like he knew the back of his calloused hands. Purple wildflowers  grew by his house, and blue ones by his field. Patches of yellow wildflowers sprung up around his pond. Red and pink wildflowers were rare on his lands, appearing mainly where the pond bordered the neighboring woods. He took his walking staff in hand, gathered cheese, bread and a fresh egg from his speckled hen, and trudged off to the woods.


By the pond he found the faintest trace of small footsteps, the impression of the shoes he had made and the nails he had used barely visible in the dawn’s light. He followed them to the forest, where the tracks continued along the path. Suddenly they disappeared, and he searched to the right and the left of the path without success. He leaned on his staff, quietly peering into the woods.

The cry of a wren pierced the stillness. Not the pretty tunes of a bird seeking a mate, they were instead the shrill, insistent sounds of an angered animal. Looking around, he saw a nest on the low branch of a nearby elm. Near it, a black snake coiled at its base, a wren circling angrily over him. The wren flew quickly by the snake, its chirping louder as it circled around the serpent. Despite the racket, the black snake continued inexorably up the tree and toward the little nest. The high-pitched twitter of baby wrens, unable to fly, rose from the nest.

The man moved forward, almost without thinking, and used his staff to pry the snake from the tree. The snake wrapped unwillingly around the staff, and the man could not shake it free. It stared at him, and much to the man’s amazement, a low, rumbling voice emanated from deep inside the snake.

“Now what am I to do for dinner?” asked the snake. Almost without thinking the man reached into his lunch bag, and pulled out the egg.

“This egg came from a fine hen,” he said, “and was never fertilized. It holds no life. Take it instead.” The man laid it on the ground.

“I prefer warm, live food,” said the serpent. When the man did not move, the serpent finally unwound from the staff and dropped to the earth. There he studied the egg before opening his jaws to swallow it. Finally satisfied, the snake crawled into the underbrush, a round shape visible in his stomach.

The baby wrens continued to chirp, and the mother still circled the nest, but her own cries had quieted. Not wanting to disturb the bird any more, the man took one more look and prepared to return to the path. Then he noticed one small footprint, distinctly Elowen’s, right by the elm.



Tuesday, August 11, 2015

[Script] Unfood - Page 11

CONTINUED: 11. FREIGHT That’s not fair! JUDGE Actually its very fair. Its more fair than your justice. FREIGHT I do not. JUDGE No thank you. Do either of you have anything to say in your defense? AARON Fuck you. KENDRA I’m with Aaron. Fuck you. JUDGE Is that your final word? KENDRA Fuck you (beat) Your honor. JUDGE I hereby find Aaron Plantain and Kendra Kargo guilty of the crimes leveraged against them. They are both sentenced together to fifteen years on the nearest penal colony to repay their debt to society. Freight Kasniket, you have found a technicality in the law, and are thus exempt from prosecution, but because you encouraged others to help in your unethical defense we are going to add another year to your crew mate’s sentences to discourage others from behaving in a similar fashion. FREIGHT What? That’s not fair. JUDGE You are losers in a virtuous war. It is not your right to determine what is or isn’t fair. And, on a personal note, yes (MORE) (CONTINUED)

Monday, August 10, 2015

Mr Right and Mr. Kind

I have often listened to unusual stories in my travels, and when I was in New Orleans I heard a fascinating tale that is difficult to relay in its exactitude, simply due to the magnificent fact that I am an observer but not a teller of tales.  Indeed, the National Story Teller's convention is one of the premier events in the nation.  It is similar in size to that of your own, but vastly most important in ours.  Story Telling is an art, and quite frankly one I pick up only given my hefts and shadows of your world.

I could go on, but that's not the point.  I want to share it while it is still fresh in my mind, or at least the start.

There are two mice, technically three mice but third only looms like a shadow unseen.  Mr Right, Mr Kind and Mr Necessary.

Mr Kind is beloved by all, for he is always kind.  Indeed, I must admit that it was the knowledge of this character that had me choose the superpower I mentioned in the Letters to Rhombus section I mentioned earlier.  There is not a mean bone in Mr Kind's body.  He cares how everyone feels and works as hard as he can to do good to his fellow man, always at his own expense.  Everyone loves Mr. Kind, and he is regarded fondly.  Sometimes, black hearted souls will have a bit of fun at Mr. Kind's expense, but there is always a tongue lashing from those who truly love him and respect him.  These foul vagrants are few and far between.  At least as if you would hear Mr. Kind tell of it.  Mr Kind's associates might think that the number twere a bit higher in point of fact, since Mr Kind is not merely kind, but exceptionally so, and it is an unfit thing that Mr. Kind is not not in a kind world, but generosity does meet generosity and despite deprivations, Mr. Kind is fed a constant stream of good deeds, and gets by, not the least of which is his brother.

Mr Right is an upstanding fellow.  He is not, per se, a pillar of the community, for he has neither the affability of Mr. Kind nor the predestination of luck or station that would make him a leader of mice, but he does have a charisma and flare that allow him to be taken seriously in any circle in which he may find himself.   His ambition and his determination have made him wealthy and stable, and he often uses these things in the aid of his less fortunate brother.  For you see Mr Right desperately wishes that he were Mr. Kind, but knows he cannot be so.  Mr. Right has certain things that prevent this, among the which is his propensity for being Right.  Hence his name.  Being right has its rewards, for it gives a certain certainty and understanding of people and events and the world to come, but it also has scars that few can see.  It is important, to note, gentle reader, that the right that Mr. Right is is ACTUALLY right, not pretends to be right.  A mouse cannot find himself in a situation of being right without correcting himself as early and as often as one need be.  And in the beginning, when one starts down the path of being right, or doing what is right, or standing for the right, one often finds more often than not that so long as one is willing to give up the the comfort of lies, one can see what is in the world and what must be.  In some circles of thought this is Wisdom, but being Right is a much harsher thing than Wisdom.  Many or any can have wisdom, but Right is applied Wisdom, often almost compulsively so, but no one will ever thank you for it.  No one will say, "Terwhilickers, I am so glad Mr. Right is right about that!"  Few care about the truth, fewer still care about the ultimate truth or honor of a situation.  And the truth is often unkind.  Mr Right helps Mr. Kind, and Mr. Kind helps Mr. Right to avoid becoming Mr. Necessary.

Neither say much about their third brother.  He is never seen, for he would never allow it.  Mr. Right, it is said by neighbors and relations, once started out as delightful as Mr. Kind.  Mr. Kind and Mr Right were both gentle souls, but Mr. Right saw that something must be done and went about taking action, either directly or indirectly advocating that folks follow the right path.  As I said, eventually Mr. Right ended up Right almost all the time...but the whittling down and harshness of this part by doing what is Necessary became somewhat if not almost entirely unkind.  But Mr. Necessary never hesitated.  And he is not always right, though he frequently consults his brother, Mr. Right, to ensure that his actions are justified.  Can you imagine what Mr. Necessary might think is Necessary?  The end of that cat, irrespective of its owner's sadness at its loss, the destruction of that cheese factory because it might be used to trap mice along the way?  Vast and impressive are the talents of Mr. Necessary.  He terrifies the children of the village it is sure, and Mr Necessary is out there, keeping the wicked in check...he does good of a sort, but no one loves him, everyone hates him and any constable worth his salt will see Mr. Necessary in irons...if they catch him.

An interesting three they are.  I have been assured by the teller of the tale at the small gathering that they have many adventures, implying a whole book worth, but I only got this snippet..I found it fascinating.  But I must ask you gentle neighbor, which brother would you be? What good is being Right when you are unkind? What good is doing what you deem Necessary if you are not Right in the action of it?  I think there is a moral there, and it is clear for me to see that being all three; Right and Kind and Necessary may be possible in a saint, but for the likes of those of who are mortal  (and I assure you dear reader, fictional though I may be, I am quite mortal...even more so than TC) we have to pick and choose.

I choose kind.  I would be a friend and have friends.  I am content with that.  Until later.

Saturday, August 8, 2015

Interview W Julia


Interview w Julia Ricks, wife of quasi deceased podcast founder T.C. Ricks on the day of her last class in Librarian School.


Check out this episode!

Thursday, August 6, 2015

[Script] Unfood - Page 10

CONTINUED: 10. FREIGHT I think I have something here. JUDGE Really? FREIGHT Alright, according to your own laws, we have 30 days for adjustment and recentering, whatever that means. JUDGE Yes. What of it? FREIGHT Well according to my reckoning, you only implemented your new smuggling standards three weeks ago, right? JUDGE (cautiously)Yes. FREIGHT So that violates this law here that gives a minimum period of readjustment. JUDGE (reluctantly) Yes. FREIGHT So....we’re free then, right? JUDGE You are, yes. FREIGHT Wait. What? JUDGE Your crew is being charged with obstruction of justice. FREIGHT What?! JUDGE Aaron destroyed evidence. Kendra tried to lie for you by stalling just now. (CONTINUED)

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

[Script] Unfood - Page 9

CONTINUED: 9. JUDGE Ignorance of the law is no defense. Your ship’s log shows you had more than adequate preparation to know about the proper jurisdiction. KENDRA That doesn’t mean anything. Freight flips through the laws. He starts flipping at random and then gazes in the index. FREIGHT (WHISPERING) Stall! JUDGE Yes it does. KENDRA What do you mean? JUDGE It means, as far as we’re concerned, the fact that you knew how harsh our laws are means you can’t use ignorance as a defense. You can’t even use it as a mitigating circumstance. KENDRA But (interrupted) JUDGE Did I mention we have very sophisticated microphones? We can hear anything you say. KENDRA Crap. JUDGE Stalling only makes your case look worse. FREIGHT WAIT! JUDGE (sighs) Yes? (CONTINUED)

Monday, August 3, 2015

Bridge To Nowhere

As I watch the planes fly overhead and the tanks rumble down I-10 toward the Texas Nation.  Operation Jade Spear and Magic Helmet is moving to keep migrating Texans from stumbling over the border looking for work.  But I don't want to talk about Politics...God knows that's pointless and boring...you get what you vote for...

But I do admire the conviction in the young men's faces.  They're so determined to keep the union together for another twenty years until Texas decides it doesn't want to be a state again.  But I nearly served in Operation Distraction, literally thirty minutes from the draft. Yeah, Vietnam sucked for you guys, but at least the got rid of the draft over there.

The thing that I have to ponder as I sit on top of the railing on the Bridge between Loisiana and Texas as you see Petuniaville sprawling out to the East, sprawling as far as the eye can see, billowing fumes of every color of a demented electric Ozian rainbow flowing up into a chartruse and vomit emerald sky.  There's no fire quite like an oil fire, and for those rare portals to fiction in the sky you can see (if you know how to look) the choking faces of giants and genies and Pegasus as they try not to breath in the burning blood of the Earth.

It's hell.  War is hell of course but this is something else again.  Ring after ring ripples in the heat, distorting ten as the tanks drive by.  Every third vehicle is a tanker since the enemy is known to cut supply lines (given the rather ineffective weaponry they have compared to a modern militiary.)  Texas is the most armed nation on Earth...but by treaty they don't have anything manufactured (legally) after 1910....oops?

When I look at the Bridge in the Bayou, I see a bridge everywhere, worlds of hope and terror with possibilities and adventure  I have generally been too cowardly to take.  When I look at the Bridge over the River, a see a bridge to nowhere...going nowhere with no hope.  There won't be any lasting change, not when people don't want it.  What is the point of war? It is mankind's most destructive endevor.

I take swig from my flask, once again considering the dramatis personae potential of lighting a cigarette I wouldn't smoke, or even a lollipop Kojak style.  But I shrug and begin to walk down, passing the occasional straggler, walking slowly after the tanks.  Even in this era there are Camp Followers, that curious ecology of war that depend on destructionfor existance. Its a bit like an oasis in the desert in a sick sort of way.

Until later.

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Letters to Rhombus


Rhombus answers some letters from fictional people. Questions.


Check out this episode!