Writer's block

Can you cook with the oil that comes off people's skin and hair? I wouldn't expect it to taste good, and certainly am not advocating for some new cuisine, but I just wonder if it's actually possible. I tried looking it up last week and found all sorts of info on something called gutter oil, which is absolutely disgusting, but also not at all related. I found someone else had asked on one of those public question forums and received no useful replies. I really don't want to figure it out firsthand. Not now, at least. I wish I had thought of this question in college. I would have been much more likely to try to figure it out. Probably could have enlisted some adventurous friends to lend a greasy hand, too.

For my story One Cold Day: A Zombie Story, I needed to look up how to operate a handgun, and found a wealth of information. For another story that is not yet available, I looked up some info about car crashes and again, plenty of info. So why can't anyone tell me if it's possible to rub a potato through my hair and over my face on a hot day and get enough sebum to potentially improve the cook time versus a naked potato?

I really don't want to be the first astronaut on this topic.

The Mercenary's Path part 16

The commander reached the field outside the walls and saw the guards making their way through the caravans. He broke into a run for his men. By chance he managed to reach the wagons before the guards. He spread word for the men to assemble.

“I have to make this quick. The city watch is looking for us. There was a misunderstanding and we better clear out before fighting breaks out. You shouldn’t have any belongings to gather, so get to the wagons and get them moving. Now!” the commander told the men.

Zand hurried to his wagon and readied the weapons. Each wagon carried several swords as well as a short bow and arrows. He made sure that the weapons were easily accessible should someone need them. He then reached into his pack and grabbed his last bit of crow and swallowed with barely any chewing. He wished he’d eaten the rest earlier.

“Hey Zam, the bow and arrows still in there?” Fozz asked.

Zand assured him they were. He had never seen the man shoot, but apparently he was a pretty good shot. He wished he had learned archery at some point. Sure, a dagger between the ribs was deadly, but that involved getting dangerously close to his enemy. Zand realized he probably overvalued his magic. To be honest, he wasn’t sure how many fireballs he could throw before channeling his magic would be too much for his body. There had to be a limit, right?

The horses were tired, it was clear to everyone. The men did their part and helped to push the wagons from behind. The commander had taken the position of rearguard and saw his men pushing themselves. He wished they saved their strength in case fighting broke out, but maybe they could get the wagons out of there in time and it would be worth the effort.

Their retreat caught the eye of a couple guards who found the departure suspicious. Surely no innocent person would object to being searched.

“Ho there! You must pay the departure tax before you are permitted to leave,” a guard yelled. He knew no such thing existed, but hoped it might slow the caravan all the same.

The commander knew there was a tariff when selling goods, but knew nothing of this departure tax. If it were true, well, they couldn’t pay it anyway. But he smelled a trap and bid his men continue.

The guard produced a horn from his pouch and blew. It was replied to by several others. Once he was joined by more guards, he grew bold.

“I said halt! You are ordered under the authority of Baron Jach Wesmussen to halt your procession and submit to search,” the guard shouted.

The commander looked back and saw the group of men. He knew his men, tired though they were, could defeat such a small force. He also knew that it would only take one of them blowing his horn to summon more. The baron was not a man to be trifled with, for he commanded the third largest army in the area. If war broke out between their cities, he was certain his would lose.

“I am certain we paid any necessary taxes,” the commander lied, then he called forward, “Zand, please come to the rear wagon, and bring the documents from today.”

Zand was puzzled as to what documents the commander might be referencing, but did not wish to keep him waiting. He turned and hurried to the last wagon. The commander waved him over.

“Zand, I need your help. I am certain these men mean to attack us and we cannot defeat the entire city watch on empty stomachs. It is a terrible thing I must ask you,” the commander’s face turned grim as he spoke. “Can you bring forth fire enough to kill these men all at once? It is our only hope. Should even one blow his horn, more will come and we will be destroyed.”

Zand considered the request. Was it murder if these men meant them harm? He knew in his heart that should the men attack he would feel no guilt in slaying them. Would that extend to killing them before they even drew their swords?

“I am unsure. It is true I can conjure great flames, but I cannot say if they would be large enough. Further, is this not murder you ask of me? I understand that if they are indeed meant to harm us, we would likely not win. But I do not think I can kill them unprovoked,” Zand said.

“You have until the count of ten to halt and consent to search!” the guard shouted. “One! Two!”

“The gods curse me! Why did I agree to bring you along in the first place?” the commander said to Zand. “Very well, we will fight them with honor. We will wait until they strike. And we shall die.”

“Seven! Eight!” the guard continued.

The commander called for the caravan to halt. “Allow them to search! They will find nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing!”

The men were tired and hungry. The horses were about to collapse under their own weight. The commander hoped the men would read into his words and ready themselves to strike when the inspectors found the weapons. It was not uncommon for merchant caravans to carry weapons, but the sheer number they carried, coupled with their lack of trade goods would be too suspicious. If fighting were to break out, it might as well be on his terms.

“Zand, then if you will not strike preemptively, please ready yourself to cast it when you see them raise their horns. That will be their declaration of hostilities,” the commander pleaded softly.

The Mercenary's Path part 15

“A man, or at least I assume it was a man, ran into me; knocking me down,” the man told his comrades. “I didn’t get a good look. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t get down on yourself. None of us were expecting to find anyone else here. We’ve been here a year now without anyone else joining us. Hopefully he comes back. I would love a change in scenery around here. But for now, get back to your work, Clink. We’re low on food and yours and Tink’s research is the only hope we have,” Davros said, then turned and sighed.

***********************

Thom watched the compound for what felt like an hour. The sky remained the same gray, the fog remained in all directions except back towards the building he awoke in. His hunger had been steadily growing, and was now eating his concentration. Standing, he hoped that they treated prisoners well. He tucked the piece of wood inside his sleeve and walked back to the building.

As he approached, the main door swung open. An older man stood in the doorway, a look of indifference on his face. Thom was still thirty feet from the door when the man called to him.

“Stop. We do not intend to hurt you, but I realize it is hard to trust someone you do not know. Similarly, we find it hard to trust a stranger such as yourself. Tell me, what do you intend to do to us?” Davros asked.

“I have no intentions. I woke up in your building and was looking for food. I got spooked when I ran into your friend and that is why I left. But then I… then I got out there, and the fear rose higher,” Zand responded, then motioning to the building and the fog, “What is this place?”

Davros considered Thom’s words, then said, “You chose to run away rather than descend upon my man earlier, so I believe you do not intend to harm us. I hope I am right. We do not know what this place is either. We, like you, awoke to find ourselves inside this building. Unlike you, my dear friend is out in that fog, looking for help. He has been gone a long time though, and I fear he is dead. You are welcome here. We must band against the dark forces at work in this land.”

Thom looked back at the fog. From here, it was not visible. Instead, it looked like there was a forest in the distance, mountains on the horizon. He turned back to Davros and shook his head forcefully while walking inside.

***********************

The group ate and spoke of their strange surroundings. It took a few hours for Davros to explain how they came to be in a place such as this. Actually, it was mostly just guesses on the part of the twins, but they seemed reasonable guesses. The strongest theory had to do with their magical comrade, who was not present, and his tampering with forces he did not understand. The last time they saw him he had been working on a new spell, one that would allow him to turn invisible. During the course of the afternoon they last saw him, he had shot out a giant gout of flame and changed the weather.

Thom explained what he last remembered, mainly Master Grahm tampering with magical forces he too did not understand. The twins wanted to inspect his leg, but Thom felt a little shy. Davros bellowed a great laugh and said that they had some wine if it would help. Thom didn’t get the joke, but said he would not object to some wine. Davros left to get the wine; returning with a jug and some glasses, which he filled and passed around.

The men sat around, drinking their wine in near silence. Occasionally a slight grunt would be heard. The wine was not very good. Davros had learned how to ferment fruit safely in his youth, but it was hardly quality work. There were dried fruits in the larder, as well as yeast for making bread. He boiled clean some vessels and then set about adding the fruit and yeast, along with clean water and then let nature take its course. Davros was the only one that seemed to enjoy the concoction, but nobody refused to drink their glass.

“So, where are you sleeping? There are plenty of rooms in that corridor, but are you camping centrally in this building?” Thom inquired.

“You have some mind for strategy I see. Yes, there are plenty of rooms, but it is safer to all sleep in one room, and we keep watch as well,” Davros said.

“Those rooms are... creepy,” said Tink.

“There is no reason to think them an ill omen, but all the same, we avoid that corridor entirely,” said Clink.

“I agree. The courtyard is haunting, I would not wish to sleep with a window between me and it,” Thom said.

Davros suggested that Thom gather some bedding from one of the rooms and to bring it back before it got late. Thom agreed and stood. No one volunteered to accompany him. He might have been able to request it, but he didn’t want to look weak.

The Mercenary's Path part 14

Three days later Thom awoke. He pushed the blanket back and looked at his knee. The bruising had subsided to a mild purple and shrunk to the area just around the knee. There were yellow splotches still on his shin and thigh, but it was easy to overlook them. He bent his knee, slowly at first, but realized it didn’t hurt a bit. He swung his legs around to the floor and stood.

“The old man did it!” Thom exclaimed to no one in particular.

Thom marched in place a bit without issue. He then walked around the room some, still doing fine. He squatted, and his knee played along. There was one issue though, his leg was noticeably heavier. He would need to go outside to check, but this did not bode well for running and jumping. Still, he could walk normally, just with some extra effort.

Hunger bit and Thom’s attention shifted from his leg to his stomach. He looked around, but saw no food. He didn’t know this building very well, but he decided to look around anyway. He’d probably find someone to help point him to the kitchen.

Thom opened the door and found the hallway deserted. The floor was covered with a thin rug that was covered in dust. Thom didn’t think anything of it, but he probably should have. Looking left and right, both directions seemed equally fine. Without a coin to flip, he let his feet decide and found himself going left. Thom passed several doors that looked like the one he had come from. He considered opening them, but he didn’t want to disturb any recovering patients. He decided to just keep going until he came to a more important looking door. Several minutes later he came to the end of the hall. There was no special door, just a wall with a crest on a banner. Alright, he would turn back and go to the other end of the hall.

Thom turned and noticed a single set of footprints on the the rug, which he figured were his own. That struck him as strange, that there would be only set. He decided to backtrack over them and keep watch for a second set. Having reached his room, he saw no other tracks. Now he was concerned. He ducked into his room and looked for a weapon. Finding nothing suitable, he decided to break the chair and take a leg with as a club.

Back in the hall, Thom decided to go right this time. Surely he would find someone to explain all this and they would laugh at his actions. He passed a door like his own. He stopped, then turned back to the door. He put his hand to the knob, but stopped. He put his ear to the wood and listened. There was no sound, save his heart beating in his ears. He put his and on the knob and turned.

The room was empty, with a layer of dust like in the hall. There was a bed, chair, chamberpot, and simple candelabra. Thom crossed the small room to look out the window. He saw a courtyard littered with debris. There was a fountain in the center, but it was broken and dry. He thought he saw bones in the distance, but couldn’t be sure. The sky was gray, which was unexpected for this time of year. He backed away from the window and made his way to the hall.

Thom half-ran (for he could not yet trust his leg to fully run) from room to room and found them all similarly empty and dusty. Reaching the other end of the hall, he found a large wooden door. He gripped his makeshift club and then pushed the door open.

Thom found himself in a large foyer with the same crest on the floor. He looked at the crest for some time and realized he did not recognize it. This was not his king’s crest. It was not even a crest of a monarch he recognized. It looked like a snake’s open mouth surrounding a shield with a flame on its face. This foyer was very dusty as well, and Thom spotted a set of footprints leading between two of the large doors.

Thom wasn’t sure if he wanted to actually find someone in this weird place. He looked around and found what looked like a door out of the area. He decided it looked too desolate outside and decided to take his chances with who - or what - ever he found inside. Knights were supposed to be fearless; but squires were not held to quite such a level, and for that he was grateful. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and walked toward the closer of the two doors with footprints.

Thom was about to push it open when he heard someone speaking behind the door. It sounded like they were getting closer. He ducked to the side with the hinge and hoped to avoid confrontation for now. The door swung open and out walked a young man wearing travelling clothes. He carried something in his hands in front of him as headed for the the other door. When he reached it, he kicked the bottom of the door. It opened a few seconds later and he walked in. Thom released his breath that he realized he had been holding.

The man’s clothing threw Thom. He thought he was in a castle, but if he was, why was that man dressed for being on the road for days or even weeks. He expected a guard’s uniform or simple finery suitable for a servant to someone important. He looked down at his own long bed shirt and realized that he wasn’t properly attired either. No matter, he needed to continue looking. He stood and pushed the door open.

There was a long corridor that branched off in the distance. The hall was lit by light rocks, some set into the wall, others on the ground. Thom had seen them at the castle before. From his understanding, when they were mined from the earth they looked just like any other stone. But when left in the sun all day, they would glow at night. Very large light rocks were very valuable, as they could glow for longer - some up to a month it was said. These were small, and would easily fit into the palm of his hand. There was a door to his right.

Thom walked to the door and opened it slowly. The room was too dark to see into. Thom looked around the hall and grabbed a light rock from the floor and went in the room, closing the door behind him. There were shelves lined with jars and boxes, but of what Thom could not determine. Some were labeled, but he could not read. None of them smelled like food. Shaking his head, Thom headed back to the door. He listened intently, but heard nothing.

Back in the hallway, Thom walked to the next door. He could hear someone speaking. Not yet. He went to the next door and heard nothing behind it. He pushed slowly and found it was lit with light rocks. He closed the door behind him and looked around. It seemed to be a library of some sort. Books lined the walls and shelves. He went back to the door and listened. A door opened and closed, foot steps receded, another door opened and closed.

This whole hall was probably more learning stuff, it just made sense to Thom. That was always his weak spot. Not that there was much money for schooling, but he just didn’t have the head for letters. Numbers were a little better. He had learned to count to twenty, which seemed plenty. It was conveniently also the number of arrows that would fit comfortably in a quiver.

Thom headed down the hall back to the foyer. He didn’t want to be caught deep inside just in case... something happened. In his haste, he forgot to listen at the door first and ended up crashing into someone. Before he could gather his thoughts, Thom found himself running out the main door. The awkward weight of his brace didn’t hold him back in the slightest.

Thom ran several hundred feet before finding himself in a strange fog. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but suddenly his vision was restricted to only six or seven feet. He turned back to look at where he came from and it was clear. Danger alarms rang in his head, and he made sure he still had the chair leg - he did. The light rock seemed to have been dropped somewhere along the way, probably when he ran into that man. He looked around for a hiding spot while he made a plan, but the grounds surrounding the building were barren and void of man-made structures. He decided to run further into the fog and lay down. At least he would be harder to spot that way.

I miss bookstores

It’s weird. It’s been gone for a month or so now, but I still can’t believe it’s gone. No, that’s not right. I can, I just don’t want to. Of course, I certainly didn’t help. And apparently enough people also didn’t. Oh sure, I enjoyed going, but not buying. I’d browse, peruse. Hell, I even went three weekends in a row to read a book. Seriously, I’d go to Borders, read for an hour or so, head next door to the sushi place to get an eel bowl and some sake, then head back for another hour of reading. I never bought the book. Even when I started to really get back into reading, I wouldn’t buy anything except the cheapest of bargain buys. The Wise Man’s Fear (amazing, btw) came out and I bought it from Amazon. It was half price (hard cover for essentially paperback price), and shipping was free (thanks Amazon Prime trial). How many hours did I spend in there, killing time before a movie in the last eleven years? More than a hundred? I wouldn’t doubt it. How much money did I spend there over the last eleven years? Probably five hundred. Most of it on non-books. I’ve read some people blame it on the rise of the e-reader. I’m sure that contributed, but I really think it started with the internet offering HALF OFF. There are few things I need immediately. And even if I absolutely desired getting a book today, there’s no guarantee that a store would have it in stock. I recently ordered a bunch of books from (you guessed it, Amazon) and just selected the free shipping option (I didn’t keep the Prime, but I’m sure it’s a great deal for some) and waited 10 days.

Fuck, where’m I gonna get Secret Santa Christmas gifts now?

BTW: This is an old blog entry from 2011 or so that I had saved before the host went away. I am presently very happy with my Amazon Prime. Speaking of Amazon, have you checked out my  zombie e-book on Amazon?

Writing on Writing

So this blog is like an ongoing first draft of this story. I realized that the commander gets referenced entirely too much to not have a name, but I didn't want to go back and update multiple entries to correct it. Should I ever consolidate and publish, I will definitely give him a name.

I feel like I've run into a dead-end right now. There's more story not yet published, but it may take more than a little handwaving to get the characters past where I have them right now. I'd rather not, but I'm just not sure where else to go. And that sucks, because I really like Stephen King's approach of always writing the truth. Sure, there's magic and a pseudo-medieval world going on, but still, there's an internal logic to the story. Or I might go GoT, which could potentially solve the issue. Maybe that's why they all die in his stories?

In my zombie story (available now on Amazon) I kill off a character pretty quickly and I had some backlash from some of readers. Others liked it, but I get not everyone wants to get invested in a character only to see him or her die.

Any thoughts from you, the reader at home? Let me know in the comments!

The Mercenary's Path part 13

Zand noticed a rather strong presence of city watch in the area. The caravan was outside the walls, but it was not uncommon for there to be some guards watching over the merchants and travelers camped outside. But there were far more now, and it looked like they were waiting for something. He started counting, but after reaching fifty it seemed unnecessary.

Zand ducked his head into the wagon, “Flonk, get out here. Something is going on.”

He may not like the man, but at least they wore the same color. Figuratively, at least, as their actual robes were of varying hues. Zand kept watching as the number of guards increased. Flank exited looking like he had dressed in the dark, his robe was twisted and his head wrap was loose.

“What? You see a butterfly and wet yourself? I keep telling you they’re harmless,” Flask said.

“I… Just look over there,” Zand motioned to the walls. “What do you suppose they need fifty or more guards for? I’m gonna go tell the commander that something weird is going on.”

Fork turned to look where and saw the sheer number of armed men. They were easily identified by the yellow flourishes on their armor, and some wore yellow capes. His eyes went cold and narrow. His breathing changed and he reached for his sword, only he wasn’t wearing it while in costume.

“Yeah, you better let him know. I’m going to notify some of the other men to be on alert. I’ll say that some suspicious characters have been walking around. Don’t want to start a war if I don’t have to,” Fernk said to Zand.

Zand was surprised by the change in the man’s demeanor, but didn’t have time to study him. Triple-checking to make sure his armor wasn’t showing, he walked as quickly as he could without actually breaking into a run. He found the commander’s tent soon enough, but the commander was no where to be found.

***********************

The commander neared the gates, but stopped when he saw the city watch filing out toward the caravan. There were other groups out there, which would buy some time. Unfortunately, going out the same gate would arouse too much suspicion as all non-guard traffic had stopped. There was another gate, but he worried he would be too late. He broke into a trot and headed for the other way out.

He wound his way through the crowds, past vendor stalls, between buildings. The wall was close, he could see it in the distance. He crashed into a portly, older man wearing what might be finery (it was hard to tell these days), knocking him over. The commander mumbled his apologies and continued.

“Come back here! I demand restitution! You have ruined my finest silk robe! Guards! Guards!” the old man yelled from the ground.

The commander had no time to waste, his men were depending upon him. Finally, the wall. He looked back and forth. Where was the gate?

“Excuse me, I seem to be lost. Where is the gate? I was told it was this way,” the commander said to a child playing in the dirt.

The child looked up at him and said, “You look funny,” before resuming his game.

The commander looked about and spotted a woman and her child walking with some wrapped packages. He approached and asked about the gate. The woman told him that he was on the wrong side of the town. She pointed toward the main gate which he was avoiding and to the beggar’s gate across town. He thanked her and began his trek. Suddenly he remembered the old man yelling for the guards. While there was the issue outside the gates, surely some would remain inside to maintain order. He took a wide path around where he last saw the old man, just in case.

***********************

What looked like the captain of the guard appeared and began addressing the city watch that had gathered outside the wall. After a few minutes, he turned and headed back behind the walls, while the rest fanned out and began inspecting wagons and questioning people. Fisk balled his fists and swallowed hard. He didn’t know why, but he had a bad feeling.

Zand asked everyone he saw about the commander’s whereabouts. Finally, he found someone that said the commander had gone into town to obtain supplies. Zand found it weird the commander would be the one to procure supplies. He figured there must be someone else to handle such mundane tasks.

“Zam, I got a bad feeling about this. Maybe they think we’re an invading army, like scouts or sabotagers, or something,” Frik said to Zand.

Zand was about to correct the man on his name, but then felt a little hypocritical as he didn’t know his name either. But bonehead was right, that must be the problem. Somehow it must have gotten out that they weren’t actually merchants but rather a militia, but they left off the part about being on the hunt for bandits. Oh, if only the commander were around to sort out this mess.

“I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding. We just need the commander to explain our presence and it’ll blow over,” Zand hoped out loud.