Joy! Joy! ‘Boxer Shorts came in today! Now, I was pretty excited about getting pictures published in Second Story, but this is a bit different.

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Being somewhat distracted recently, I’ve forgotten to mention a few pieces of good news. One is that I’m in print again! Only this time it’s some of my writing. w00+! A friend of mine, K.A. Thompson (Thumper on the Soapbox), has started a publishing company, Inkblot Books (such a cool name!). For her first project, she collected submissions from fellow ‘boxers and created the book ‘Boxer Shorts. I have two pieces in there. Unfortunately it isn’t anything new if you’ve read my other posts here. I wanted to so something just for the book, but I couldn’t get my head in wrapped around it before the deadline. Regardless, even though it’s a so-called “vanity print”, it’s going to be great to have something I’ve written published. I’m especially excited to see what the other monkeys have submitted. There are some very talented writers in that bunch.

So what are you waiting for? Order one. Or three.

This is another piece I did for Wil Wheaton’s Soapbox. I’m not overjoyed with the plot or flow, but I used it more as an excercise to see if I could emulate the voice and manner of a friend’s alter-ego than anything else. In that regard, I’m happy with it.

His name… is Chester McFisticuffs.

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Here’s a short scene I wrote for a class a little while back. The assignment was to write a one to two page conversation between two people that involved divorce.

Little Sally watches from her seat on the swing as the other children play a game of tag in the grass nearby. She thinks about how much fun in would be to join them in their school-yard games, but she’s afraid. She doesn’t want to get hurt again.

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I wander the mist
of what is between
as I strain to glimpse
that which is unseen

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“Excuse me?” “Something my father said. He was old, very old at the time. I went into his room and he was sitting alone in the dark, crying. So I asked him what was wrong and he said, ‘My shoes are too tight, but it doesn’t matter, because I have forgotten how to dance’. I never understood what that meant until now. My shoes are too tight and I have forgotten how to dance.”

Londo and Vir in Babylon 5, J. M. Straczynski

At five years old, my shoe size is already immaterial.

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At a recent gaming session we were surprised to be joined by an unannounced player. He refused to give us his name, saying that he wished only to be known by his character’s name of “Njiel Stronginthearm”, a dwarven fighter. A method player, it seemed. He was accompanied by a pair of muscular men in sunglasses and mustaches. At first we had told him that we were playing a closed session, but his ingratiating manner was such a pleasant change from the usual griping and gas-letting encountered at the table that we decided to let him have a chair. (Did I mention the big men?) Little did we know.

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