Works in Progress
Welcome to my notepad. Here is where I will occasionally put stories, images, and poetry that I am in the process of creating. Please feel free to send me comments or suggestions on any of these pieces that catch your fancy.
"Ol' Jim"
As I dismounted from the old sorrell that had been my home for the last three days I nodded at Old Jim Brewster. Nobody really knew how old Jim was but everybody called him old due to the fact that no one could remember a time when he hadn't been sitting on that same split rail bench in front of the trading post.
"Earl Weston put up a windmill on his roof last week. He has the darned thing connected to fans hung from the ceiling at both ends of the big house. Terrible how folks is always messin' with nature." That was Old Jim all right. I never had known him to say either hello or goodbye.
"Battles"
It is not that I am too old or weak to lead armies. It is that there are no armies left to lead.
If that meant there were not battles and deaths it would not bother me so. But only wars, which have noble causes, are gone. The battles rage on in senseless strife. Life lost without a cause is truly wasted, its value cast upon the smoke of greed and hate.
How I long for armies! And wars waged, not to devalue life, but to raise its value by winning gain for all. How I dream of the dark ages of myth, when enlightened men bedecked in dazzling livery sought out to vanquish the true darkness of greed, stupidity, and hate. But alas my dreams are as fairy dust in a tornado.
Modern, enlightened, educated man does not meet his enemy on the field of honor, or any other field. He snipes from hiding, quickly before he can think through his actions. Thought is of no import to the murderer. He does not even seek out his true enemy choosing to kill indiscriminately in mass terror believing somehow all who fall victim deserve the justice he has dispensed.
"Fantasy"
"Ooh, what did I have to drink last night? Feels like my brain's full of lead." Wait a minute, I wasn't drinking last night. I was... where was I? More importantly where am I?
The room was bare stone, the walls unadorned by hangings, pictures, or windows. Light entered the room through a covered recess in the stone ceiling. [Note: Later it will be revealed that the light comes from the side of the opening and is sun or moon light that is funneled by reflective surfaces from one of several roof vents that seem to track the light. Each vent serves several rooms.]
{Story outline: Arthur "Art" Wiseman, a college graduate with varied interests, wakes to find himself in a totally anachronistic world. While much of this world parallels earth there is enough change to keep him doubting what he knows. The language is English but the writing resembles cuneiform and the system of measurement is base ten with different terms. The people only use one name which causes him to be called "Artwiseman" causing him to be thought a scholar. The trade of scholar is alternately revered and reviled depending upon location and is complicated by the fact that he can not read or write the common language.}
The room was furnished in a most puzzling manner. The bed and two sitting areas appeared to be made of stone worn smooth and cushions of plain cloth stuffed sufferable thin. The dresser, chest, and table were made of finely handcrafted wood, ornately stained and inlaid.
Questions.
1. How did Art get there?
2. What is his goal?
3. Does he get home at the end?
4. Does he have a love interest?)
Oh wise man, surely we must seek out magicians and wizards to end our quest?
"There can be no magicians or wizards as there is no magic. What you assume is magical is merely belief without understanding. But if there are those that profess to possess this magic they must have knowledge of what I am seeking. Therefor let us seek them out indeed."
"I wonder. Do you not cry out because of the pain that would follow or because you can not? Truly, however, it matters not as your voice will not always be such and I choose not to wonder as to what you will say in days hence. Therefor I must concern myself with your wishes more than my own."
"What if they are but one wish?" I heard her voice as clearly as if she had moved her lips. Could this be telepathy? Could she read thoughts as well? If so you are probably reading this now are you not? She made no move to reply.
"So you can not read men's thoughts but you can put yours into their minds."
"I do not know if my thoughts reach men's minds or their ears. I only know that I can make myself heard when my voice is not willing." I wondered if she was truly isolated to sending or simply had not trained herself to receive.
{Is this female a companion, a servant, or just a fellow traveler?)
Names of Cities or Kingdoms
Aremis
Gulliver
Names of Characters
Artwiseman - lead character
Sheanna - first female
[Develop symbolic alphabet from WordPerfect character sets for use in displaying native words. Artwiseman will break alphabet like solving a cryptogram. Should numbers be straight substitution as well?]
"Healer"
Dr. Henri Sauk was a vagueness in a time of exactitude. In a galaxy where everyone had a narrowly defined specialty, he was a general practitioner of an almost forgotten art - healing. This was evidenced in everything he did including the fact that he was he only one still using the term "Doctor" in identifying himself. While others proudly pronounced themselves nucleotide enrichment engineers and spectral balancing technicians Henri merely healed people.
"The Problem"
Many people have said that I should be an author!
The problem is that I have no story to tell. My life is just a series of scenes. The actors, having said their lines, leave the stage. The lights go dark. Stage hands shuffle to and fro making miracles in the darkness. The lights come up. A new scene starts, sometimes with familiar characters steadfastly maintaining their roles; sometimes with an entirely new cast. But always the background music is hauntingly familiar.
