The Aloysius

The work of two days at work being paid $6.00 to write.

And I guess work occasionally. Assholes.

---
“Are you sure you want to do this, Sterling? This is quite a bit more dangerous than your other jobs.” my younger sister was watching me prepare for likely the biggest heist of my life.

“Most certainly, Suzanne. We cannot live off the old family fortune any longer. Father may hate the idea, but doing contracts behind the law is the only way to make any real money in Allbridge anymore.”

“But Kasios is dangerous. If they catch you, they will most certainly die.” I looked at my sister. She still had the cuteness of youth at the age of fifteen, a decade my junior. Her curly brown locks and fair, fine complexion reminded me of my mother, who on her deathbed had asked me to always lookout for Suzanne, who she had sensed was not the brightest girl in the Sloane Family. But any shortness in brainpower she more than made up for in kindness and generosity.

“Then I will simply not get caught. I am as silent as a ghost and as quick as a cat. There are a string of burglaries throughout Allbridge and the guard nor the other gangs have the foggiest idea of who is behind it all. If Allbridgeans can not find the culprit, what makes you think a bunch of stupid Kasians can?” I flashed her my sly, daring grin. She giggled. Her smile was one of the reasons that pushed me to assure that our lifestyle can be continued to be lived as it is.

“They better not. If they hurt you, big brother, I'll cry and I'll hate you for making me cry.”

“As Vernicera as my witness, dear sister, I do not want that.” I gave myself one last review in the mirror, bottom to top. My boots were clean and free from flaw. Clean boots are a necessity, as a muddy footprint is as good as a bolt to the heart in many cases. They had to be good boots too, because the last thing you want is to plummet to one's death due to a busted heel. My black britches were loaded with my tools of the trade: lock picks, poison darts(I only carried the type of poison that knocks people out for a few hours. Any other poison causes too much pain for my liking.), various other knick-knacks and doodads like matches, marbles, simple spell components. Also a single knife. Not for violence, no, but an easily manipulated blade has so much utility I would have to be a damned fool to leave for any contract without one. From my waistband, a fine leather type, hung my coin purse and my means to defend it and myself, my rapier. A simple blade it would serve me more than adequately, as it had before, if the need for violence arose. I kept it enclosed in an ornate wooden sheath with the family crest of the Sloanes, a loyal, strong greyhound, engraved within. However, no one would have thought less of me if I had proceeded with a naked blade, especially in these tumultuous times. Having to use them occurred far more often than it should ever have to. My ruffled silk shirt was spotless and comfortable. That may seem irrelevant to this contract, but it is all apart of my deception. They see a well to do man proceeding down the street, they do not see a master thief exiting the scene of the crime. The only visual cue that could possibly incriminate me is the bulk of my britches(from my tools of the trade mind you, they may notice the other bulk all they please and that is conveniently covered by my long purple riding jacket, honoring my family's colors. Lastly, I ran my hand over my square jaw. Not a bit of stubble. A perfect shave. Another not so obvious aspect of my working uniform, combined with my parted brown hair. It was my last ditch weapon of defense, for a smile from a pretty face, even without a sexual element, can make life much easier for you. It is not fair to some of my more repulsive fellow men, but it is the sad truth, and there is nothing wrong with using what the gods have so fortunately blessed you with. “Well, little sister, all seems to be in order. I must be going.”

Suzanne leaped off my bed and rushed towards me. I embraced her as she gave me a sisterly peck on the cheek. “Good luck, Sterling, be back soon.”

“I promise you, I will be having supper with you tomorrow evening.”

“If you're lying, I'll hate you.” The epitome of her threats.

“You will not have to. Do not worry.” I set her down, and moved to leave the family mansion, which was in serious need of repair. For five generations, the fortune gained by Samuel Sloane as he served as governor of Allbridge approximately one hundred years ago, had let them live in the peak of luxury. But five generations drained that horde of uzins Samuel had made for them. If it was not for my work, Suzanne and I would have starved. My father nearly did, refusing to benefit from my dishonest earnings, but gave in to Suzanne's insistence after he once fainted from hunger. He now takes no more than a roll of bread and some water from what Suzanne prepares each night, and refuses to look at me as he eats it. My work so far has turned life around for us, and none too soon. Suzanne is still a growing girl and I would have hated to see that stunted. Although it has put food on the table, my work has done little to return the Sloane family to prominence. This job should change that. One hundred thousand uzins, more than enough to make me kill a man.(All right, not really. Well, I am not entirely sure. I would hope my morality had a higher price, but no one has offered me a contract of such terms. I fear what my response would be.) It was more than enough to restore the mansion to it's former glory. There would also be enough left over for a diamond ring for my love.

I mounted my steed, Shade. It was a black stallion I had purchased for a m ere forty uzins. I could not believe my luck, but the seller much of been an addict of some sort. It may seem like I conned the horse off of him, but you are not the con artist if they con themselves for you. Shade was the fastest horse I had ever laid eyes on, although admittedly I have not seen many outside the battered and beaten beasts I see trot over the cobblestone streets of Allbridge. I had heard that ti took those steeds two whole days with rest to go one way from Allbridge to Kasios. I was very confident in my Shade to reach there quickly in merely a day, and still have enough energy to return to Allbridge. Of course, if my estimates were incorrect, Suzanne would hate me. There was still quite some time before noon, but I did not want to risk the harshest of my sister's curses, so I pointed Shade southeast towards Kasios and gave him the command to rush forward at a brisk, but steady pace. If I killed Shade, Suzanne would double hate me, a fate in which a saber to the throat would be preferable. She had loved the horse more than me at times.

Alright, I will admit that there is more pushing me through this contract than brotherly love, family honor, and the will not to starve. I had a special someone who I wished to wed, but could not afford the dowry nor did I have the father's blessing. I was after the heart of Breanna Gildan. Long beautiful raven locks draped across her face, rosy cheeks that just became rosier when she smiled, a cute little dimpled chin, deep sweet glowing eyes, and that was just her face. If I had to describe her body, I would be far beyond the standards of anyone's decency, and I would need to find a very cold river. And there were none that I knew of between Allbridge and Kasios. Her father, however, was a repulsive little chubby man who I felt the great desire to strike when I entered his presence. Strange how something so disgusting can spawn something so beautiful. Luckily for me, he was a big time art collector. He had an eye on a particularly famous piece in the galleries of a Kasian merchant lord by the name of Niko Cicero. It was an Aloysius, the most famous artist in the long, vast history of Orenero. Gildan had tried to purchase the painting from Cicero legally, but Cicero would not sell. The rumors of the prices I had heard were ridiculous, the highest being one million uzins. For one hundred grand, hiring me to steal it was well... a steal. Gildan did not promise me Breanna's hand in marriage, but as much as the man loved his art, delivering him an Aloysius for a tenth of what he was willing to pay would sure as sugar cinch it for me.

I saw Kasios in the distance sitting atop Shade. I ordered him to slow to a more inner city pace. Kasios was very different from Allbridge. Mainly, a lot more sand. I supposed it was more trouble than it was worth to pave over sand, and it made the city feel very alien to me. I was lucky to see that Kasians had their street signs not only in the Aridian language, but the Uzinian, Narethian, and Gnomish languages too. I would bet good money that they would have them in the Liarnoan language as well, but they refuse to teach it to non-Liarno. Kasians are a very business minded people and know if you make people feel at home, they are more likely to leave some or all of their money at your home.

I easily found my way to the Cicero estate, but that is where my easiness ended, unfortunately. It was like a small fortress, a ten foot high stone wall enclosing the perimeter. He even had guards posted at the front of it all. Mercenaries, of course. Most dressed the same; hide armor, small iron shields, and vicious curved swords for all of them. Those would most certainly sunder mine with ease, so I made a mental note to put forth the extra effort to avoiding any direct confrontations on this day. I rode along towards the back wall of the Cicero estate and steadied Shade. I carefully stood myself completely erect on Shade's back, cautious not to fall, as horse spines are not the flattest and most stable of surfaces. I pulled myself up slightly using th same stone wall that was my obstacle. Peering over it, I scoped the situation. Mister Cicero had to be paranoid to some extent as no man needed this much security. In addition to the two posted at the front gate of the estate, two patrolled the lawn and garden. There was both a guard at the tradesman's entrance and the cellar of all things. If anyone could say anything about this contract, it was that I was certainly going to have to earn my money, all hundred thousand uzins of it. I leaned back down to Shade and whispered into his ear. There was no time like the present, so I pulled myself onto and over the wall, dropping down gently into some gardening soil. I heard Shade step away from the wall. He was getting a bit of a rest, but he knew to stay by and at ready. I saw a trellis up against Cicero's mansion. Strange, for one so apparently paranoid to keep such an easy entrance to one's second floor of their home available. I clicked my boots together, activating an enchantment I had put on them long ago. It completely silenced any sounds my feet would make from coming in contact with the ground. I hid in the bushes, waiting for one of the guards to pass. As one did so, I let loose one of my darts, masterfully aimed at one of his buttocks. Normally, I would aim for the neck so the sleeping toxin would take effect almost instantaneously, but when aimed at lower parts of the body, the effect is far more gradual, exactly my intention in this case. My victim felt around for the dart, but the poison was already taking effect. He groggily felt for it, and found nothing as he hand passed over the wrong buttock. He knocked the dart out absentmindedly with his shield as he brought that hand back to his front. He staggered along, quickly gaining the attention of his fellow guards who surrounded him, abandoning their posts. Their drunken comrade was apparently far more interesting than properly performing the duties they were hired to do. I did, however, admire that they showed concern when he collapsed. It seems like it should be a given, but thats sadly not the case in Allbridge. They will usually just snatch your coin purse and anything else of value they could find on you and run.

With no guards in the way, I gave a little sprint towards the trellis and scrambled up onto it. I looked through the window and Vernicera smiled upon me that day as it was vacant. I produced a small crowbar from my pockets and with some struggle, opened the window. I climbed through into a bedroom, which was dustily vacant. I supposed this was a guest room and having as much security as some kings in this regard, meant he did not entertain guests very often. I approached the door and took some silencing oil out and began to apply it to the hinges. If I could just cast the spell of the same effect, I could be through here much quicker. I was a decent magician in my own right, but most spells, including ironically, silence spells, require a verbal component. It was the gods' joke on thieves, I suppose. The door opened without a creak as I advanced through the mansion. The upstairs seemed entirely neglected, and if it were not for my boots, the floor would of sang loud and proud of my presence. The stairs would have too, as one was even caved in. What kind of man has a small army as a guard force and cannot bother to even fix his own staircase? I soon found that out as I quickly found his long gallery, and Cicero as well. He was alone, face locked upon one of his paintings. He had a long, unkempt beard, gray from age. I would of noted his hair, but was little of that to note. His fingernails were long and yellowed, as he stood there in a drab gray open faced robe. I could see things that I, as a man, had little desire to see. He was clearly a recluse, far out of touch as reality. I had deduced the latter as he had not yet noticed me, clear as day, standing at the end of his gallery. I walked forward with slowness and caution, puzzled at his tunnel vision. I checked over the other paintings as I passed, and they were not Aloysiuses. I would know, as a fellow art lover. I admired Cicero's collection and had hoped that one day I could match it. I crept up behind him and quickly found why he was so captivated. It was the Aloysius. No, not 'an' Aloysius. THE Aloysius. His most legendary painting and his greatest masterpiece. When someone said Aloysius, they immediately thought of this painting. It was called 'The Sealing of Skor'. It depicted the four founders of Uzinia: Jana, the illusionist; Granil, the conjurer; Sygnus, the abjurer; and their leader Rician, the great diviner. They were doing battle with the former lord of this land, the god dragon Skor, who had through the power of his own will, turned Orenero from it's natural state into a nasty, vile swamp. The painting was really something, Aloysius capturing the pure emotion of the life and death struggle of it all, and the somewhat sad disposition of Skor, who despite being so powerful he was immortal, was bested by three humans and a gnome, and was set to be sealed away for all eternity. If you knew anything of Oreneroan history at all, it evoked emotion from you. It was said that Aloysius had enchanted the painting to do all this, but I always believed that to be a lie. Aloysius was just that damned good. I realized that I was suppose to steal this, and suddenly one hundred thousand uzins did not seem like enough. Even the cool million Gildan had offered him directly was not enough. But I had agreed to a contract. Even if I was going to be grossly underpaid, I was going to honor that contract. However, first I had to deal with Cicero. I fingered one of my sleeping darts into my hand.

Before I could act, however, he spoke. “It is truly magnificent, is it not?”

The sudden speech put me on the defensive. I decided it was best not to ignore him. “Indeed it is. Aloysius was a god among men.”

“Quite different marveling in it's splendor with another. Strange feeling.”

“You have no family? No lover?”

“No. Art has always been my mistress.”

A hopeless case. Art was good. Art was great. But it is mere garbage when put aside the smile of a loved one. “Is that so?” There was no point in preaching to a choir that would likely not listen.

“I thank you for joining me. It is nice enjoying this with a friend.”

I am already a friend? I would not even know his name if Gildan had not told me beforehand. There was no point in continuing this charade. I was about to make him very angry, so there was no need to string him along for no gain. “I mean no offense, Mister Cicero, but I did not come here to be your friend. I am here for the Aloysius.”

He slowly turned towards me. “Of course you did. Is it not lovely?”

“You do not understand, Mister Cicero. I am here to take it.”

He frowned. “But it is mine...”

“How did you acquire it Mister Cicero?”

“I hired one of the Kasian mercenaries to steal it for me.”

“It is a continuation of the circle then, Mister Cicero. The person you stole it from likely stole it from someone else, and they likely tole it as well. After Aloysius tragically passed on far too young, the piece only sat in the Tower of Zagfey for only a week before it was forcefully removed.”

“What does all that have to do with me?”

Again, hopeless. “It is your turn for it to be stolen from you, Mister Cicero.”

“No! It can not be! It is my life!”

“You will need to find a new life then, Mister Cicero. This cannot be healthy for you, or anyone for that matter.”

“No! I will not let you take it!”

I braced myself, expecting for him to have some method of calling the guards into his mansion. I was a bit underwhelmed as he rushed towards me and began beating on my chest as if it were a door. The arms of a feeble, half naked elderly man do not inflict much pain. It was really quite pathetic. I took the dart I had in my hand, and using it as a dagger, drove it into Mister Cicero's neck. He collapsed onto the floor face first, almost instantaneously.

“I am sorry, Mister Cicero, but I have a contract I must complete.” I laid him in a more dignified position and covered his shame, for his sake and mine. I turned towards the Aloysius. There were no security measures preventing me from just taking it off the wall. There were none on the other, non-Aloysius paintings as well. All these valuables and nothing to stop me. But I digressed, I was not here to loot the place blind, just to complete a contract. Perhaps he thought no one would be so brash to break into his home and try to steal his art while he stood in his gallery enjoying it. He would have been correct too, had I not let curiosity get the best of me on this day. Vernicera again smiled upon me this day, as sometimes things just work out for the best.

I gently lowered the fame of the Aloysius. Separating it from the frame, I took another of my commonly used tools out of my pockets. Compression Dust, in which all I must do is sprinkle an appropriate amount on any non-living item and it would shrink to approximately one twentieth of it's actual size. However, I found myself hesitating a good deal before using it on the Aloysius. It was a one of a kind item, an artifact of historical importance for the entire region of Orenero. Magic is not fail-proof. It is, in fact, quite a bit random at times. Something terrible could happen instead of what you intended. I had heard rumors of Compression Dust simply shrinking things out of existence and keeping them like that. I do not think I could live with myself if I was the one responsible for destroying such a treasured work of art. But ultimately, I had no choice. I could not carry it at it's full size and hope to escape the estate successfully. It was a risk, but this whole career was full of risks. I breathed a sigh of relief when the Aloysius became a small, but still existing piece of paper. I now had twenty five hours to get it back to Gildan, or it would blow up in my back pocket back to it's original size, which would do quite the harm to both me and and the painting itself.

Getting off the estate, however, would prove difficult. Shade was on the outside of the wall and could not boost me over the wall once again. I returned to the room I had entered the mansion from and stared outside the window. The guards had returned to their posts, albeit a man down. I put less emphasis on them seeing me this time, however, because I had complete faith that Shade could outrun any beast they could muster up. I scanned the immediate area of the window until I by chance looked upwards. There was a flag pole with a few yellow scraps remaining of a tattered Aridian flag. All I had to do was skirt over on a ledge a bit. Easy as cake, as they say. I fashioned an improvised rope out of the bed sheet in the deserted guest room. I highly doubted Mister Cicero would miss it. I made sure the sheet-rope was securely tied to the flagpole. Gripping it tightly, I took a deep breath and deftly shoved myself off of Cicero's mansion, praying Vernicera would guide me to success during this stunt. Fluttering with my feet, I managed to get a foot on the wall, and pulled myself onto it. The guard stationed at the tradesman's entrance saw me, but at this point, I could not care less as I whistled through the air. In a blink of an eye, Shade was there, as was another horse. It made me think about how many people use a whistle to call their steed. I made a mental note to train Shade to respond to another signal, to be more original if anything. I leaped off the wall, and landed in Shade's saddle, giving him a light heel kick in the process. We were off on our way back to Allbridge, and I never looked back.

Supper the following night was sublime. By my side I had my newly betrothed, a sister who did not hate me, and an excellent meal. It was so fine that even my father gave in and had more than his usual roll. It was the last night Suzanne would have to cook with these cheap budget ingredients, and I was dying to see what grand dishes she would be able to create with the finest ingredients in all of Allbridge.

Life was once again pleasant for the Sloane family, returning to our former glory. I thought the time was right, however, to begin my own art collection. I wanted a great piece to be the center of the Sloane Gallery, and I knew just where to acquire one such legendary piece. It would be worth stealing twice.

Paid to Write

...Sort of. Kind of. Not really.

On a bizarre whim I decided to buy a Spiral Notebook and 10 black ink pens at the dollar store during my lunch break.

I have just about the laziest job known to man. Since 2005 I've spent my Mondays and Fridays mostly reading books, occasionally working for fifteen minute bursts. I do this for ten hours a day twice a week. Seems like paradise right? Nope. Boring as hell. On top of that, I only get paid $6.00 an hour, which is technically illegal in the state of Maryland. However, given Maryland state minimum wage is only $6.15, and I only work 20 hours at most per week, I can't be arsed to make waves for a raise of $3 a week.

But it's something. Averages out to roughly $100 a week for doing jack shit I've read probably over 200 books in the past three years.

And now I have chosen to use that time to do more writing. And I can get a shitload done without the distraction and temptation of the internet. So technically, as I spend 70% of my time there writing, I get paid $6 an hour to write. Technically... yeah, grasping at the straws here.

My next project isn't a novel, but an array of short stories. Dual purpose, to get some minor publishing out there(Perhaps via Amazon Kindle, need to read up more on Short Story publishing), also to help flesh out the major characters of my novel. Seven short stories, first person perspective for each of them, whereas the novel is an omnipotent third person perspective. They are, in order of my likely doing them:

The Aloysius (Sterling Sloane) : The biggest art burglary of his life to bring his family back into prominence.
First and Final Contact (Layne Fulton) : Second Thoughts about an assassination wreck a man who never wanted to be in the position in the first place.
Not Part of the Deal (Tyron Pierce) : A Kasian assassin kills someone he shouldn't have and may lose everything.
Training Day (Cade Trevelyan) : Lessons in the necessary cruelty of day to day life in Allbridge.
Daughter of a 'Nobleman' (Breanna Sloane) : Being born well off isn't always a free ride in life.
Freak (Rolo) : An encounter with the man who tossed him out on the street for being a bit different.
Breaking The Streak (Marcelo) : The worst thief in Allbridge attempts to break his botched record.

Of course, you don't know who any of these people are, so it's mostly meaningless. But I'm very proud of my first short story which is about 70% done. Then again, all of this could suck and I could be wasting my time. But eh, we'll wait and see.

Cultural Backlog

Although I said this was going to be about me trying to get published, that's only a half lie. Consider that the main plot of my life currently, and I'll invariably introduce a bunch of side plots of what I do day to day. It's still a bit of writing, and thus experience. Any experience is experience.

Most twenty one year old males watch a shitload of movies. I was never one of them because I never really watched anything I couldn't watch for free. I didn't like buying movies because due to my bloody awesome memory, I pretty much remember everything right off, thus have no need to watch it again. And in the rare cases I don't, I can scan over a summary of Wikipedia and it's quite a good refresher. $20 for one showing is more of a rip off at theater for me, and everyone complains about how ludicrously expensive those are.

But thanks to the greatness of Netflix, I can now start to wade through all the movies I had missed. I mainly signed up so I could go through the season sets of Penn & Teller's Bullshit to save money. And that I did, given that each season set would run me $30 and there are 4 seasons, and that I got through the entire set of seasons in a single month, I saved myself about $103.

On the offhand note, I strongly recommend the series. Very entertaining in my opinion, but I would say you don't take their opinions as gospel. They're horribly one sided, and rarely acknowledge the points of the other side of the debate. While that's perfectly fine and dandy when it's something ridiculous like conspiracy theorists and ESP, you should look to other sources and get both sides of the story when it's issues like the death penalty(which Penn & Teller are really downright sensationalist on in that episode) or recycling(which they make a solid point on recycling paper, but don't acknowledge that plastic isn't renewable like paper is.)

But back on topic, once I finished with the Bullshit season sets, I decided to stay on with Netflix and get some inspiration going. The subject of my fantasy novel is people escaping from a criminal organization that has risen to city controlling power. So I decided to start with crime based movies, hoping to pick up some inspiration(fancy word for stolen idea) for the book. Even though the book is already done, I'll probably be revising it a good deal, so getting new ideas in my head is never a bad thing.

Following this and periodically as such through the blog, I'll be dropping my thoughts on various movies. I'm not going to call them reviews, because I'm not going to be dropping grades on them. I'll likely be doing the same with any books I happen to pick up and read through, which may be tomorrow.

First up, is Pulp Fiction. I went into it completely unknowing of Quentin Tarentino's story telling style. I thought it was kind of odd at first, but I view it as entertaining for what it was. For an overall story, it doesn't really do much. It's more of a series of entertaining skits with not much of an overlying story, which in itself is told in a all over the place order, such as one of the main(using the term loosely given it jumps around all over the place) characters gets killed midway through the film timewise(an hour into a two hour movie) then the next scene has him alive and well for quite awhile, not even really hinting that he's about to go get killed within the next couple days. It was a worthy waste of two hours, but I would never worship it the way that some people do.

Second, I watched Reservoir Dogs, another Tarentino film. Ironically, I get two DVDs at a time from Netflix, and the first two were accidentally Tarentino films, and the second set were Scorsese films. I enjoyed this more than Pulp Fiction, even though it had a similar style of sorts, where you get the Part 7/10 of the story first(Well outside the opening credits and the Anti-tipping tirade), and the rest as time goes on. It was easier to follow and the overall story was more enjoyable as a result. Not a bad way to tell a story honestly, as if it were dropped on the viewer in true chronology it wouldn't have been as good. Was done better there than in Pulp Fiction, which may be solely because there IS a major story in RD and not in PF.

Third, The Departed, the first Scorsese film. For a brief time as the movie started, I thought it was one of those our of order movies, as with the previous too. Why? Because I can't tell Matt Damon and Leonardo DiCaprio apart. I thought it was the same character at different times for about 20 minutes. Then they had different names. Then I felt stupid. After making this realization the movie made a lot more sense and was pretty good, watching two people get themselves into deep on both ends of the law. I actually loved the way the ending was handled, where you ask yourself "What happened to that guy then?" and out of nowhere he shows up and answers that question on top of delivering the last of the comeuppance for the antagonists.

Finally, I viewed Goodfellas. I dug it, the semi-autobiographical approach to the guy's history. It stuck to the one crime-movie cliche that I like- the protagonist is a bastard, yes, but everyone around him is a bigger bastard. I also liked the touch of letting Liotta's character's wife's thoughts be heard occasionally, given you outside view on the bastardom occurring. One question that was raised in my concern is that Pesci's character is a murderous psychopath who killed a man twice for being sarcastic or standing up to him. And further more, Liotta and DeNiro's characters didn't even give a shit when it was a busboy. I know they're suppose to be hardened criminals and all, but being mildly annoyed when someone just kills a busboy(for having a legitimate complaint about being shot in the foot) is just a plain cartoonish response. And it's suppose to be based on a true story, which means something resembling this must have happened in real life, which is even more head scratching. Speaking of it's real life base, it kind of hurt the movie overall. The ending was... just an ending. No big climax, just Liotta's character saying fuck it, I'm becoming a rat. Entertaining movie, but the ending is just so blah.

Next on the agenda: I'm going to write some character profiles for the Fall of Allbridge's editing phase. Most people do it before hand, but I think it's best left for the end. This is long enough already so I'll hit it up tomorrow to keep the content flowing.

90,187

The product of the past 46 days of 'work'. I use the half quotes because I could barely call it that. It was some of the most productive entertainment I ever indulged in. I have always enjoyed writing in some form, but I've never written anything that would remotely be considered publishable. This may seem like bullcrap, but it's true. The stuff I had written before includes:

-A custom D&D campaign world. I don't really consider this publishable because it's not different from the default setting. I was mostly too cheap to buy a setting book, so I made up some workably generic land. While over time I've given this land a shitload of flavor over time, it lacks any ridiculous gimmick - such as Eberron's magic trains or Forgotten Realm's 8000 gods and Drizz't - that would sell it as a setting. I really don't consider settings my strong point. I'm more of a people person when it comes to writing, as my other avenue shows.
-E-Fed RPs. I count this as unpublishable because no one is going to buy anything about a fictional wrestler, no matter how far I go in making him a deep, complex character that evolves. It's just not going to happen. Hell of good practice for dialogue writing though.

But I decided I was going to write something publishable. So I dived right into deep end head first barely even knowing how to swim. Hell of a way to start, but it can't really hurt.

My 90,187 word fantasy novel is tentatively titled "Fall of Allbridge." I'm probably going to change it, because that's just not very catchy. It's hard to follow normal fantasy novel naming conventions by naming after some island of doom or the magical relic of great arcane power, because neither of those are in the book. There is an occurance of the latter, but it's merely part of a subplot and has little to do with the overall story.

I'm not blowing smoke up your ass when I say I don't view it as a traditional fantasy novel. There are no dragons. No elves. No dwarves, even though I love dwarves and think they're kick ass despite being cliche. Drunkards with battle axes going around splitting heads. There's nothing to not like. I view it as highly character driven, with the setting secondary. Ironically, I've kept it fantasy mainly so I can just make up the setting as I feel fit. Stuff like reality gets in my way and is annoying. It's much easier when you make up the rules to reality for yourself. Plus it opens avenues for more options when people get violent. Not strictly gun, knife, and unarmed combat. There's also the fun of having weird shit happen and just being able to say "A wizard did it" in so many words.

The purpose of this blog is for more writing experience, get my name out there, and all that good stuff. It'll track my progress and my road to trying to become professional writer. And I'll consider that job done when I can walk into a bookstore and buy a novel that I have written. I'm a long way off from that, but being intimidated by it isn't going to do a damn thing for me.