Wednesday, February 11, 2009


Wordle is a fun thing that can suck your time away like a time sucking vortex. Here's a wordle of the story I just finished, King of Sylvania:

Wordle: KoS

Tuesday, February 10, 2009


I'm not ready to present King of Sylvania as a finished piece yet, but these characters refuse to be quiet. Here's a scene that occurs many years after KoS. I don't say how long after, but you should know that Kierkegaard doesn't die in KoS. It could be anywhere from 35 years to hundreds of years after and the how and when of his death has yet to be written. Anyhow, here 'tis:


The King approached the great oak that served as a marker for the grave of his dear friend. He took off his crown and hung it on a branch, here he was only Lucius, and he set down a bowl of nuts and berries at its base as he'd done every year, a gift for the birds and squirrels as much as an offering for the dead. "Hello, old friend." He placed one long hand on the trunk and looked upward through the branches at the blue sky and then downward again where the tree's roots breached the the rich brown soil. "Things are good at home and the children are growing so fast. Little Kierkegaard is hardly little anymore and the girls are just like their mother, sensible young ladies every one of them. Robinia is expecting again - our fifth baby. I never knew how much I could love a person until Little Kierkegaard was born. Goddess help me, he's just like I was at that age. He's only thirty-five years old and he thinks he can take on the world." He took out a handkerchief and wiped the tears away, laughing a little to think of himself as a boy, running from dragons and fighting giants and naga, kovalten and urkmen, taking on the world as he went from the linen merchant's son to King Lucius. "I miss you, Kierk. I miss you so much. I was angry for a long time because you left me before I was ready for you to go, but I'm not angry any more. I just want you to be proud of the man I've become." Lucius leaned his forehead against the tree and cried. When his catharsis was complete, he wiped his eyes again and took his crown from where it hung, "Goodbye, my friend."

"Da'!" Young Prince Kierkegaard bounded up to where King Lucius stood. He was almost as tall as his father, his long strawberry blonde hair braided neatly behind him, "You promised you'd take me hunting today."

"Did I?" Lucius embraced his eldest, patting him hard on the back as the elder Kierkegaard used to do, "Well, if I said it, it must be law and I can't go against the law, can I? Go get your bow, son, and we'll see if you can shoot as far as your Da'."

"You may be the Far Shot of Beldor, but I'm the Far Shot of Sylvania, old man!"

Lucius placed the crown on his head again and turned one last time to the tree before joining his son, "You see? Just like I was."