There is good news this holiday~

In this chaos of noise within the shop - where thousands of pages are saved, but never looked up - I ponder at the great cog endlessly dropping the hourglass's sand. And realize that I should've just went to bed instead.


It is an odd thing for a lot of us tinkering writers, where midnight moments form the best timing.  Timing for what?  The timing concerns writing and their odd inspirations.  I am not sure why the witching hour seems to prominent in these moments of expression.  Perhaps it has to do with the complete stillness of the rest of the house, the right lack of energy or the complete data dump of the day's activites turning into experienced memories which then flop through the mental filters that churn the inspiration machine.  


I know not.


That aside there is some good news.
Character descriptions have become clearer and more formalized.  The first chapter is finally up on the Ernest Blog.  Right now readers are most likely feeling a bit like they're being dragged by a hand covered in fishing hooks.  If they weren't turned away by the first filter - ahem - I mean the prologue, then they will be getting some nice experience and just a drop of action suspense with the first chapter.  


For those starving in anticipation for setting details and just some form of grounding as to what in the world am I devoting my time to here, fear not.  We're getting there.  Actually working around getting to it shortly.  Chapter two should have what you're looking for.  


I do hope readers will enjoy the conversations between the characters as they go.  The fun is always in those little conversations where the person does something utterly unexpected.  Without those moments, life would be boring and there wouldn't be any adventure. 


It is Christmas TIME you know.  Some moment of holiday cheer should be written in Ink I imagine...  Well since there's little here except for figurative ink and paper I believe the least I can do is give a bit of a show...  So here we go.  A Holiday Time gift.  

- * -

"What's this Love, a gift?  For me?"
"Oh it's just a little something."


He took the package gently in his gauntlet covered grasp.  Ever so carefully he drew his finger across the wrapping, slicing through the thin protection to get at the box beneath.  Deft fingers peeled away the lid to allow their owner to gasp in pleasure.  


"Oh you shouldn't have Love, what a magnificent pen."

He lifted the instrument from its velvet bed.  Gilded in bronze engravings the pen glowed in the afternoon light.  Pale snowflakes melted on its metal surface.  The water trickled into the surface, revealing the nymphs in relief.  


Standing up from the tea table, Pensmith spun the instrument then flicked.  At once ink spurted out at his command - whorls decorating the air.  A figure eight.  A representation of of liberty in imagery.  A flock of ravens.  He called the ink back and sat down while she clapped at the show. 

"Thank you again love, though I feel now compelled to give something in return."
"Oh you know the tea and company are all I need," she replied in that expectant sort of way recent gift givers speak.  
"Well I do have some news to share."
The witch's lips perked just enough for Pensmith to see that he had her attention. 
"And that news involves Lanval." 
"Oh that other Handsome Knight?"


She was already gone in the eyes.


"Yes yes, the barber.  He recently got into it with another Gentleman.  Who?  Who indeed... I think it was Hoover.  Yes the one with the handlebar mustache.  Did they fight?  Hahaha OF COURSE they did.  This is what happened..."

- * - 

On the wind swept precipice of the dark cliff, Lanval the guy who everyone mistakes for a girl, stood watch at the approaching army of darkness.  It was late in the day, the sun was going to lose as always.  Pushing back a lock of hair, Lanval turned to one of his journeying companions.  He long accepted the fact that what he considers a week ago [it is so hard to keep track of time here], he was just a simple barber.  A barber in just your average superstructure city on a planet far away from Earth and its descendants.  He was enjoying his simple life of styling people's hair after his favorite characters, taking no part in the latest excuse the nation used to get into war with their old rivals.  They were always looking for a reason to take out those world-ender robots.  Anyways.  Barber.  Science fiction boy's dream city.  Somewhere far away from Earth though sadly still in the same galaxy.  Simple life.  No longer simple as he was dragged into a life of adventuring.  

One of his clients was running away from Agents.  That was interesting enough.  Ever since Agents began to work for the Publisher Nobles and their Houses instead of Writers, anyone running away from them had to either be very gifted or desperate to leave.  It seemed his client was both.  

"It was a good thing I sharpened my scissors that day..."

"Did you say something Lass?  It's my turn to stand watch."

"I'm a man Noodle-Maker.  How many times do I have to remind you?"

"Sorry, from behind you really do look like a woman.  And call me Chef.  Please.  Noodle-Maker is such a hassle.  It's not like we're back home."

Lanval bowed in apology and gave Chef some room to watch the sunset.  

"I was just thinking about the day our lives were changed."

"You mean when we were dragged from complacent existence, grabbed by the throat by this cute girl with a cellphone calling herself Fate, and then thrown into a bubbling pit of water to drown ourselves into a new and fascinating world far away which only now leaves us stranded in a forest filled with hostile monsters from children stories warped by dark gods and with only Hoover as our guide?  Not to mention the fact that I swear one of our number is a cannibal which leaves us with one less party member...  Ever since that pasty looking guy, Phil got eaten."

"I still think that it was a wild beast.  The guy was practically covered in pastry dough.  He was a pastry chef after all.  And no I was referring to just that first day.  Not the week that followed, but thank you for the abstract recap."

They watched as the cold air clawed the warmth from their breaths, turning it into fog.  The Sun was throwing its last rays of light into the sky.

"Have you seen the girl since?" Chef asked.  He pulled out a sammich, but Lanval politely refused. 

"You mean Fate?  Or the watery looking girl."

"Yeah the second one."

"No.  I haven't seen her since we all gathered together at the water pool.  She was in tears about not having that sword we were told to pick up.  Something about going ahead of time to check and make sure the place was clear... She was afraid about monsters being there so she swung the blade through the water's surface.  Some young guy with metal around his head grabbed the sword, said thanks, and rowed away.  Proclaiming her to be the Lady of the Lake or something.  Some old guy on the shore hurried the guy along and they ran for it despite her cries for them to stop."

"For some reason I think I should've heard this one somewhere."

"Like in a fairy tale?"

"Yeah."

They could smell burning from the campfire. 

"That isn't wood." Lanval remarked after a whiff. 

"No.  That's dinner.  I'll go see what they're doing to it."

This time an older gentleman took Chef's place at the cliff.  He was covered from head to foot in armor that glowed despite the dying light.  His handlebar mustache was magnificent.  Even if there was a possibility - however remote - that a single hair was out of place, his wax covered fingers would keep things in line.  Lanval wondered how any of the hair is still there with twisting and tugging. 

"I have come to ask you a question, Sir Lanval.  IF you are Indeed a SIR at all."

"Go ahead Hoover."

"Why must your armor look so Feminine. It's so distracting."
"Why must your armor look like an Old Geezer with a handle bar mustache."
"DO NOT INSULT THE 'STACHE THIS IS TRADITIONAL MANLINESS!"
"BRING IT ON! LET US DRAW BLADES AND ENTER INTO GLORIOUS COMBAT!"

Let's rewind things for a second here.  Hoover, being a local in this realm of fantasy, has notions.  Those notions include forms of manliness which are taken very seriously in these parts.  They are not limited to, but include muscles in armor, flexing your real muscles underneath, and having exquisite mustaches.  Lanval is none of these.  In fact his normal clothing was shredded and all they had were a mass of enemy belts with which to make some form of clothing with.  That was how they originally figured out that they were in a fantasy realm in the first place.  There were a lot of belts.  Lots of buckles.  No dragons yet spotted.  

Lanval has always suffered from a rather womanly appearance.  Fair skin.  Angular face.  Long thick hair.  Lightly toned, lithe body.  Fine hands.  With only belts to work with till they got to the first armor smith, the poor barber suffered spoiling hot afternoons and freezing evenings.  The armor smith thinking that Lanval was a scantily clad female adventurer in the party, produced armor to match that image.  After being beat up by Lanval, twice, he remedied the original [hardly anything] armor and came out with what Lanval is wearing now.  A perfect example of fantasy influenced full-plate.  Complete with chainmail skirt at the hips to protect those internal joints, a fancy tabard that tails between the legs, flutes to add to a winged image that goes with his wing accented helm - and of course a heavily armored bust area.  And hips.  The spitting image of -

Well.  You get the idea.  

Now where were we...

"..Let us enter into GLORIOUS COMBAT!" 

"It is good to hear you pick up our culture so quickly! TO ARMS VILLAIN!"

Hoover pulled out his long sword while Lanval pulled out a rather large block of metal that looked like two bars folded over each other. 

"Hah! Do you not even have a sword to-"

He swung one end with a flick, causing one metal bar to swing out and pull out blades that were hidden within.  After a nice click the device revealed itself in the shape of a large pair of scissors.  They were more like tree shears.  

Snip Snip Snip.

Hoover's sword was sheared into three shorter bits.   The screams soon began.

"You devil!"

Snip.

"You demon!"

Snip.

"I take it back, you're a man, just stop cutting into my armor-"

Snip.

"M-M-My.. 'Stache ..  Uaah.."

WINNER

K.O.

The rest of the party gathered just as Hoover fainted.  In his hand were several strands.  All that remained of his precious manhood in facial hair form.  

"Oh now you've done it Barber."  

"Lanval.  Dinner's burned and now... Is our only Guide dead?"

"No Chef, he's just experiencing some culture shock."

A party member covered in smoke and coughing came up to the remains of Hoover.  Prodding the ruined armor with a charred stick he grinned. 

"So we still have anything to eat?"

Chef frowned and snapped the stick away.

"No Butcher.  Nothing except nightmare juice and howling screams of man eating creatures."

- * -

"I'm sorry my Love, that is all I have at the moment.  I will be stopping by that war torn world next to do some story trading.  Yes the one with the airships and romantic steam engines.  I'll get more for you on Lanval later.  Hoover is fine.  They haven't eaten that sardine yet."

Pensmith brushed off the snow from the glass tea table and looked at the sky through the pine tree's branches.  

"Yes it will be time to get to work soon.  Safe journey to you.  Oh."

He took a sip of the hot chocolate.

"And say hello to Jack for me.  Merry Christmas."

Progress is Progress

We shall meet once a year.
When the sky has spilled its pearls.
And there it will rain on that cliff refrain.
The year's suspense cultivated to that moment of bliss.
We will meet once a year. Like this.

Hmm well progress is progress no matter how small it may be.  Hashed out a logo, been working on a manuscript, narrowed down some of the projects...  Got the About me/us pages up for this and the ernest demon blog.  I also went through a few things for college classes and I was informed that I might be able to complete my degree with CLEP's.  I'll be looking into CLEP's and DANTE's that may help me with business ^^;;.  

New games are coming out.  Old games still yet to be played.  Books and manga on the pile.  Anime to watch.  The list of things on the side to do are long.  

Currently working on the next segment for the ernest demon blog.  Ran a few ideas with the suicidal zombie and we're better understanding where we want to go with the story.  Also working on manuscript... Unlike last year I hope to complete this one soon and send it off...  We'll see what happens.

The weather is getting colder.  It's hard to do wood projects outside so I'm slowing down on those projects x.x  A few interesting movies coming out this month.  Might go out to watch some.  Have any that interest you?  

Heh well back to work for me.  

Small update complete.

Welcome to the Workshop.

"There is an island of cats somewhere lost to mankind in the desolate sea of dreams, where I am welcomed and treated like their kings." - Wistful Traveler's murmuring. 

My wistful mer's aside, thank you for stopping by my workshop.  Right now there's not much here except for an empty cyberspace room, the first post and this cracked mug.  It's a start.  

Ah, first let's do introductions.  My name is Daniel *bows, nods and does the digital handshake*.  I can be found on facebook, but for right now I don't have a separate account properly setup and wish to keep the current account narrowed to friends only.  In due time, once this shop is set up properly then all sorts of wonderful web-tools will make this whole experience better.  Why, there will be updates to feed your digital devices.  Information to spend your time on [especially those uneventful lulls in the day].  Things will look nicer, and those page tabs will be filled with something I assure you. 

Hmmm... more about me? Well there'll be time for that.  

Let's see... This blog is part of a series of projects to come.  It will be filled with short stories and perhaps updates if future web devices like Twitter aren't sufficient for that cause...  For now, construction.  

All this, it sounds a bit aimless and directionless, let's try to focus
*fingers to temples*. 

Ah.  

For now I guess I'll talk about the other blog also under construction... Why multiple blogs Dan? Why?  Fufufu...  

Mysterious chuckling and chin cupping aside, this blog is basically my personal page.  It will hold up a list of the projects that I am working on along with access to it.  As for what those projects are?  Well stories.  I am a writer.  I may not have million dollar best seller lists under my name, but we all have to start somewhere.  I have been working on my writing art for several years now.  Though these technologies have been about for quite some time, I have only recently focused my mind towards their use seriously.  There is a simple reason for this.  

I had to make my writing worth reading.

Sounds simple enough right?  To be able to make stuff worth reading, one must do much research and practice.  And so here I am.  Finally confident enough in my skills to share with an audience greater in number then the characters in my head.  And there are plenty of those.  Plenty. 

Small steps lead to a journey and feet worn; well traveled.  There's plenty of other ways to rewrite and reword such phrases.  The message still finds its use here.  

First is the setup of this blog, and another specific blog between me and one of my fellow co-writers and personal friend.  I am not so sure if he wants his normal name out yet, though he's had a blog for a while that sported his name.  For now I'll just call him the Suicidal Zombie.  You can call me Pensmith.  I believe this pen-name is easier to handle then my actual last name.  And what would that be?  Oh you curious reader.  Denied! For now.  Moving on.

The other blog is ernestdemon and you can find it on blogger.  The title for the blog is "The Bleeding Locker and Last Night's Homework."  

What's with the long and drawn out name?  Well it has many meanings and like some mystic I'm going to wave my fingers and look into the distance and say, "You will understand, soon."  

At the Ernest Demon blog we will be working on a series of short stories.  Consider it like a web novel if you wish.  The goal is to create snippets of literature enjoyment which can be consumed easily by the average reader.  Through this, we will have some form of credentials.  Of sorts.  It's easy to say, "I'm a writer." when you meet people.  But when there's no way to really give proof, because you've been working on a series of manuscripts over the years trying to correct your skills and craft your stories - well.  It's just awkward.

A web novel of sorts.  We will be creating content along with developing the blog and figuring out all the other little web technology tools on our way.  We hope to reach out to others who have an internet presence.  We hope that we won't starve to death as we work on our dreams.  In the mean time, please enjoy what snippets we can give out before the actual 'launch'.  Please be exceptionally patient and earnest, expectant, interested.  

Well this little moment of procrastination is over. 
Thanks for your time~
Hope that you'll return when things are properly set up.

Our ultimate goal in the end is for our work to be...  A good read.

- Pensmith

P.S.  List of small steps to do:
Work on character list for Ernest Demon
Work on 'About Us'
Work on project list and descriptions
Work on Logo
Work on next Draft for Ernest Demon
Work on the Blog [I think I left that wrench around here somewhere...]

Rocketeer. Make Dreams in the Atmosphere.

"I saw what no one else would see.  I saw it like the sea above the cloudy sky.  I saw it like stars in the day.  I saw what no one else would see.  Life down here was nothing in comparison.  I have to fly.  No matter how short my flight.  I have to fly."

-

"You listening to what I'm saying?"

Another angry voice.  A voice of concern, disbelief.  They were so much drumming on the ears.  The weight may become a problem.  Need to re-angle the fins.  The last clamp became stuck.  The new ratio for fuel should be...

"Hey!"

Blink.


He looked up from his inner thoughts and stared at the source of the voice.  Another elder of the town here to say their coin's worth.  The full attention lasted only for a brief moment as the person said the same thing others before said.  Then the eyes became so distant inward.  Closing out the static.  Have to focus.

The bell rang.

The day was done.

He got out of his seat.  Third row, third column, on the right.

Possessions gathered.  Home.  The real day begins after the bell.

"Hey, it's Rocketeer!  Hey Rocket Man, you know that Rockets can't get you to fly!  Hahaha, hey man you're going to crash and burn! You still serious about that? Hey, I'm talking-"

There was the meeting with the others.  Those who had given up trying to convince him from his path.  Rocketeer's team were a reluctant bunch.  All of them trying to figure out how his contraption would work.  All of them trying to make sure he would survive.

"How was the model?" One of them asked in the cramped house room.  Forgotten studies buried under complicated texts.
"It crashed and burned." He replied.
They were disappointed.  But it wasn't the first time.
"But at least," he continued, "It got off the ground a few seconds longer."
A cheer.  It would be a long night.

-

A lot of time passed.  The smaller models were spent.  Their time passed.  Some people lost faith.  Others moved on.  Those who still didn't see, continued to express their disbelief.  Rocketeer continued his endless pursuit.  One wrench turn at a time.

Sigh...

Whenever I need to keep my own faith burning...

I see that horizon.  That endless sea in the sky.  I see it with my own eyes.  Just like that day.  That figure in the sky. 
I have to fly.  No matter how short my flight.  This will be my life.

-

Now he worked in silence.  Almost as if forgotten.  The work is near complete.  Some still came to watch him work; as if he were a town attraction.  But he never said a word, just measured and hammered and bolted and welded.  He worked.  As if he were a force of nature.

-

The sun was hot.  The skies have been blue with spotted clouds.  He could feel it, the energy came with that sensation.  He could feel that it was almost time.  Wiping away summer sweat, he smiled and adjusted another piece.  The grass waved in the warm breeze.  He drank some water.  It was a good day.

-

A phone call.

"Hey I know it's been a while, but it's time.  I need you to bring it."

The friend came later that night and entered the garage.  Under his arm was a wrapped package.  His eyes gazed at the project.

"You finally finished it." He said.  A mix of pride and inspiration in his voice.

"No." Rocketeer replied, "Not quite.  It still needs that finishing touch."

The friend smiled and together they unwrapped the package.  It was a design the group had originally made.  Carefully with smooth strokes, they put it on...  the device's name now proudly displayed.

"I never knew what the group wanted to call it." He said.

"We decided to name it after you.  It seemed that this became you so it was only fitting."

Rocketeer stood out in black font.

"Now it's ready.  The flight is tomorrow.  Will you be there?"

"Yes.  Of course."

-

The final day came.  Though it was short notice the old group came together to see the dream finally realized.  Rocketeer was busy with the prep.  There was no large crowd.  Everyone has their lives to live.  This moment wasn't for them.

"Do you think it will work?" One of them asked.

Rocketeer spoke the first time that day.

"It has to work.  I have to fly."

The final project was a beast.  It took all morning to pull out the ramp components.  A long launch ramp went on longer than an air strip.  A gentle curve pointed towards the heavens.  His skywing shone in the sunlight before the humble home garage.  The front was like a bird.  Its bullet like front trailing a graceful neck and connecting to a body of wings, even segments like feathers.  A chair sat on the back.  Then behind the skywing, was the numerous rockets.  He just finished connecting and fueling the largest one, the initiator.  The compression sling for the ramp was reaching the required pressure.

One of the group nearly forgot.

"Hey Rocketeer!"
He turned.

"Don't forget, eye protection!"

He took the offered visor and put it across his eyes.  The moon shone in the day sky from behind a cloud.  It shone its light on the figure of the Rocketeer.  The clouds broke in silent chorus when he looked towards the sky.  The stairways to the heavens - how bright they shine.

Rocketeer took his seat.

"This is my life.  No matter how short my flight.  I have to fly."

The ramp sling was engaged.  Steam compression released in a violent roar, lunging the skywing forward.  The starting rocket engaged shaking the ground. Air became thick like a wall, gripping at his face and hair. Smoke and flames from his back. The skywing shot up the ramp and into the sky. The garage and viewers became small. He didn't look back.
In the midst of the day, there was a roar.  Like the wings of a goddess a silver stream crossed the sky.  In its wake was the streak of cloud and a shower of parts.

-

Every muscle shuddered from the force.  The air became like cold knives, clawing at his exposed skin.  His jacket felt thin.  His breath was hard, but he forced it steady.  Slowly his heart beat.  Each strong pulse keeping him focused.
Rocketeer's time was measured in pulses.

Pulses and spent rockets.

First primary disengaged cleanly.  They should land in an empty district.  Weight decreased.  Next primaries already engaged will be spent in a few seconds. Break in... 3...2...1... Break.


His hand fought against the increased gravity forces and pulled at the switch.  An audible thunk told him that the spent rockets in this phase fell off cleanly.  His mind was already counting down the next series.  The craft kept getting lighter, but the fuel would have to keep him moving forward.

And up.

He could see the clouds.  If he lifted his arm against the straining wind, he could touch a few.  Close, but not high enough.  He started the fourth series for extra power.  Each time something could go wrong.  They could refuse to start at the same time, which would have thrown him into a terrible spin.  Each time a series started, he could be sent crashing to the ground.  Each switch brought him closer.

Rocketeer broke the cloud layer.  He could already feel the forces slowing down.  The air was much thinner.  His breath came off as steam.  His body creating its own streams of soft white to add to the trail.  The sun's light blazed across the islands of white shooting past.  Little blurs of fuzzy stars could be seen, just waking to the twilight of the evening.  The moon at his back.  Like a hand pushing him forward.

It was time.

"Let's fly."

Spent rocket canisters fell away, but he didn't look at that.  Straight ahead.  Looking at the distant blue horizon.  That sea in the sky which he dreamed.  Sea of clouds, ocean in the sky.  Looking at the sky above the sky.  Seeing again what he saw that day.  Seeing what no one else saw, but can now see through him.  This other world, his own eyes.

Fly... Fly... Up up here we go.


The flight wouldn't last long.  He knew.

Sputter shakesputter.


The final rockets were breaking away from his skywing.  The massive trail of power now diminished, leaving only his lonely craft in the cloud dotted sky.  He waited.  That breath was so long.  Air so thin.  Another world, space touched with an outstretched hand.  Like taking a kiss, eyes closed so briefly.  He stood up and embraced it.
On the silver wings he stood.

Tug.

He pulled hard on the control cords.  The wires strained.

Pop. Pop.


The last parts finally broke off.  The wings extended.  With a snap the fabric picked up the wind.

Sudden lift.

He guided the skywing with gentle tugs at the wired handles.

Whistling air with the rise.
Gliding in the ocean of air.
Sailing those cloudy seas.
Up up in the sky.
Rocketeer flies.

"No matter how short my flight.  I must fly.  This is my life."

Inspirations for this writing - Escaflowne, Cid from FF7, and Rocketeer by Far East Movement feat Ryan Teddar

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yk1oIrQnBzw
Image owned by respective owners.

Originally created then posted on Facebook 11/3/2010.