I was thinking about Fallout yesterday, which of course leads to all of the wonderful silly things you can do with bunkers and nuclear holocaust.

Imagine a whole bunch of amateur golfers (see: your grandpa or uncle)  are placed in a bunker. They sit around and talk about golf, the driving range, beer, or what have you. They entertain their children with these stories, and those children entertain their children, and after a few generations you have a cult of golf. Well, obviously they’re sealed in a bunker, so they can’t really play a whole lot of golf, so preserving the stories of putting, driving, drinking, and what have you becomes of vital importance.

Eventually the radiation levels decrease to the point that it’s safe to go outside again. The humans emerge and soon discover an abandoned highway, which they follow in the hopes of finding more humans. However, they soon lose hope as a commandment from the Great Golfer appears, written high above the ground, one that had been transgressed by their forefathers, and which had ensured the doom of their planet:

Don’t drink and drive.

—

Also, we made it to VA safely.

I’m sure you’ll be forgiving and understanding when I say I’m not quite in the mood for blogging a yarn today. “Not in the mood” tends to carry negative connotations, but I’m actually feeling great. Just completely unable to focus my attention on a story. A couple things to report:

1. Tristan was supposed to be a one-shot character, but last night I spent about an hour developing world history and a direction for his future adventures. So, it’s no longer up to you guys what happened to him after the story ended — he’s got places to be.

2. I’m leaving tomorrow to go to Virginia for vacation. Also a job interview. So far, everything has been going really well in terms of “me and the wife trying to move across the country,” so I’m pretty confident about getting the job, but I’m still nervous as a horse in a glue factory. I’ll be interviewed by three guys at once. Friday. 10am.

Anyway, I’ll be home sometime next Wednesday evening/night. I should have some time to write while I’m gone, and I’ll try to get some emergency stuff prepped tonight, but if I end up disappearing for a week, don’t be alarmed. It just means I’m celebrating.

Four years ago I was struck with an idea so hard that it caused brain damage and made me think I wanted to be a writer. I think there is some internal bleeding or something, because I still think that’s a good idea, and I’d still like to “do it professionally,” if that even means anything.

Keep reading ‘No More Excuses’

Part 1   Part 2

As his fingers touched the malevolent stone, a hole opened beneath Tristan’s feet. His wishes covered him like armor and slowed his fall until they were able to form a makeshift floor beneath his feet. The red stone hovered in front of his face and expanded into a square as tall as Tristan. He saw himself in the stone’s smoothe surface. A wishstone detached itself from the group and floated near his nose; he touched it. The stone square lit up.

Keep reading ‘The Wishing Well, pt 3′

Tristan floated for several moments before he felt his feet touch something solid. He opened his eyes and saw that he was standing on hundreds of thousands of colored stones, each pulsing with light. The water level dropped blow his eyes, and the luminous play of hues revealed a large stone cavern with rounded walls. The well?

Keep reading ‘The Wishing Well, pt 2′