StanleyWheeler

The trickling began this week.

Words. Those malleable bricks composed of variations of 26 unique elements representing sounds manifested in the English language which itself is spoken with such extraordinary differences around the globe that it's not one language but several. But I digress. And I will do it again, if I please. I do. The digression continues. We place various combinations of letters into words--and then we don't even pronounce some of the letters; or we pronounce them differently even though they are arranged in precisely the same way. What a language! What a rich history! Back to my point, if I had one. I did. I shall begin again taking up after the trickling thought.

Words. Those malleable bricks composed of variations of 26 unique elements representing sounds in the English language began a procession into my newest book this week. Like camels, horses, pilgrims, slaves, and taskmasters with tents and rugs and provisions all bound in colorful rugs and cloths with bright silken ends slithering fluttering upon the breeze, the caravan began its march across the dry, barren expanse of empty pages. I should actually describe this caravan as one consisting of soldiers adorned in bright uniforms; natives with colorful accents upon bronze skin, dark hair, and leather clothing; sailing ships with broad sails stretched above the blue, frost-capped waves; gryphons (or griffins, if you prefer) banking against the azure sky; and feather-winged dragons painting the night sky and landscape with the intense red-orange flame of agony and destruction. Such is the caravan that is trickling its way onto my screen, leaving footprints, tail-drags, hoof-marks, feathery traces, bayonet stabs, tomahawk chops, bloodstains, and ashes in the shapes of those 26 little elements that will unite into tiny word squads, equip themselves with punctuation and rally into regimental sentences, divisional paragraphs, and chapter corps in conquest of the empty space. En avant!

So what I mean to say with this surplusage of verbiage is that book three in the Tomahawks and Dragon Fire series has begun. I'm not holding myself to the thousand words per day standard until I've resolved a few things about how this part of the story is going to get to the end that I've planned. The first book started in short spurts, written five minutes at a time before the full mustering of the might of the keyboard. This one may do so as well.

Just now the muse looks at me like this:

...uncertain whether to give me the secret of the pages balanced upon her knee, to first use the sharp blade in her hand to take an eye as the price of her gift, or merely to open one of my veins so that I'll have ink to match her gown. We shall see how it goes. Maybe it will be a choice between Odin and Van Gogh.

The most pressing matter for you, Dear Reader, is to obtain post haste and to read the prior two books in the series (as well as all of my other books) so that you will be prepared to receive the turbulence, wrath, and promise to be delivered in book 3.

Having started with a ramble upon some minor points of the English language, it's only fitting that I should end with something from Shakespeare. These are both from King Henry VI First Part Act I:

"What! Shall we curse the planets of mishap that plotted thus our glory's overthrow?

Or shall we think the subtle-witted French conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, By magic verses have contriv'd his end?"

"Hark, countrymen! Either renew the fight or tear the lions out of England's coat; renounce your soil, give sheep in lion's stead."

I was looking at these to snip some words to use as the title of book 3. Can you guess which words I consider from each quote?