Cat Monologue 2 - Unaware of My Impending Doom...

Unaware of my impending doom, I decided to eat the tuna. Woe to me! For I have taken part in the worst act of my entire nine lives, and have exposed myself to food poisoning. Ugh.

I haven't been working on my manifesto, because I've had such a bad stomachache that I can't even play with Mr. Annoying Fish Toy, for crying out loud. I am a miserable wreck. When I look in the mirror, my fur is green, my tongue is green, my eyes are green. I cannot stomach food of any kind: not kibble, not tuna (oh no! I've taken a vow never to touch any more of that stuff), not...wait, what's that smell?

Cat Monologue 1 - In the Way of Things...

In the way of things, I guess I cannot complain for what happened. It was only a matter of time until Stupidface managed to get past the fence and crash my writing capabilities. But honestly, can't a dog just lie down and go to sleep? Now I have to write on this infuriating device they call a "computer" instead of my ergonomic typewriter. I was in the middle of my greatest masterpiece, my manifesto, when that idiotic pug smashed into my office and ripped everything to shreds! Ooh, what's this? A delete button! I never had one of those on my typewriter...

Anyway, I've had to start my extremely epic masterpiece all over again, and no longer do I have a hard copy continually on hand...at least until I can figure out this "printer." I mean, honestly! Using two devices to do what the typewriter by itself can accomplish? That sounds like a waste of resources to me.

Announcement: Three Trolls and Some Treehugging Billygoats

Welcome, friends, readers, fellow occupants of the magnificent, glorious blogosphere! You're all probably wondering why I've brought you here today...but in fact it is to do none other than reveal the makings of a new project!

The three coauthors of Iron Wyvern, including myself, have come together and decided to finish off The Draconian Letters in style. Trust me, from magical frankfurters to flaming prune juice, this will be one grand finale of a lifetime! As Smok grows older, the uncles also grow older. And they who grow old must soon pass on. Thus, we have decided to finish off the letters with flair.

But though the chronicles of Smok and his family will come to an end, a new chronicle is about to begin! Introducing Water Under the Bridge! Check out more on Iron Wyvern where the fun is just beginning! The adventures of three trolls and their young acquaintance Lout have just begun. Just make sure to watch out for the treehugging billygoats!

Water Under the Bridge may just be the most ingenious scheme the coauthors of Iron Wyvern have ever devised! So stay with us as we journey through the last litteris draconis, and turn the page to a new chapter in the blog's history as Water Under the Bridge takes off!

www.ironwyvern.blogspot.com

WORD WAR!!! Camp NaNoWriMo

Aye, me buckaroos! I be doin' the NaNoWriMo this yarr month! But it be bein' no pirate book, arr! Nay, 'tis me stupid accent t'at's gettin' ye all riled up fer a pirate book. Nae way! 'Tis sigh fie! What mysteryful science coul' be made inturr fiction, I nae know, but 'tis!

That's right. I'm writing a science fiction novel this July for Camp NaNoWriMo. It's the beginning of a trilogy of epic galactic adventures featuring my main character, whose name is Mr. TOP SECRET! That's right, I'm not telling you, because his real name is actually part of a plot point. Crazy, right? Kinda like Doctor Who, or James Bond. James Bond, because when he says his name, we know he's going to be ordering a martini soon, and if he doesn't say his name is "Bond. James Bond" in the movie, then it isn't a real James Bond movie, right? And Doctor Who because, well, duh! Doctor who?

So, I'm writing and writing, and I wrote 9,000 words yesterday! Woo-hoo! Now, I'm going to be gone for the next few days, up in Missouri where the Cardinals play (whoop; I love baseball) and the sun shines all day. Forget this Oklahoma nonsense. Anyway, while I'm gone, I want to instigate a word war challenge thingymabob!

WORD WAR CHALLENGE THINGYMABOB!!!

WRITE!!! Write anything you want, and write as much as you can. Then, on Monday, comment with your word count, and I'll make an announcement with the rankings, as well as word count from now till then. Okay? Let's do it.

This is a contest, but only if you want it to be. You can be competitive and try to beat my word count (trust me, guys; you won't :P ever.) but the main point of this contest is to have fun, write, and maybe even learn something while we're at it.

WORD WAR BEGIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Check out Joel's essay on the Holy Worlds Blog:
http://www.holyworlds.org/blog/?p=1338

The Trawler - A Descriptive Exercise

Hello, readers! Welcome to Inkweb! Today, I'm describing an ocean trawler in the middle of the Atlantic. Have fun reading, and make your own descriptions if you want!

April 17^th, 1870; Halfway Across the Atlantic Ocean

The great ocean trawler cut through the waves with spunk like a bull goring an unlucky matador. Rain dropped in a continuous sheet of downpour; the frigid sea waves cascaded onto the deck and threatened to bury the vessel in a watery grave, a coffin for a crew of thirty-four, a respected captain, and the inscrutable guest.

But the iron ship plunged onward, breaking a rift through the surging sea slosh with its streamline bow and pushing its way tediously forward through the dark.

A sudden flash lit the great iron beast as it tossed and drove forward; several forms were visible on deck, men in dark sea-jackets, lashed to ratlines and crawling their way along the deck. They were entrenched, embattled against the dark storm, and there could be no turning back, as cried the sunken fleets that had attempted, in vain, to escape the ocean’s wrath. She was a fickle woman, but men still loved her wine-dark waters, though her temper flared like this from time to time.

The World Is Quiet Here - A Poem

A tip of the hat to Lemony Snicket in the title there. Anyway, enjoy!

The World is Quiet Here

You know quite well what I can see from here,

Those glimm’ring, glitt’ring shadow-shapes afar;

The essence, wispy, of a time whose fear

Did not so dominate a broken star,

Who turning from the road could not do so;

And if he feared he would have come ajar

For to fear will prove the death of any foe.

To fear is just a subtle way to say

That man is not his former strength anymore

As he would have to have been in yesterdays

When he was broken, yet with foot in door

But knew his fate with not a single tear.

I see the shapes though fade they into mist

And I perceive, the world is quiet here.