Thaddeus Nowak's Blog: Thoughts and Observations, page 21

Owin #3 — What’s For Dinner

Check out the start of the series.

Photo ©Depositphotos.com / Oleksandr Minyaylo

By the time Owin had walked to the northern side of the port city of Rhyl, his face really hurt. He did not own any polished steel or silver to examine the injuries himself, but he knew his eye would be black by morning. While not ‘old’, such marks no longer represented badges of courage in his mind. At best, it meant he survived to see another day.

Turning down a narrow alley, he stopped at the third door on the left and knocked twice. After a short wait, he heard the creaking of the floorboards as someone approached the door. Based on the pattern of steps, he suspected Gwen would open the door.

“Damn,” the fifteen year old said with her face peeking out through the narrow opening she made. “You get run over by a horse?”

Owin tried to smile, but his cheek hurt too much. “It is nice to see you as well, Gwen.”

She stepped back, fully opening the door, her plain skirt dancing around her legs as she moved. With her free hand, she pulled back the loose strands of brown hair that fell in front of her face. “You waiting for me to pen you an invite, tough guy?”

Owin stepped through the door and tilted his head as he walked past the girl that was half a head shorter than him. With his left hand, he tapped her forehead with his index finger. Suddenly he dodged right to avoid a punch aimed for his ribs. “Hey, they could have broke something there you know.”

“Not the way you were moving,” she said with a grin. “You weren’t favoring anything that I could see other than your face. I guess it will be an improvement,” her grin taking any sting out of the comment.

Owin nodded his head. Elsin tolerated him showing her daughter how to defend herself, but only just. Her complaint about Gwen growing wild and thinking herself invincible ran too true. However, he would not leave her defenseless. “Your Mom here?”

“In the kitchen, she’s got a bean soup cooking.”

The frown on her face told Owin all he needed to know. Elsin’s cooking usually left one hungry, but neither of them complained to her. The problem now would be that the soup would stick around until it was eaten or went bad. Which meant either eating it over the next couple of days, or going hungry for four. “Let’s see if we can help her,” Owin said, as he moved toward the back of the long and narrow flat.

The dimly lit building creaked and moaned as he walked over the worn floorboards. The whitewashed walls reflected the limited light coming in through the transom windows high on the front wall, but the aged chairs, stained dark from years of use, acted to counter the effect.

In the kitchen, a small hearth radiated heat, making the room stifling warm. Even with the backdoor open to a small garden, shared in neglect by a dozen families on either side of what should be green space, the kitchen felt miserable.

“Oh, Owin, what happened to you?” Elsin wiped sweat from her brow with her forearm; the sleeve of her dress already drenched. “Please tell me you didn’t get caught doing something you shouldn’t.”

Owin stepped closer, not bothering to try and avoid Elsin examining his injuries. Though only a couple of years older, Elsin often assumed a motherly role if he showed any injuries. “I brought you some more lotion,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the pouch with her chapped and blistered hands. The pained movement of her fingers difficult for Owin to watch. As a person desperate for relief, she opened the pouch and scraped out a small amount of the thick paste. She rubbed it into her skin before turning back to Owin; he did not mind the delay.

With slightly less cautious movement of her hands, she reached up and examined Owin’s eye and then with gentle pressure, opened his mouth and looked inside. “You ever consider just losing all your teeth to keep your mouth from getting so cut up? You’d think your teeth were sharpened into knives.” She shook her head and met his eyes. “You really need to stop doing these things. Someone’s going to kill you someday.”

Owin nodded his head. “But, this wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t doing anything, then Mark’s son had a couple guys jump me from behind. I woke up to the fat mutt’s fist in my face.”

“Owin, you should never have gotten involved with that man.” Elsin shook her head and then swallowed. “Whatever you thought to gain, it wasn’t worth it. You really need to find a way to get him off your back.”

Owin caught a glance from Gwen and he silently willed her to remain quiet. Elsin has no need to know, he swore, wishing he could make the girl hear his thoughts. “I need time to figure it out.”

“But the man is cruel–”

Owin tossed his hands in the air. “Mark gave himself that name. Why everyone decided to humor him and call him that is beyond me. He’s not really that important. There are plenty of others in the city that have more influence and are by far, crueler.”

“He’s dangerous, Owin. He kills people. He ruins lives.”

Owin nodded his head; he agreed, “But he only controls crime in a small chunk of the city. Yeah, he’s got a lot of money and there are lots of people who’ll work for him–”

“Including you.”

“It was not by choice. I…Let’s not argue. My mouth hurts and I really would like to just sit quietly for a while.”

Elsin nodded her head and went back to the table that had a few wilted carrots sitting on it. “Gwen, take the bucket out to the fountain and get us some water for the evening. If you can avoid anything too dirty, that would be good for Owin’s mouth. Your father and Owin learned too well how dirty water can turn a wound. I won’t have Owin die because we didn’t watch ourselves.”

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Movie Review: How to Train Your Dragon 2

Dreamworks’ second installment in this series, How to Train Your Dragons 2, shows the kids from the first movie older and more mature.  Hiccup (voiced by Jay Baruchel), Astrid (voiced by America Ferrera), and the others are still in the line-up, as are their dragons.  However, this movie is definitely about Hiccup, him discovering his past, and dealing with aspects of growing into an adult.  I felt this more so than I did in the first movie.  Astrid still plays a significant role, but the others less so.

While some of the story line was more mature, overall the movie is still targeted for a younger audience.  To me, some of the plot lines were more sophisticated, but the humor was closer to the first movie.  There were also some motivations that were simplified for younger viewers.  This is not necessarily a bad thing, but perhaps shows a gradual transition for the movie.

Avoiding spoilers, a new villain is introduced who has control of an army of dragons.  It is against this new threat to Berk and their dragons that Hiccup must fight.  Being pretty much as hard-headed as his father, Stoick (voiced by Gerard Butler), Hiccup decides he has to solve the problem on his own.  This decision precipitates a series of events where Hiccup discovers a number of secrets from his past as well as develops a better understanding of dragons.

One item that I had trouble with was what appeared to be a slight change in the rules of how dragons work from the first movie.  It is not a huge change and it could even be argued that things worked that way in the first movie, but was simply not explained that way.  It was not a huge issue, but it did feel to me like a slight change in the lore.

Overall, I would give it a smidge less than 4 out of 5 stars.  If you have kids, they will like it and I will end up buying the Blu-ray.

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Owin #2 — The Cost of a Good Shirt

Photo ©Depositphotos.com / Oleksandr Minyaylo

Check out the start of the series.

Noticing an inquisitive stare, Owin turned his face away. He knew the blood drying into his shirtsleeve and the cuts and swelling on his face would eventually draw the wrong attention.

Turning off the lane filled with afternoon traffic, Owin headed down a narrow alley. This one was cleaner than the one outside the workshop and a bit busier. He passed a couple of people coming out of a sweetmeat shop, but did not meet their eyes. Continuing passed the people, he took a couple of turns and eventually found himself alone between the two and three-story buildings packed into this borough of the city.

Wincing a little, he paused to take stock of his facial injuries. The earlier blow to his cheek hurt and bits of skin hung loose in his mouth. The shallow cut on his temple hurt, but there was only a small amount of blood. That one’s gonna bruise. Probably even give me a black eye; won’t Gwen be excited about that.

He shook his head. He was more concerned about Elsin’s opinion than Gwen’s almost certain glee at another one of his ‘adventures’. “Well, my shirt is ruined,” he said as he turned his arm over to check the underside. The blood would certainly stain the light-colored linen.

Glancing overhead, he noted a bit of laundry drying on ropes between the upper floors of the buildings. Checking both directions down the alley and glancing to the open shutters, Owin confirmed he was alone.

Not seeing an easy way to reach the shirt directly above him, he moved a dozen feet further down the alley. That wattle and daub building had thicker wooden timbers just above his hands’ reach. While not a great handhold, it looked to offer a few fingers width to grab.

Stripping off his sword-belt, he set the weapons on the ground that still showed a few cobbles under the accumulated layer of dirt. Reaching up, he leaped and caught the edge of the rough timber. With only the tips of his fingers, Owin strained to lift himself upward, grateful once more that he was normally too poor to overeat.

When his face was at the level of his hands, he took a deep breath, and then pushed up and backwards with his arms and feet. Twisting like a cat, he snagged the bottom of a linen shirt as he fell.

The cloths-pins resisted for a moment, then released their hold as Owin’s weight overpowered them. The rope snapped back with a twang, shaking the rest of the laundry that had dried earlier in the breeze.

Owin landed in a crouch, but quickly regained his feet. He stepped back to his weapons and snatched them from the ground as he continued quickly down the alley.  The shirt he balled up and stuffed it under his arm to hide it from the view of anyone who might come to the window to investigate the noise.

He turned two more corners and then slipped open a latch on a gate that blocked his way into someone’s back garden. Closing the gate quietly behind him, Owin checked to make sure he was alone. Once that was confirmed, he stripped out of his favorite shirt and put on the stolen one. “Damn,” he said, scratch at the rough material. The new one was nowhere near as soft as his old one. “I’ll have to find a way to make Simon pay for this.” Even though the words escaped his lips, he knew it was unlikely. No one was daring enough to attack Simon, the son of Mark. Simon was nothing, but Mark, or Matorick the Cruel, never earned the title of lord, but he ruled his personal empire as if he were a king. No one touched his brat because the risk was not worth the reward.

Taking a moment to actually look at the garden, Owin noticed a rain barrel beside him. Quietly removing the lid, he used his left hand to scoop out some water to wash his right hand. While these people looked wealthy enough by having a garden filled with ornamental flowers as well as peppers and fruit, he could not see dirtying their water for no cause.

Eventually, he got his old shirt wet and used it to scrub the blood that had dried into his pores. Once his hand was as clean as he could get it, he turned his ruined shirt to his face. Careful not to make things worse, he more daubed than scrubbed the blood that was there. When frustrated enough with the pain, he took a few drinks of water to wash down what was still leaking into his mouth. I wish I could afford a priest to take care of that. I’d rather have a dagger wound in the side than my mouth torn up.

Resolved to living with the injuries, he put the lid back on the barrel and left the garden. From the alley, he made his way across the city, passing many other people who now paid him no more attention than anyone else. The people in this section of town were mostly laborers with a few skilled tradesmen mixed into the flow. It was still too early for most people to be done with the day’s work, so everyone he encountered moved with a purpose.

Slowing, he watched the breeze blowing a faded sign with the caving of a needle and thread. The old wood squeaked as it rocked back and forth on the iron rings holding it over the door. Patting the empty space on his hip left by his missing pouch, he went up the steps and knocked on the door. A short time later, a silver-haired woman opened the door. Her wrinkled face lit up at seeing his.

“Whatever have you done to yourself?” she asked, her voice as strong as someone half her age.

“I decided to hurt someone’s fist with my face.”  Touching his temple, he added, “I can say I was generally successful.”

The woman shook her head, but stepped back to let Owin inside. “You are earlier than I expected. Normally you don’t show up until well into the evening when I am trying to enjoy a bowl of spiced stew.”

Owin winced. “I’m afraid I won’t be enjoying much beyond wet bread at this point.” He cleared his throat. “Gina, I’m afraid I’m going to be short this time. The guy with the meaty fist appears to have kept what I had on me.”

Moving pasted a cutting table covered with scraps of material, Gina walked to a basket in the corner of the small room. She slid the basket aside and then worked a board out of the floor. Putting one hand on her back, she bent down further and pulled out a large waxed pouch. “Owin, if it was someone else, I might fear never getting paid, but I will give this to you on credit. You can pay the last four marks when you get them.”

She bent down again, replaced the floorboard, and slid the basket back into place. “Besides, I know you’ll bring it soon, since you’ll want more ointment before long.”

Owin took the pouch into his hands and hefted the weight. “I’d say I own you more than four more marks for this. You’ve filled this fuller than normal.”

Gina smiled again and then sat down. “I know who you give it to. You’re a good man. You should make her an offer.”

Owin snorted. “No. I think you mistake me for someone else. I stole this shirt on the way over here,” he said, pulling the itchy material from his skin and then reaching underneath the shirt to scratch. “I just hate you having to make this stuff. If the priests found out, you’d be in a lot of trouble.”

Gina shrugged. “They can’t accuse me of being a witch. It’s their formula. So what if I make a little money selling it to people they wouldn’t for less than they would?”

Owin wanted to disagree. He’d seen too many people accused of being a witch burn for their crimes. Some of them deserved it, but he knew there were others who were not likely witches.  But no one is going to question that. “Thank you, Gina. I promise to get you the rest before the week is out.”

“I’d let you forget it, if you’d quite that nasty business and take Elsin out of this dirty city.”

Owin smiled. He had no intention of having that discussion yet again.

The post Owin #2 — The Cost of a Good Shirt appeared first on Thaddeus Nowak.

Owin #1 — A Punch in the Face

©Depositphotos.com/Oleksandr Minyaylo

Owin closed his eyes and forced his body to relax. A moment later, pain radiated from his cheek and across his face. The meaty fist of Simon, Mark’s son, knocked his head back, though he remained on his feet, mostly with the help of the two men at his sides, each with their claw like fingers digging into his arms through his linen shirt.

Owin kept his eyes closed. He knew the next blow was coming by the tension the two men suddenly exerted on his arms. This one landed higher, more on his temple. Owin hoped the gold ring on Simon’s finger bent from the impact; the curse the boy issued indicated the blow hurt both of them.

The man holding his left arm loosened his grip, trying to gain a better grasp. Owin dropped his weight and the skinny man lost his hold, allowing Owin to slam into the legs of the larger man who still held his right arm.

Twisting to his right, Owin rolled upward. Indecision filled the large man’s face. Owin did not hesitate; he rammed the palm of his left fist into the heavily muscled man’s groin. A moment later Owin was free.

Rolling left to avoid being pinned under the man; he slammed into the skinny man’s legs. Simon’s shouts had finally started, but the young man’s voice was nothing more than background noise.

The skinny man tried to kick Owin in the groin, but his leg absorbed the blow. Grabbing the ornate dagger the skinny man had sticking out of his right boot, Owin jabbed the blade all the way through the man’s calf. Blood and screams erupted from the man. Wrenching the dagger free, Owin swung his legs around and rolled into a squat and then a crouched stance.

The heavy-set Simon had a three-foot sword drawn, but was still on the other side of the two thugs he had hired to help him. The big man remained on the ground, doubled over and on his knees. The skinny one was still screeching as he tried to hold the blood in his ruined calf.

“You’ll die for this!” Simon said, the tip of his sword dancing erratically from side to side.

Owin relaxed and stood fully erect. He wiped the corner of his mouth with a clean spot on his left sleeve. The borrowed dagger he held confidently in his right hand. The iron smell of blood rose from the mess that covered his right arm as well as the floor at his feet.

Simon was big for his age, at seventeen, the boy was already Owin’s height and he weighed at least thirty pounds more. However, regardless of his mass, the boy’s fear dripped from his brow with the beads of sweat that had formed since Owin freed himself. “I know your father is not responsible for you being here. He at least knows that trying to beat me will not make me get what I promised him any faster.” Owin licked away more blood from the corner of his mouth and wiped his bloody brow; he could not afford a priest to heal the cuts in his mouth, so he resolved himself the eating bland food for a while. Lifting his gaze from his hand to meet Simon’s eyes, he continued, “Since I know he still wants it, I really don’t think I’m in any real danger.”

Simon’s blade dropped eight inches before rising again. “But he’s not a patient man. You don’t get it soon; he’ll have you killed anyway.” The chubby boy smiled, “And when you do give it to him, I’ll kill you since you won’t be needed anymore.”

Owin chuckled. “You really know how to motivate a person.” Owin did not shift his gaze, but he knew the large man was now kneeling. He did not know this one’s name, but he would have to make sure to avoid him later. The man was practically a giant, a full head taller than Owin and with arms twice as big. Brute power did not impress Owin; instead, he preferred to be quick and nimble. However, two on one, even if the second one was a coward, was not a fight he wanted to pursue at the moment.

Moving around the skinny man, who was now simply moaning, Owin walked across the room. Simon keeping his blade turned toward him the whole way. Owin had never been in this small workshop before, but he assumed it was close to the docks. Even with the outside door shut, he could smell the dampness of the air coming in through an opening in the wall just above the door. The hinged and water-damaged panel was propped open with a twisted bit of scrap wood.  The opening let in light while allowing the warm humid air a place to escape the building.

Seeing his sword and long dagger on a worn workbench next to the door, he moved closer to them. Fortunately, they were still in their scabbards and attached to his sword belt, so he carefully picked up his weapons and fastened the belt around his waist. His weapons were worn and the hard leather of the scabbards stained and nicked. Compared to the highly polished steel Simon was wielding and ornate bronze handle of the blade he had removed from the skinny man, his weapons were disgraceful to the untrained eye.

Hefting the skinny man’s dagger, Owin judged the weight and balance. Frowning, he shifted the bloody blade to his now sticky fingers and flung the weapon into the far wall. It quivered in the wood for a moment, and then gradually dropped before tumbling to the floor with a thud. “Look at that, not even I can get that piece of junk to stay in the wall.” Shrugging, Owin opened the door behind himself and slipped out of the workroom just as the large man had regained his feet.

Outside the door, Owin found himself in an alley littered with debris and refuse.  It was not one of his normal haunts, but he recognized the long row of weathered buildings that dominated the area from both sides. Most of these were a single story high and lacked any windows someone might break open. Wiping the blood from his face once again with his left hand, he felt be back of his head with his right. Both places ached. While not positive, he suspected the skinny man had knocked him over the head with a bit of scrap wood. The thud of wood against bone for some reason still echoed in his ears.

“We’ll, the calf injury is sufficient compensation,” Owin said as he moved away from the workshop. If the skinny man approached a priest for healing, it would cost him a lot of money. The big man he hoped would be sore enough for a while that he would not seek out for his own compensation.

Turning out of the alley into a slightly wider lane, Owin headed toward his favorite public house, The Last Clipper Ship. He was halfway there when he glanced down and noticed his pouch was missing. “Damn, it.” While the loss was only a few coins, it meant he would have to wait to wash the blood out of his mouth.

 

Hi there, this is a new web series I have started.  It is set within the same world that Stephenie, Kas, Henton, and the others live.  However, Owin’s story is separate from theirs.  I hope you will enjoy it.  My intention is to publish sections of this story each week (assuming I can keep up with all my other responsibilities).

Let me know what you think and since I will be writing this from week to week, if you want to see something specific, send me a message or leave a comment, and if it works with the characters, I’ll try to work something in for you.

Thanks,

Thaddeus (Ted)

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Movie Reivew: Maleficent

Last weekend I went to Maleficent.  I have seen a number of reviews of the movie and some of them have been mixed.  So, let me add opinions on Disney’s recent movie featuring a protagonist traditionally portrayed as pure evil.  (Review spoiler: I recommend seeing the moving.)

First, a bit of a warning, when I went to see the movie, there were a number of people bringing children who were definitely under 10 years old, some perhaps as young as 6 or 7.  I would say the movie is a little dark for kids that young.  It is rated PG13 and while I’ve never been a fan of the movie industries rating scheme, there is enough violence that I’d tend to make sure the kinds are mature enough to handle it.  For the adults, as with most Disney movies, there is plenty of adult themes running throughout the film.

This story is told from the point of view of Maleficent, who happens to be a powerful fairy living in the lands next to humans.  The young Maleficent, who is generally happy and trusting, befriends a young human boy, Stefan, who is caught trying to steal from the fairies.  As they age (quickly in terms of screen time) they grow apart as people sometimes do.

In a parallel plot, the king of the human lands grows jealous of the power and wealth the fairies have.  The king decides to conquer the fairies and Maleficent (now older and played by Angelina Jolie) repels the king and his army.  The king, terrified to near death by Maleficent, promises his daughter’s hand and the kingdom to anyone who will kill Maleficent.

This is where tradition in these types of stories shows up and Stefan, Maleficent’s old friend (now played by Sharlto Copley) uses his friendship to betray her to gain the throne and the hand of the prior King’s daughter.  It is their daughter, Aurora (played by Elle Fanning) that Maleficent curses.

I will not go into any more of the plot to avoid spoilers, but I will stay that while a number of the aspects of the traditional Disney’s Sleeping Beauty are present, this movie does offer some different takes on the storyline and I was glad to see that.

The special effects were good, but I will stay there was something that seemed perhaps too stiff when Maleficent was flying.  I’ve not really thought too much about the physics of it, but I think that perhaps her legs should have had a more rhythmic movement (I know this is nitpicking, but it stood out to me).

I will also offer a thought to those who are looking for a movie where a truly evil person is the protagonist.  Some of the reviews I had seen complained that Maleficent was not evil enough.  Personally, I think the main character has to be someone who the audience can relate to.  I found it easy to relate to Maleficent over the course of the story.  Her actions seemed plausible to me and while it would still be plausible for her to be even more “evil”, I don’t know that I would have personally been able to relate as much to her plight.

It may just be me, but I don’t know that I would really want to watch or read a story where the main character had few, if any, redeeming qualities.  Just my take on some of the comments I have seen on the internet (yeah, I know, sometimes there are very few redeeming qualities in what we find on the internet, but it got me thinking).

So, final opinion, I would give it 4 out of 5 stars and recommend seeing it.

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Pharaoh Tutankhamun — At Union Station

Union Station in Kansas City has managed to have another hit and just in time for its 100th year anniversary.  The train station (originally the Union Depot that opened in 1879) reopened as Union Station in 1914.  The building itself is an architectural beauty with wonderful ceilings and halls.  It is worth just walking through the public spaces and there are lots of opportunities for photos and history to explore throughout the building.

Currently in the Exhibit Hall  is The Discovery Of King Tut and I will say I was very impressed with the display.  They have reproduction from the tomb and I was astounded by the effort that went into reproducing the artifacts.  I would never have known they were not the real thing if I had not been told they were not the original artifacts.

To the right is an example of some of the artifacts you will see in the exhibit.  This is Tut’s Coronation Cartouche, which is not the name Tutankhaman but translates as “Lord of the many forms of Re”.  This image is from his throne that was located in his tomb.

The exhibit contains multiple copies of the reproductions.  The initial displays shows the artifacts as they were found in the various chambers of the tomb.  The goods were pretty much stacked on top of each other in the tomb.

Then the exhibit displays the large shrines, each made of wood, covered in plaster, carved, and then plated in gold.  There were actually four shrines, each nested one within the other.  And inside of all the shrines were the sarcophagi.  There were three of these, each also nested one inside the other, with the innermost one solid gold.

Numerous objects were included in Tut’s wraps, all with the intent to protect the pharaoh in the afterlife.   The objects in the collection range from an iron knife, to chariots, to models of ships, jewelery,  and statues of gods and the pharaoh.  In some cases, the originals have now been damaged and the reproductions allow you to see what they originally looked like.

Below are a few additional images I took from the collection.  If you can make it to see the exhibit, I definitely recommend catching it while it is here in Kansas City.  If you love history, it is worth the trip.

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Stories Without a Point – Down the River

I have been on a number of canoe trips in my life (not a great number, but several).  I have had to portage the boats down long stretches of dried up creeks (that one was with a large group and my dad took the wrong fork in the river).  I have been sunburned and so sore my arms no longer worked.  I have been dunked in the water and smashed my fingers against the hull and various obstacles.  However, the most enjoyable time was when two of my friends, one of their dads, and I took an overnight trip down the Kansas River.

It was a warm summer day and we put into the water on a tributary river.  It almost didn’t look like a legitimate place to put in; the bank was below an overpass and my friend’s dad had to drive down an unused, grass-covered road to reach a place were we could unload the pair of canoes.

It was already late in the day and I can’t say I remember many cars using the overpass, but even if there had been, we were quickly far enough down stream that all we could see were tree covered banks and brown water beneath us.  The journey to the Kansas River did not take too long, but it was not immediate, so just as we became used to the water we were on, we slipped out into the larger river with a jolt.

The Kansas River was wider, but moved faster and as we casually paddled along, we had to dodged tree limbs and sandbars as bugs filled air searching for some people to eat (or at least annoy).  The banks made of sticky mud that rose high over the river made low from minimal rain.  We chatted and joked and watched as the shadows grew longer and the day later.  We were a band of intrepid explorers invading a new land.  Hostile enemies could be hiding anywhere.  We were certain some water-breathers must be trailing in our wake, ready to leap out and catch us unprepared if we stopped or dangled a hand too deep into the muddy water.

As the day grew too late to continue, we angled toward a sandbar along the right hand side of the river and quickly pulled our canoe’s onto the fine sand and unloaded our supplies.  The sandbar had plenty of debris ranging from logs and twisted branches to lost artifacts of the people who once lived in this new land.

Knowing we needed light and protection from the night, we gathered rocks and dug a pit in the sand.  The logs and branches made for an excellent fire and a warm meal.  My friend’s dad setup his tent and climbed inside to recharge for the next day.  The rest of us knew it was far too dangerous to go to sleep without a watch.  Anything might take advantage of our weakness and overrun the camp.  Therefore, we took it in turn to keep a watch through the dark hours of the night.  We had our survival knives and were prepared.

While two of us should have gone immediately to sleep, the threat of the night and the captivating dancing of the fire, with its rich and powerful smell, kept us from turning in immediately.  So, we shared the first part of the watch, each taking position in different parts of the campsite to look for trouble.

Unfortunately, we had not anticipated the extent of the effort to make it that far into enemy lands and we all grew sleepy.  The two of us on the later watches settled down to sleep.  The trouble was, our third could not hold off the enticing call of sleep and never woke the others of us for our turn.  So the camp sat unguarded and unprotected as the fire slowly burned down to a pile of embers that finally died away.

Now you might wonder if those water dwellers crawled out from the depths of that muddy river and gorged themselves on our entrails.  Or perhaps some flying beast carried one or more of us away.  It was definitely a possibility, but our luck held through the night and we woke with the morning light.  (Though I am sure there were wing marks and claw prints of some large flying lizard that had inspected the camp as we slumbered.)

That day was filled with paddling, races, swimming, and before we reach the end of the journey, sunburns and limbs that ached from the abuse of paddling those heavy metal crafts down the river.  At the journey’s end, my friends mother, perhaps psychic, since this was before cell phones were prevalent, was waiting with the car.  Half starved, we loaded our faithful transports that had carried us through unknown lands, and then headed home into the fading sun.

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Spectrum Fantastic Art Live, 2014

Living in the Kansas City area, I have heard about Spectrum Fantastic Art Live over the last couple of year, but had not attended.  It was always one of those things I had wanted to do, but I just did not make the time.  This year I decided to go and I am very glad I did.  For anyone living in the Kansas City area, it is a great opportunity to meet and talk with some very wonderful artists.  There are many big names in attendance and you’ll recognize images from popular books, magazines, and games.  There are also many up and coming artists, whose work is just as good.

In addition to talking with many people, I made several purchases.  (I have two serious weaknesses: one, I buy more books than I can read; two, I love fantasy art.)  The prices at the show are reasonable and I like being able to giving the money directly to the artist as well as get everything signed while hearing about the process the artists went through in making the work.

If you are in the area, I seriously recommend stopping by on Sunday (11 May 2014).  Take mom out for Mother’s Day and tempt her with some excellent art!  I will be making this an annual event for myself.

Here are links to some of the things I bought today:

Dan Dos Santos:

Dan was great to talk with and he has free wallpaper and tutorials on his site.  I would have bought more from him, but I only have so much wall space.  I know I will get more later!  Definitely check out his site and if you get a chance to met him, talk to him a while.  He is into the art as much as anyone else there and he was interested in what I had already purchased as he planned to go check in with some of those artists.

 

 

Dave Dorman

Dave is from Chicago and I spoke with him a bit about the Con’s in his home town.  I’m looking forward to dropping in later this year in hopes to catch him there.  For the “Pi” print, I got number 2 of 10.

 

Mark Poole

I initially spoke with Mark’s Daughter, who was kind enough to set aside these two prints for me and I am glad she did; otherwise they would have been gone by the time I made my first round though the floor.  When I went back later, I spoke with Mark for a while and he suggested a couple of Con’s where writers do very well.  I can see more road trips in my future (and more of Mark’s art work on my walls.)

 

 

Crystal Sully Illustration

Crystal has several very good pieces.  I liked the battered look of Sandor Clegane.

 

 Steve Argyle

I talked with Steve for a while (we even talked about studying chemistry; he didn’t like org quite as much as I did).  However, I am glad he ended up working with computers and graphic art.  He has a large number of pieces I could have bought, but I ended up with Chandra MIXI Avatar.

 

And there were many, many other artist that I would have loved to purchase something from.  Check out the List of Exhibitors and if you can stop in on Sunday, make the effort.  Otherwise, look for Spectrum next year.  It is definitely something not to miss.

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A New Place to Purchase My Books – Elite Comics

I wanted to let everyone know that Elite Comics (one of the comic book shops that puts on Planet Comicon) is now stocking the Heirs of Cothel Series (Mother’s Curse, Daughter’s Justice, and Daughter’s Revenge).  Stop in some time to check out what they have.  They are at 11842 Quivira in Overland Park, KS.

Everyone there is great and next Saturday (3 My 2014) is free comic book day.  They always have a big event and while I’m not a featured person for the day, I plan to stop by at some point. (I’ll try to tweet/post to Facebook when I am there.)

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Stories Without a Point – It’s Cold

In honor of the twenty degree weather expected to start tax day (I’m writing this on the 14th) I thought I would relay a story of being cold.  I can honestly say I have been quite cold many times in my life.  When I was younger, I had a paper route and I trudged through snow, rain, and the blistering sun to deliver papers.  (Just a side note, I do not recommend trying to ride your bike through a foot of snow, it is a lot more work than walking, trust me.)

One thing carrying newspapers taught me was that at a certain point, you can ignore the cold and embrace it.  It is pretty much a mental exercise, but when lugging papers through the biting wind, I could convince myself that while I was really cold, it didn’t matter and I would just “embrace” the cold and somehow I felt a little less miserable and less cold.  That little trick helped get me through a couple of winters, but not through my two coldest days.

Those days of carrying the newspaper through the snow until after the sun was below the horizon were not the coldest moments in my life.  The second coldest I ever found myself was when I tried to walk home from a basketball game in a pair of sweatpants in the winter.  Those baggy cotton pants offer almost no protection from the wind.  And standing behind a telephone pole (even when you were a skinny kid) doesn’t help that much.  I managed to make it the two miles home, but regretted the decision the whole way.

The coldest I ever found myself was when I was out playing with a friend and exploring the woods near his house.  I was only somewhat familiar with these wood, as they were not my normal haunts.  My prior experiences with these woods was mostly with another friend.  He would take us along the stream that cut a winding path through the trees and convince those of us with him to jump off the ten foot high cliffs that the stream had worn into the landscape.  By convince, it was either you jumped on your own or he’d throw you off.  I was never thrown.

Well, this cold day of exploration (without the jump inducing friend) took us on a wild trek.  We dodged villains who were chasing us through the trees, now all devoid of their leaves.  We pursued tracks through valleys and over hills (mostly our own).  There was snow on everything, though the dense trees had offered some protection and only a few inches covered the soft ground.  The stream, normally not more than a couple of feet deep in the bends that ran under the loose dirt cliffs, was frozen with a foot of ice.

The wind had cleared most of the stream of the snow, leaving a clear window into the gravely bed below the solid water.  Our boots made decent, though not very effective, skates on the slick surface.  We had run around for an uncounted amount of time, safe from the prying eyes of anyone nearby.  For these woods were many, many acres in size and you could walk a couple of miles in some directions before coming across a road.

One of the beauties of these woods was a place dubbed “Angle Falls”.  It was less than twenty feet across and only a couple of feet high, though the pool of water directly below

Niagara Falls, winter 2008

the falls was a couple of feet deep.  The edges of the pool was a nice loose sand that if you were not careful, your boots would sink deep into the shifting ground, usually leaving the footwear behind when you pulled your foot out.  That is, when the ground was not frozen solid.

This day the falls were frozen over and while we could see a trickle of water running under parts of the ice, the surface was solid.  However, the falls offered some protection from the wind and snow had piled up in places.  It was in this snow-covered area where I learned a valuable lesson when it came to snow, ice, and moving water.  As well as one about remembering where the sandy edge of the pool actually ended.

For those who are interested, the snow acts as an insulator and keeps the ice from freezing as solidly as it otherwise might.  Throw in moving water, and suddenly gravity does the rest.  My right foot broke through the ice and took a plunge into the frigid water.

It was like lightning running through my leg.  I yanked my foot out and found the nearest place to sit.  My rubber boot, which had done a great job of keeping the snow out, was full of water.  The boot and the wool liner came off my foot in a flash and my dripping sock stretched as I tugged it from my foot.  It hurt..a lot.  I managed to rub some life back into my toes, but the cold air wasn’t helping.

After my friend rung out my sock and drained my boot, I had no choice but to put them back on.  The ground was covered in snow and we were at least a mile or more from his house.  I hobbled along, trying to move fast, but my foot ached with every step.  I had to stop and take my boot off a couple more times to try to give some warm to my toes.  I just kept seeing his toasty living room everywhere I looked, superimposed over the bleakness of the barren woods.

I am not really sure how I made it back to his house.  I remember every step was agony, but somehow we made it.  I got my foot warm (which warming it up after being that cold hurt as well).  No serious damage, just life being kind and a teaching a lesson.  I was lucky.

After that, I would like to say I learned to say away from cold water, but I’ve been in Lake Superior in May, so not sure if I have or not (it was a very warm May and I was not in the Lake for long).  I can say, it makes me appreciate what my characters would go through in the frozen mountains (and makes me envy the ones that can warm themselves with magic).

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