Reading has ground to a halt this semester, and after this summer, when I read prolific-ly, this is depressing.  I suppose it comes from the fact that books available to me are in French, and this hampers one's ability to read them at pace and with rhythm.  I have purchased two French books though.  One is by Guy Gavriel Kay, Lions of al-Rassan.  Unfortunately French makes heavy going.  Also 9 Princes of Amber was purchased at a small used book tent, and has proven to me much more accessible, no doubt due to the fact that I have read it before.

Now Up to Date Again!



Lilly's Game

In the world around us, a game begins that has not been played for more than 300 years.

Several people, some normal and others less so, find themselves being caught up in opening rounds of the game, and begin to realize that they are part of it.  That they can be players, not just pieces.


The Stories (Order Chronological)



Rain-Philip does his homework
Sun-Philip going to lunch
An Arrival-A man is at the airport
Planes and Past-David heads home
Sunday Cooking-Philip has lunch

In the Library-Fabian and Claire study for exams
Moonlight-Lily
Wash-Fabian sees Richard in the bathroom
Phone Calls-Philip makes a date

Snow Games-An odd review

Tia's-A night out for dinner
Blackbird-Lily

From the Desk-The game and its players
Outside the Door-Fabian eavesdrops
Two Meetings-Claire at work
Fade to Red-Fabian makes a mistake

Lessons-Philips schooling begins
Sidewalk Sorcery-Martin is planning
Fire and Tears-Claire can't believe it

Empty Sand-Lily

A Trade-A deal is struck

Tea for Two-Claire and Fabian
No Golf Today-Dave has problems at work
Unexpected Guests-Claire plans

A Dance-Lily
Dawn-Lily

An Arrival, A Departure-Fabian moves on

A Meeting to Get to-Dave is on his way to work
Bloody Borderlines be Drawn-Dave decides

Star Crossed-Martin and Rose
A Bottle of Wine-Philip at dinner
Gunfire-Rose's worries are interrupted

So Where is Guile's Ford?-Martin and Rose
The Worst-Martin and Rose

Fire-Martin
Hurt-Philip looks for some answers
Loving Care-Martin is detained
Decision-Philip throws a die
Flame-Martin escapes

A Resolution-Gabriel begins
Saturday-A confrontation

Some people I have thought about.  List may be edited as time goes on and as names come up.

( Folks )

Fatigue is a really weird sensation.  Is it like your body being like: Hey, I'm falling apart right around you, better power off for a while.

It also does strange things to mental liquidity.

This wraps up a quiet month.  It's weird how having work can make you so tired.  Also a man named Caine.

  She watched Serideth as he watched all around them, dark eyes everywhere under his heavy dark brows, his face was dark and distinctly hawk-like.  Then she turned her gaze to the others, who flowed silently into and out of sight amongst the trees around them. 
  Seeming to lead the party forward, there was Riphawk, an enormous, powerfully built man with brutal features and angry red hair, Lemon Drop, a small sweet looking women, her yellow hair bobbed short,  her friend Sundiver, tall and lithe, smooth dark skin and arrogant jade eyes, and LaMerise, a woman of imperial beauty, her white face always stern framed by flowing black hair.  Flickering around the edge of the group, sometimes dropping into the middle for a word with Serideth were Mattos the Old, a man with flowing white beard and hair, and the Joker, young and breathtakingly beautiful, sun kissed and laughing.  And trailing behind so that she barely got a glimpse of them were  SeaMac, who always walked with a sailors limp and swagger, his bald head gleaming, Brea the swift, her long blond hair plaited down her back, and Dragonfire, silent even for one of these, his skin charred and blackened from the battle that gave him his name.

Just an update on some of the things I have been reading while struggling to finish this fourth semester of college.


A song of Ice and Fire: I read A Game of Thrones earlier this year, February I believe, and was sufficiently impressed to put the series on my birthday list.  I received the next three books in the mail at the beginning of last week, and read the 900page A Clash of Kings in less than a week.  Since, I have read only the introduction and one chapter of the subsequent A Storm of Swords because of an unfortunate work pileup and other things that I have been reading for longer and want to get out of the way (Also it is nice to have some good things waiting).  (Also the sequel to The Name of the WInd is due out soon!).

A Splendid Exchange is a great history book about trade and how it grew and changed, debunking many of the myths about globalization in the process.

Medieval Cities a cool book about the rise and fall of medieval cities that is also a library book so I have a deadline for it.

And finally An-arrgh-chy, a great article about how pirate crews were organized and run.  Very cool.

It seems that to leave the country one needs a passport.  However, to get into any other country, particularly if you plan to stay for any length of time, one must acquire a Visa by going through lots of annoying channels and scheduling appointments months in advance.  The best part is how you need to fill out 'two to three' applications, and photocopies are not acceptable.
Better news, this entire process could be made obsolete if my father were to pursue joint-citizenship with Italy, which we qualify for, because then I would have an Italian passport and be able to travel in Europe at will.  Unfortunately I do not think this is going to happen.

     FerLance was losing, and he knew it.  Not only was he losing, but he was losing badly in the one game he could not afford to lose.  He felt a small trickle of sweat creeping along his brow but he dared not wipe it away.  He looked across the table at his opponent, Lord Schiala.  The man smiled complacently, before striking a blow to Lance’s core.  Schiala took a card from his hand, slowly turned it, then slapped the Devil of Quills onto the board to reinforce the Six of Towers, the Ten of Pennants, and the Baron of Portals.
    “The Baron of Portals summons the Devil of Quills from the underworld,” Lance murmured, seeing and understanding the move even as he had never seen any of the four cards he was faced with.  No one he had ever played had anything higher than the Three of Towers, he himself had thought the Two of Pennants a powerful offensive force in his own deck.  Until Schiala had sent them both to the graveyard that is.
    “I end my turn by placing the Baron of Portals in the Six Towers,” Schiala said.
    Lance could not even pretend to hide his panic now.  Facing the four legendary cards he had only the Annointed Bard in play.  The card had always held special meaning for him for it had been a present from Diana.  He could not help it, he wiped his forearm across his forehead.  Best not to think of Diana, or anyone else for that matter.  Dwelling on what would happen if he lost would only hasten defeat.
    He swallowed and surveyed the board and his hand anew.  As he did he decided that one of the things that bothered him was Schiala’s uncanny silence at the table, none of the usual banter or intimidation attempts.  Now that he was aware of it, Lance hoped that it would not affect him so much.  His hopes were not high.  Twisting the four cards in his left hand, he drummed his right fingers on the deck beside him on the edge of the table.  His hand was not promising, in fact the One of Cups, Avoidance, the Wand and the Five of Shields were almost entirely without merit.  He sighed and played the Five of Shields in front of his Bard, set another facedown.
    “I end my turn,” he said, pulling three cards from his deck and putting them in his hand.
    “Devil of Quills,” Schiala said, “Disband his shields.”  And the Devil did just that, writing an order for dismissal, and the shields were gone.
    “The Ten of Pennants, ride down the bard,” Schiala ordered.
    Quickly Lance reached out and flipped the facedown card upright.  “Annointed Bard activates Avoidance!”  and the horses flooded by leaving the bard unharmed.  Lance’s two other cards went to the graveyard.
    Schiala drew a card from his deck.  “I end my turn.”
    Lance looked at the now five cards in his hand.  Joining the cup and the wand were the Lesser Student, the Three of Knives and the Widow of Towers.  A plan formed in his mind, but it would take a turn to develop.
    “I empty my hand,” Lance said, fully aware that he would not be able to draw cards again until after his subsequent turn.  For the first time a spark of interest seemed to show on Schiala’s face.
    “Witnessed,” he said, and Lance began to place his cards.  First the Lesser Student, then next to him, the One of Cups.  Opposite the Student he placed the Widow of Towers, sliding the Anointed Bard to the front line, putting the Three of Knives by his side, and the Wand facedown to the other side.
    “I end my turn.”
    Schiala did not move directly, instead studying the cards that Lance had played.  No doubt searching for traps or whatever reason he would have had for forfeiting his right to draw further cards.  Finally he moved.
    “Pennants,” he ordered, “Destroy those knives.”  And they did.
    “Baron of Portals-,” he began next before Lance raised a finger,
    “The Baron is in the Six Towers,” Lance pointed out, “He is bound by the Widow.”
    “Of course,” Schiala agreed, shaking a moment of surprise.  “Devil of Quills, destroy that bard.  I am afraid that your trap or shield won’t save him this time,” Schiala said.  And he was right.  The Devil sent the Lance’s bard straight to the graveyard, he didn’t even reach to touch his facedown card.
    “I play the Harbinger of Rings, and end my turn,” Schiala said, placing the most powerful summoning card Lance had ever seen on the board.
    Lance chewed his lip briefly, but in truth he had nothing to think about.  He was already committed to his move, and he now needed to carry it forward.
    “I sacrifice the Widow of Towers and the Lesser Student through the One of Cups,” he said.  He took the card he summoned from his deck and placed it face down while sending the three others to the graveyard to complete the ritual.  “The Summoning of Cups is protected for one round,” he said.  He drew five new cards to his hand, “I end my turn.”
    “The Harbinger of Rings opens,” Schiala said, “Marking the return of the Low God to the realm.”  Lance gasped as the angry deity card was slammed onto the table, joining the Baron and the Devil.  “Now, the Baron of Portals summons the Ace of Jewels, sacrificing himself in the process.  I end my turn.”
    Lance felt himself reeling as the line of famous cards marched before his eyes.  Ah Diana, mother, everyone I have failed, Lance heard himself saying in his head, I truly hope you will never have to know that what brought the hammer down upon your heads was me.  Even his greatest card, the one he had gambled to summon, was no match for a god.  Unless…He cast his eyes to the five new cards he had drawn carelessly, not thinking to need them.  Three of Chalices, another Deuce of Towers, Three of Cubes, Six of Staves and, he sighed, how fates seemed to favor him, the Star of Order.
    Lance drew himself up, sitting straight and began his turn.  “The spell of cups is over: I reveal the Wizard of Worlds,” and he flipped over the summoned card, Schiala was watching complacently, always complacently!  It was infuriating!
    “The Wizard of Worlds takes up the Wand!” Lance shouted, flipping over his other card.  “Wizard, destroy the Devil!”  There was a flash of light, and Schiala’s card was gone.
    “Well played,” Schiala said calmly, resting back in his chair, “But even your wizard is no match for the chaos of the elder gods.”
    “I am only too aware,” Lance replied coldly, “Yet the true Wizard of Worlds was able to lock the gods away until his creating was finished by seizing his opportunity, and riding under the Star of Order.”  And he slapped his final card to the table.
    “Wizard of Worlds: end this game!”  And he did.

Fool's Day!

Just a list of the books I read over spring break and brief summaries thereof, plus a list of the books I intended to read but did not. (The books are in order of how I liked them)


The Books I read:

Ysabel ~ Guy Gavriel Kay
    A very gracefully written book, and of the selection that I read this past week it had the greatest ‘page-turner’ appeal.  The characters and feelings were well developed, and there are no worries of a sequel.  I have mixed feelings about that as I really liked the characters, but the book is definitely done.  I am not sure what the intended audience was as the protagonist is a young high-schooler, and he is captured and rendered as such, though I found him likable, but the story is rather subtle, parts are grim and very well made.  My favorite book of the week and I am looking forward to reading more by the author.

The Name of the Wind ~ Patrick Rothfuss
    This is the best first person narrative that I have read in a long time.  Kvothe doesn’t have the wit and attitude of Corwin of Amber, but his towering intellect is captured and displayed well along with his cleverness and other abilities.  Additionally the world building is done in a very subtle but also convincing manner, and elements of seemingly modern science and thought fit smoothly into the weave of the novel.  There are elements of FitzChivalry in Kvothe, who at this stage is young and just beginning to find his way about.  The uniqueness of this book is in the unfolding of the tale.  The beginning, which is a bit slow, is third person and takes place in a small town that is being forced to cope with odd occurrences, and there are ‘interludes’ to this place and time throughout the story, and it is actually very cool how the interludes are tied in.

Warrior Heir ~ Cinda Williams Chima
    I didn’t expect to like this one very much.  I thought it would be fun, but not good.  Looking at the titles and the book descriptions this seems to be a childrens' book, about the level of Keys to the Kingdom, with a good story.  However the story was good and, though predictable, highly enjoyable in its presentation.  Also, all the groundwork for the story was placed and displayed clearly and well, and simply, I found it all engaging.  Also the protagonist, Jack, was of the sort that I favor which made the story much more fun.

A Shadow in Summer ~ Daniel Abraham
    A masterfully crafted book, but not quite my cup of tea.  I really liked the read, but it was very difficult for me to engage with it and get into a good reading rhythm, despite the quality and depth of the writing.  Once I found that balance though it was very good.  The story is straightforward to an extent, but is approached from several perspectives, all of ‘good’ characters who provide the conflict.  Also, reactions and interactions to events and the world are well done with very high level of verisimilitude (quite refreshing).  Also, the world is beautifully designed and laid out, perhaps the best-written book for detail of the week, tough I am not sure that it can edge Ysabel for artistry.

Droon: Escape from the City of Dreams ~ Tony Abbott
    It is what it is.  Fun but don’t look for anything more.  However, as I have been declaiming for months, over the past 10 or so books in the series, while they are still episodic, layers are beginning to form that trace back at least 50 books and are perfect fits, not random ties by the author.  Abbott knows what he is doing. PS – watch out for the dark twist…

Plum Spooky ~ Janet Evanovich
    Again, nothing more here than what you would expect.  Some of the plot themes are wearing a bit thin and a lack of Grandma Mazur and Ranger on the main stage put this volume near the bottom of the heap.

Wizard Heir ~ Cinda Williams Chima
    I really enjoyed the first book in this series (see above), but this sequel did not have the same effect on me.  It was well written and the story was good, much like the predecessor, but I never really had the same connection with the main protagonist.  Also, there was a devastating plot twist of which I did not approve…
    PS – Gwendolyn has the opposite view of the two books.
    A great quote: "Or it could be a certain je definately sais quoi!" -Jack

Books I meant to read but did not get to:

A Clash of Kings ~ George R. R. Martin
A Storm of Swords ~ George R. R. Martin
Dragon Heir ~ Cinda Williams Chima
Interview with the Vampire ~ Anne Rice
Wizard ~ Raymond Feist
Tigana ~ Guy Gavriel Kay

I managed to fix, at least temporarily, the problems I was having with the picture.  I wonder if it was because I had it set as default.  That does not make sense though...

Also writing something less random and bad as usual is hard because some of the things I tend to struggle with are depth of world and character because I tend not to plan any of the stories that I try to write.  Now that I am trying to plan something new characters keep blooming into life, the latest being Dorian White the King's Rake, before I have finished characterizing the last batch.  And of course by characterizing I mean filling out one of those not so useful character outline sheets that I found online.

If anyone has a good format or system for outlining and developing characters, please let me know...

also I don't know why my usual user pic does not show up here or on any of the posts where I used it

This is exactly what the title says it is.

I've started watching Battlestar Galactica recently, and by that I mean I am part way through the second part of the four part miniseries that precedes the actual first season (If we ignore whatever shows there apparently were in the 70's).  It is very good so far, and also gripping, but would be much more so if the videos would load properly, rather than in 30sec-3 minute.  Also, in additional news, Dexter, has started politicking for the throne of Kassel.

    Just as the sun began to rise, eight figures, all in black, dropped silently over the outer wall of the manor.  Briefly they congregated in small clearing in the garden, then in pairs they spread through the foliage, always moving forward, approaching the house.  A redhaired woman peered cautiously through some thick leaves at the edge of the garden.  A wide lawn guarded the approach to the manor house, no lamps were visible in the house, it was early after all.  Cautiously she began to edge out of the hedge, towards the large window lined with pipes on the back of the house, a man in black at her side.
    Suddenly one of the pipes began to move.  "To Perdition and back!" she cursed in panic throwing herself backwards into the plants as a sharp crack echoed through the still dawn.  There was a muffled cry behind her followed by a thud, and she scrambled through the foliage alone as more cracks and shots filled the air, her team opening fire on the manor.
    When the invaders regrouped around a small fountain in the garden, there were only five of them left.  Three men down.
    "We'll have to rush it," she told them earnestly.  It was an event she had hoped to avoid, but now she knew they had to try it while they still had sufficient numbers for it to pay off.
    "Are you insane?" one of the men violently disagreed, "We'll be dropped like nine pins!  They've got us sore outnumbered in their."
    "No," she said quietly, "Numbers remain our one advantage.  If only we gain access to the manor we will find but one man, perhaps two, to resist us."
    "Impossible!" another said in awed tones, and then she outlined her plan.

   "And Hell follows," the tall man muttered savagely as the fire from out side finally slacked, laying his last rifle against the doorframe and casting about for his powder horn and ammunition case.  He managed to load two of the guns scattered across the floor, before giving it up as a bad job, for he hadn't the powder to ensure they fired properly.  Shouldering one he ran deeper into the house and bounded up the stairs, and up again to his top floor suite.  With desperate energy he pulled up the thick carpet and tossed it aside, throwing himself flat to examine the old trap door concealed beneath it.  There came a creak of the floorboard behind him.
    "Hello Tomas," the man said quietly, moving as though to rise.
    "Not so quickly, Master," the black serving man said.  Slowly, the Marquis shifted onto his back and regarded the short man who had so long been his servant and the pistol that menaced him.
    "What did they offer you Tomas?" he asked.
    "My freedom master," Tomas replied, his face quite inscrutable as he looked at his owner down the barrel of a gun.
    "Ah," the Marquis sighed sadly, "That is a true shame my good man.  Well, it is not my place to stand in the way of your freedom."
    "Isn't it," Tomas asked, raising one eyebrow in mockery of the Marquis' frequent gesture.
    "It is not," the Marquis said quietly, "In fact, the papers for your release reside in the main drawer of my desk, just there."  He gestured idly.
    "You lie!" Tomas snapped, for the first time, the gun shook ever so briefly.
    "Not at all," the Marquis replied, "Awaiting only my signature.  Imagine it Tomas, a freeman you could be, and without a murder charge hanging over your head."
    "Stay where you are," Tomas ordered harshly.
    "As you wish," the Marquis said as Tomas crossed to the desk, keeping the gun and a wary eye on his late master, who made no move to rise.  With his other hand Tomas reached into the desk, rummaged blindly for a few moments, them withdrew a set of heavy papers.  He turned his eyes upon them.
    "It's true!" he cried in shock, the gun lowering his whole being focused on the parchment in his hands.
    "Goodbye Tomas," the Marquis whispered.  Tomas heard and whirled, the gun rising again, but far too late.  There was a crack, a puff of smoke and the Marquis stood alone, tall and slim, elegant as a blade, in his outstretched right arm, a pistol of his own pointed across the room, a thin line of smoke dissipating from its muzzle.
    "Did you really think I would reward your betrayal Tomas?" the Marquis asked the corpse.  He lowered his weapon and crossed the floor.  Without a glance at the man who had served him so loyally for so many years he bent and scooped the documents from the floor and tore them to shreds.  Then, still calmly, but now quickly as well for he had heard the distant sounds of his manner being broken into, he opened the trapdoor, and also took hold of the edge of the rug.  Adjusting the sword on his belt so that it fit down the hole, he jumped in and pulled the door and the rug over him.

    "They would be fools to try it," the Marquis snapped, swinging his cloak forcefully over one shoulder.  "So long as  there are shadows, they know that I own the night."
    Hannibal did not know what that meant, and was not particularly interested at the moment.  He walked with the Marquis to the door and wished him good night, before hurrying to get his own jacket.  Ten minutes later he was at the door of the Satin townhouse.  He knocked sharply once, and the door was opened almost immediately by a prim looking butler.
    "My mistress attends you in the blue lounge," he said haughtily, stepping aside to let Hannibal pass.
    "Thank you," he replied, distracted and glancing over his shoulder at some distant noise in the streets.  He could not distinguish anything, and entered the house, the door snapping shut behind him.

    "You are late sir," Tomas said opening the manor door and bowing stiffly.
    "I ran into trouble on the boulevard," the Marquis said, throwing his cloak at the slave and slinging his sword belt over his shoulder as he kicked the mud from his boots.
    "Hurry, there are many preparations to be made."

    Hannibal was at the door again, this time on his way out.
    "Please," she said, appearing in the entrance hall behind him, her long dressing gown a fluffy shroud.  She hurried to him and caught at his arm, "Please stay."
    "It is very late," Hannibal said, uncomfortably conscious of her hand on his wrist.
    "I know," she said, "But just stay tonight, I need you to teach me how to fight the Breaking Dawn."
    Hannibal's eyes widened and he turned to look at her.  "That is no simple project," he said, "I think it would be better to start tomorrow."
    "You can come tomorrow," she said, "But by then I will already be gone."
    Hannibal's cheeks puffed out and he released the air in a rush.  So it was going to happen sooner even than the Marquis had thought.  He looked into her pale face, her wide green eyes, and the loose strands of red hair framing her cheeks, and sighed.  This was precisely the situation that he had wanted to avoid: if he helped her it would be tantamount to declaring sides, however refusing would be nearly the same.
    "Do you have a sword?  I prefer not to carry mine."

    The Marquis stood in the bowsprit, as his ship was tossed by the stiff swells of the sea.  He harbored no romantic allusions about being up here, he knew it was dangerous, but he also knew that this was one place where he could remain on deck and keep an eye on the weather, without getting in the way of the work of the sailors he had hired.  He was an adequate sailor himself of course, and occasionally captained ships himself, especially earlier in his career, but on a journey of this distance he much preferred placing his safety in the hands of an expert who sailed for a living.
    Raising his head, he sniffed curiously, the rough smell of salt and the sea pouring into his nostrils.  He looked at the sky, it seemed to him to have darkened rather abruptly, and able captain on board or not, he did not really want to have to ride out a storm this far from shore.  He sighed, knowing full well that there was no choice in the matter.  Even now he could hear Captain Ramos calling orders for the crew to trim sail.  Suddenly, the steady roll of the ship beneath his feet stopped.  Puzzled, he looked about, and saw that the ship was certainly still moving.
    His hand straying to the ornate hilt of his rapier of its own accord, the Marquis leaped up onto actual rail of the ship, balancing himself by placing his left arm on the figurehead.  The sea in front of the ship had taken on the consistency of a smooth glass sheet, stiller than the proverbial mill pond.  Unnerved, he looked further out, and it was several seconds before he understood what he saw, then he looked up, and up, and up.  A wall of water, a wave straight from a devil's nightmare, so high it merged into the sky that it blocked from view, towered before the ship, approaching at an unbelievable speed.
    "Sailor!" he snapped, leaping down to the deck and collaring a passing crewman.
    "Aye sir!" the man saluted calmly, as yet unaware of their doom.
    "In my cabin there is a small cage with a messenger pigeon.  Fetch it and a pen and parchment, then bring them to me here, and do it now! Vite!"
    The sailor saluted again and hurried off.  The Marquis leaped back to his perilous perch on the figure head, drawn by a morbid fascination to watch his own death, that he had struggled so long to forestall, race towards him.  Behind him he heard the first cry of surprise and terror.  One of the sailors had seen the wave for what it was.
    "Sir," his sailor had returned, "I have your things."
    "Thank you sir," the Marquis said quietly, not looking away from his doom, "You may pass them to me."  And he reached behind him, felt the cold metal of the cage's hook press into his fingers, took the familiar pen and parchment in his other hand.
    "What is happening sir?" the sailor asked nervously, undoubtedly beginning to perceive the rush of panicked activity that had swept the ship, activity that he had been blind to so long as he had his task to sustain him.
    "The end," the Marquis said simply, quickly scrawling his last words, a letter to his king.
    "You ought to go, to die in whatever manner seems best to you," the Marquis added, smiling slightly to himself at the irony that his last words would be addressed to a king.  Quiet simply, be it by hook or by crook, that king had won his allegiance, and if he was going to die in service, he at least wanted his disappearance to be understood.  The sailor looked, finally understanding what was happening around him, where splashes and cries signaled the mass exodus as the crew abandoned ship, clinging vainly to their lives for a few extra seconds, and raced off in panic.
    The Marquis however, calmly rolled the small scroll he had written.  There was nothing to seal it with of course, but it was no matter.  Once it was tied with a tread from his cuff, he reached into the small cage, attached the letter to the pigeons claw, and threw the bird into the air.  With an explosion of feathers, it sped off into the night, he could only hope that its wings would let it out speed the sea.  His accounts settled, he felt a fey and reckless mood race through his veins, he always found it thus in the face of death, though this time he knew that he would not escape, and it was with a wild laugh that he drew his sword.
    "A mort et l'enfer suit!" he roared, bellowing his defiance as he stood, a lone futile figure of diminutive resistance balanced on the prow, baring his tiny sword in the face of a mountain of water beyond the dreams of wrath or destruction that entered the darkest of human dreams.

Which of any characters that you have created, are/would you be the most afraid of?

I pretended to work on an 8 page paper that I have due on Tuesday, but did not make very much progress.  I did however, start acquiring mods and coloring things for my anticipated Sims Kingdom, but I think I will wait to start that city until I acquire some of the expansion packs.

Also, in other creative endeavors, I think I have finished mapping the characters who will make up the Royal court in my next great writing project, which is an anticipated three volume effort.  Now these characters need to be characterized beyond their names and genders, and as the Court should not appear until mid/late in the first book, I need some characters to fill in in the interim.

Also, I started a map to chronolgize (is there a word I should have used there?) the many rampant, chaotic and violent events that I have had in my head since late middle school I suppose, that pertain to my first great literary effort, populated by the greatest Marty Stu perhaps of all time (In the sense that, as the books are designed to jump around in different times, rather early on he attains the status of a demi-god.  Of course he is still an expert at all normal war skills such as sword play and directing soldier tactics even though his magical powers would render any armies obsolete) in an effort to see if they could be rehashed and reshaped now that I can write at at least a marginally more mature level, as I think many of the plots and such were cool and good enough (If not particularly creative) as well as numerous, if the characters and magic could be brought under control.

So...

That's what I've been up to