Soar like an eagle . . .

. . . or crash and burn completely.

I suppose it's just the risk that you have to take when you want to do something special. So here goes. I am launching a new blog.

The Red Dragoon

So, you're all thinking, "Wow, that's a weird name for a blog." Well, it is a weird name, for a blog. However, I'm hoping that it's not a weird name for a novel.

The Red Dragoon is the working title of my book. I started it a few months ago, and I sort of dropped off, but I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing. I've only completed two chapters, but it's farther than I've ever gotten on any book I've ever tried to write before.

So I'm going to go out on a limb and publish it serially on this new blog. I'm hoping the format will work. I don't know how it will turn out. It may end up being more of a novella, being sort of a testing ground for a longer work. Or it may fizzle and die a horrible death. When I started writing, I envisioned a grand cycle, an epic story of an empire at war and a young man and woman cast into the midst of the maelstrom.

There's alot to work out. I love fantasy and SF, so naturally, I am tending towards a combination of those two genres (I consider them two separate genres, even though the bookstores always put them together). I'm figuring it will be more of a space opera, and I have to figure out all the worlds and technology. It won't be hard science fiction, because I have neither the expertise nor inclination to write such, so I imagine that there will be elements that require a bit of the dreaded suspension of disbelief.

And I'm really worried about the names. I'm terrible about coming up with names that don't sound stupid. Hopefully you won't laugh when you read them and eventually, you'll see sort of what I'm going for in some of the more 'ethnic' names.

Anyway, Chapters 1 and 2 are posted. I'm hoping that you'll read them and give me your feedback. Don't pull any punches either. I'm planning on this thing making my first million so I can afford to have all my clothes tailored (see the previous post). So it's going to take a lot of rewriting and reworking. What you see here is just going to be the prototype, I hope.

Chapter 3 should be along soon. I want to quickly introduce the female lead. I'd hate for anyone to think I'm sexist in my writing. She will be strong, sometimes brutal, but I'll do my best to make her realistic. Realistic in the sense of intergalactic epic fantasy that is.

Up up and away!!

Things that piss me off

Ah, now I'm beginning to remember why I started a blog in the first place. I seem to use it primarily as a tool to bitch about the insanity that I see around me. And today is no different. I just got home, and I'm in a mood, so here goes.

Shopping for clothes

I hate fucking shopping for clothes. Apparently, the idiots who design clothes for men don't understand how a big guy is shaped. They think that if they simply make every proportion on the pants bigger, it will automatically fit. This is idiotic. This is how you end up trying on pants and finding out that the crotch is three times longer than any human being of any size could possibly have. Don't they understand that most men have a GUT? They don't get taller as they get bigger, they just get a bigger gut and a bigger butt. In order to wear these things properly, I'd have to cinch them up right underneath my nipples, so that if I unzipped them all you would see is my belly button. How is a person supposed to function in life with pants like this. Otherwise, the crotch hangs down to my knees and I look like the worlds fattest penguin. And who the fuck is it that thinks it's cute to put slogans on large-size t-shirts that say shit like "Don't mess with the big man" or "I'm the big dawg!!!!!" That is not fucking empowering! That's annoying. Empowering would be a shirt that says "Fuck you, God wants me this big so he can keep an eye on me. I have a tendency to kill stuck-up skinny assholes who think they can design clothes for fat guys."

Wow. I feel much better now. I don't even think I need to move on to another thing that pisses me off right now. I'll save it for another post.

Well . . . hell . . .

No, no, you're not seeing things. This is indeed a brand new blog entry, and it's only taken me two months or so to get around to it.

You can thank my official ass-kicker, The Fireweaver, for finally convincing me to limber up my writing bow and set to work again. I fear this will be a shortish post as I've just finished mowing the yard, and I'm tired and hot and sweaty. God love us, why do we all still live in Texas?

. . . oh yeah, the winters . . .

Anyway, I'm not sure anybody actually visits my blog anymore. I know how frustrating it is when you're sitting at work and you're doing your best to procrastinate, so you go looking for things to read on the web that are not blocked by your company's stupid webnanny program (don't we all just love Websense?), so you toodle on over to your favorite blogs and you read their latest posts, getting perhaps a nice chortle or three, and you check out all the weird news on Digg, or Fark, but you're just not in the mood to hear about the latest idiocy from the Bush Whitehouse, or the latest crazy item from Florida, so you finally head on over to that last wonderful bastion of time-wasting: The Storyteller's Abode.

But, alas, the puissant wordsmith once again lets you down. You find yourself angry and hurt, like the junkie who goes to her favorite corner only to find that Tin-Tin, your faithful pusher has been picked up in last night's SWAT crackdown, and now you're jonesin' hard for that sweet nectar to fill your veins. So you end up having to go back over to Wonkette or TMZ, and while it keeps you going, it's just not the same, it don't fill that whole in your belly like the rich, warm, golden fuzz from the Abode.

But it's all gonna be okay now, baby. The prison's are overcrowded and they've let MST out on good behavior. And I've got a brand new connection, 'cuz the Columbians are tryin' to expand their bidness and they're practically givin' that shit away.

So come on back, baby. Come on home to the Abode. I got what you need, and I promise I won't every leave you again.

Maybe . . .