Fun Fact: Celebrimbor forged the three Elven rings, Narya, Nenya, and Vilya; He also designed the Doors of Durin--the doors to Khazadum--that would be the Mines of Moria for those of you who have lives beyond Middle Earth and The Lord of the Rings (Khazad-dum for the raging purists who do not have a life outside of Tolkien's creation) which bear the stars of the seven sons of Feanor. That's fitting, as Celebrimbor was the last in the line of the House of Feanor.
I may wax dull and tiresome (including some witticisms no doubt less amusing than I think they are) about the three Elven rings at a later day. For now, I'm interested in the similarities between Celembrimbor and Mintawkana, a legendary character from my Tomahawks and Dragon Fire fantasy series. Both individuals were skilled, talented, and selfless, and their actions are relevant to the epic adventures which follow. I had not considered the similarity between the two until today. Mintawkana's story is still growing, so there may be many similarities before the end.
Speaking of the fantasy series--mine rather than Tolkien's--book three, Clamorous Harbingers, is moving right along toward the finish. It's closer than I originally thought as the resolution to an important side adventure will not be resolved until the following book, so that I can dedicate the remainder of book 3 to wrapping up the matter which has been the primary matter of interest since the opening of the story. There were days this week when the story rolled along so well that the words poured forth in a steady stream from the fountain of creation to flow across the page, letting the ink color the pages like gold settling upon the stream bed. I may write the ending now, and then return to the present spot in the adventure to write forward to that climactic finish already
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In other news, none of us have succumbed to the crisis du jour, although the world has nearly shut down around us. I did put the torch to some zombies--weed zombies. The weeds grew up last year (or the year before) when the weather and my time were such that I got behind on spraying. The were huge and dead. It was a pleasure to dispatch them in an infernal blaze.
The Corsican Brothers made a visit. They brought along their parents. The highlights were the barbecued pork ribs and the four-wheeler safari through the jungle that is the west 40. They never grew weary of riding the bumpy trail with its straightaways, sharp turns, and the tall grass and towering plant carcasses within which savage predators could have been lurking, poised to pounce on the unsuspecting adventurer.
"Lurk" is one of those words that sounds a bit primitive, as if it still drips rivulets of primordial soup, and sports saber-like teeth. Merriam-Webster online indicates the first known use of the word was in the 14th century. So it may be somewhat younger than that particular soup.
Speaking of soup, I attempted to read a flintlock fantasy novel this week. I picked it up for free. The GIF above illustrates my experience with the book. The book is written in the present tense, which makes every sentence slap me like that fish in the GIF. Nevertheless, I soldiered on, determined not to be repulsed by the author's poor decision on that matter. Unfortunately, he had erected a glyph of warding to obstruct my path in the form of prolific descriptions of things in which I had no interest and which did not add to the story; a story buried in ambiance is a story to well concealed to interest me. I really wanted to like this book. I was hoping to find an unappreciated, or unknown author whose work I could celebrate, recommend and discuss. I only got five or six short chapters in before the fish to the face became unbearable. I won't give the book title or author name; he has enough problems without my adding to them. Besides, he'll probably sell more books than I will. Honestly, it's much easier to criticize than to praise, but I had hoped to spend my time engaged in the latter rather than the former.
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