Thoughts of Dragons

Really, that about sums it up.  I don’t have a lot of time for myself, and most of that time is reserved for taking care of non-work related tasks and the few moments of personal vice I allow myself.  I’ve been dry for a long time. 

Here’s why: I have a problem being random.

Not that the problem is that I am constantly changing things, but the opposite is true.  Spur of the moment is not my favorite flavor.  So when I randomly get the urge to write, I have to set everything else to the side, which usually involves getting out from work and taking care of all my chores and routine.  Then, when I sit down to get the words out, they won’t come unless I’m relaxed.  Games and books relax me, and those take time.  I don’t get to write because routine and comfortable tasks pile up in front of the floodgates. 

That brings me to this project.  You know how at the beginning I said this would be a place to put down my ideas that got in the way of my “more important” writing?  Taking a look back at my entries, I can see my problem.  I picked a couple of story threads and ran with them, not necessarily taking them anywhere right away but with a clear destination in mind.  That isn’t the kind of writing I set out to do with this project.  It’s gotten to the point where when I sit down to post here, I think about posting for Rose or Jack and struggling to come up with something while really wanting to write something else.

It’s like I traded a gilded cage for a platinum cubicle.

Will I continue Jack’s Story, Escape, or any of the others?  Only if I’m not concentrating on them.  Maybe once a month I’ll update the longer stories, while posting more regularly work like my dragon conversations and asides like Another Story and Shattered Sky.  Those were what I was planning to do, little scenes and story seeds that I could get back to later. 

I hate to say it, but declaratory rants like this are really good for my writing habits.  I’ll try to limit these to once a week though, to save you the dramatics.

DI: Well, isn’t that the whole point of a journal anyway?  To write down your feelings? 

Yeah, but I wanted this to be more on the creative side.  If I wanted to puke whiny words anonymously I’d post on MySpace or something.

DI: Don’t think of it like that!  A lot of great writers kept personal journals, and not just for practice.  It’s like breathing after almost drowning; you need to get the bad stuff out before you can fill up with the good stuff.

…

Di: …yeah, I should have thought about that before I wrote it.

… thanks hun.

So maybe she’s right.  Then again that’s nothing new.

Snow: Yeah.  Diamond is ALWAYS right.

…*sigh*

Wiping Anonymous Puke from his mouth,

Cael Tyr.

Softly falling snow

glistens on the scales so bright

A winter dragon

Haiku out of nowhere.  I got not much else.

Or maybe I do.  We'll see.

In passing,

Cael Tyr

I do believe something strange happens during summer.  Every year around this time, the vast inner world I have come to know that lives in my mind and soul becomes closed off for summer maintenance.  So unless my stories have enough steam left to get them through the summer months, I start dragging my creative boots in a mire full of  will-'o-the-wisps that drag my ideas deeper into the unforgiving summer muck and unhealthy looking alligators that lick their chops whenever I start to have second thoughts on a piece of writing.

While stuck in this swamp, I am quick to leap at any opportunity to get out.  That would be fine if this particular bog wasn't born of my own mind and didn't spread with my every step forward.  The paths I take to be gone of this damned swamp are of two kinds.  One is the readily apparent, obvious exits that are pretty much good ideas that deserve to be written down.  The problem is that even though I have this good idea, I'm really still in the swamp, and as soon as I turn down the path it leads into more inspiration sucking mud. 

The other way out is probably even worse.  I just put myself into situations where it doesn't matter that I'm creatively stuck.  Simply put, I stop doing creative stuff.  I play games, watch movies, bum around on the internet, anything but acknowledge that my creative self is starving, dehydrated, and has leeches on his neck.  I think the worst part is that when I'm doing this I'm also enjoying myself.  After a while I begin to question whether or not I want to keep writing.

NOT

ACCEPTABLE.

As soon as I start thinking that is when I really start to feel the despair.  I'm defeating myself by being happy.  I am resigning to an empty existence.  I'm ignoring the stories that make me real, that give me the will to live, the gift that god has seeded me with.  I am letting my dragons down.

TOTALLY

NOT

ACCEPTABLE.

This happens every year.  Is it just a side effect of my chosen profession?  Is this just a really bad version of writer's block?  As I struggle with these ideas, the black and hazy mist of the bog is pierced by a beam of solid white light from the tree line at the edge.  It is my desire to be more than a part time storyteller, to become a master of my craft and an inspiration to others.  Between me and this ray of salvation is the soggiest marshland I've come to yet.  One false step and I'm gone for good.  Yet I am looking forward to it for some reason.  After all, what's the point of an adventure without the danger?

I'm going to get back on track.  It won't be easy and will take more than a simple analogous writing exercise, but I will not give up.

I say that alot, don't I?  I'm either the most unlucky and stubborn individual or just doomed to never go anywhere. 

Just the same, I won't give up.

Cael Tyr.

Jack stood next to the statue, his arms crossed and his eyes closed.  He had meditated on the circumstances for a long while, deciding that many things he had taken as fact were not so.  He believed that his vision had been induced by the dragon saint, but it could never have been so.  His emanations were not present here, at least not in the sense that he was here now.  He may have been here at one time, but now all that was left the was stone likeness, a phantom emanation was all that he sensed. 

He felt as well that his inability to see what was down in the caves did not mean there was nothing down here.  Plenty of magical fields could interfere with his lore sense, some of them impossible to detect without the necessary training.  If it was warded properly, anything could stop him from seeing down here.  At the same time, he had sensed Wren's presence, which was limited to this room.  Things did not add up, and that could only mean that he was missing a piece of the bigger picture. 

The fact that there even was a bigger picture than what was before him caused him worry.

He unfurled his arms, reaching down to his sword and drawing the thin blade.  He pointed his weapon at the stone figure, as though issuing a challenge to the dead saint.  He smirked despite himself, and slashed a wide arc in front of him, as though cutting the air would unveil the secret he was looking for.  The tip of the sword scratched the stone, making a grating screech as steel and rock met.  A barely perceivable cut was traced across the robed chest of the Dragon Saint, who still smiled peacefully in the face of Jack's frustrated antics.

"Tell me why I'm here," he demanded.  "You know my name.  We've never met, and you died before I was born.  How could you know me?  What is it that I can do that you could not have accomplished?"

The statue remained silent.

Jack lowered his sword.  "This is too big for me.  Because my father was involved in some great design and some lord decided to silence him, I lost my home, and now my family is missing.  I don't want to be a part of the bigger picture.  I want to go home to my father, mother, and ... even my big brother.  You want someone to do this?  I'll tell the next fool I see you were looking, because I'll bite my own fingers off before I try to save the world or something else just as crazy."

He sheathed his sword.  "But still ..." he muttered, thinking of the book he found with the scent of cloves.  "I need to know what my father was here for, and how he's tied to this.  He made the book that opened this passage, which means not only was he involved in whatever you wanted, but he wanted me to be a part of it as well.  That makes this plenty difficult, wouldn't you say?"

The statue remained silent.

"If I leave now, I'll never know for sure," he said, crossing his arms again.  "If I find out, there's a good chance I'll lose everything and endanger my friends."  He frowned and sat on the ground, bracing an arm against his leg and resting his head there.  "This is way too big for my head.  I just wanted to tell stories, find my family, and maybe fall in love one day.  If I see you in the afterlife, I'm going to kick you.  In the face.  As hard as I can.  I don't care if I get cast out of heaven for attacking a saint, it will all be worth it."

He sat there for a long time, just glaring at the statue, which remained silent.  He had run out of things to say to the unhelpful and unconcerned image of a benevolent and kindly though deceased holy man.  The bard sighed, glad his animal companions had not bared witness to his minor breakdown.

His sulk was interrupted as Sasha padded into the room from the second passageway, Davie close behind her. 

"We found the wings!" Davie said as he jumped over to Jack.  Sasha proudly displayed the small stone carvings on her back, like she had wrested them from the claws of a demon lord.

"Good job, you two," he said, scratching the soft fur between Davie's ears and standing up to pet Sasha's nose.  "Now, let's see what this puzzle is all about."

BLARGLEHRGLEMEAGLECOUGHHURKLEBLAZZLELUNGBLARF

...sorry about the mess.  I guess I had some bad exposition for lunch.

All kidding aside, I've noted some discrepancies between my older posts of Jack and these newer ones.  Some are intentional, details that were unknown before and being made known now, but others are fairly unforgivable detail changes.  This is my bad, but I'd rather get the story out first and sort out the small details when I'm done. 

His exposition level is over 9000!

Cael Tyr.

The dead silence of the cave was almost too much for Sasha to take.  The only thing she could hear apart from the soft scrape of her claw tips on the roughly cut rock floor was her own heartbeat and the hyperactive breathing of the nervous rabbit on her back.  It distracted her senses, making the fur on the back of her neck stand up whenever she heard herself.  If there was something down here besides her and her cuddly cargo, it would know she was here first, and that was unacceptable to the perfectionist wolf.

Davie started fidgeting on her back, and she almost turned around and snapped at his face for distracting her when she was already having trouble focusing.  "What is it, ratkin?" she growled as quietly as she could.  "I'll make you get off if you don't stop."

"Look at the walls," he whispered back.  "What are those marks up there?"

She turned her eyes upward, observing the rough stonework.  She did not have any expertise with caves, but the difference between the carved out walls and the scuff marks high up on the sides of the wall.  they ran down both sides of the stone hallway, roughly eight feet from the floor. 

"What do you think made that?" Davie asked.

A devilish grin crept over the wolf's face, and she felt her heart beat faster.  She had only seen marks like that one time before, and it meant that a beast large enough to reach that high up and that far apart was down here.

She had dismissed Jack's thoughts that there might be something like a dragon somewhere so inaccessible and with so little prey, but now the possibility was much more probable.  There was not a single bone in her body that was adverse to the idea of finding such a beast.

"I'm not sure," she answered, her low tone accentuated by her soft growling.  "But if there's something down here, it would have to be pretty big."

Davie shifted uncomfortably.  "I'm not sure about this."

"You'll be fine," Sasha assured him.

"I can get away just fine, that's not the problem," he admitted, his voice filled with anxious energy.  "It's just that you've got THAT tone in your voice."

"What does that mean?" she asked, trying to mask the involuntary growl.

"Not only that but you growl like it offended you or something.  You get like this when you're hunting, or when there's another predator around."  The rabbit sighed.  "It means that even if this thing doesn't want anything to do with us, your still going to try and find whatever it is and pick a fight with it."

Sasha sniffed.  "I won't.  This is for Jack, and we're just having a look."

Davie put his little paws on top of her head.  "You will, and that's that.  Fire breathing dragon or grumpy hibernating bear, you'll still look for it and no matter what you find you'll treat it like it ate your piece of the pie."

Sasha growled softly.  "Don't be silly, I don't like pie.  Now keep quiet, I don't want to be heard."

Davie just sighed in contempt.

The deeper they forged into the cave, the more evidence presented itself that there was something present in its depths.  Broken stone, claw marks on the cave floor, and the unmistakable scent of dried blood all made Sasha brim with excitement at the chance to see what made its home here.

Eventually, they found a large cavern with an odor she found difficult to place.  She had smelled it elsewhere, she realized, but it was so foreign to her that she did not notice it as much as everything else.  It was something akin to a strong, acidic liquid mixed with all manner of green life.  Her ears flattened, suddenly very aware of a large heartbeat and deep rhythmic breathing.

"Maybe it's just a big bear," Davie whispered shakily.

"No," Sasha whispered back, "It's much bigger."

The cavern suddenly felt a whole lot smaller to the wolf when a pair of glowing eyes opened in the darkness, brilliant green eyes that made her blood freeze in place, her fur standing on end.  Davie's shivering became violent as the wolf started backing away.  she was tough, but from the beast in here was certainly big enough to swallow her whole. 

She felt more than heard the room rumble as the creature grumbled and shifted its bulk, easily big enough that it could hold several wolves her size.  She tensed up, ready to run back down the hall she came from.

But no sooner than it started it was over.  The ominous glowing eyes closed, and the deep rumbling vocalizations ceased, replaced by a deep sigh and a return of the steady inhaling and exhaling of a sleeping creature.

A wave of relief passed over her, and she had to stop herself from sighing audibly. 

"We're safe?" Davie squeaked as quietly as he could.

"M-maybe he just ate," Sasha stammered, hardly believing her luck.

"Let's go back and never speak of this again," Davie said.  "Don't even tell Jack.  He'll want to see for himself or something."

Sasha was about to turn back when she caught the briefest glimpse of something in the corner opposite the monster in the cave.  The wolf stepped forward and squinted in the dark, barely able to make it out in the shadows. 

"What did Jack say was missing from that statue?" she asked, trotting forward to examine  her find.

"Wings?" Davie said, and half gasped when he saw where she was looking.

On the floor of the cave lay a pair of stone wings, not so big that Sasha could not move them.  She grinned as she came up to them.  "What a lousy guard beast," she muttered.  "Can't even stay awake on the job."

With Davie's help, she had them maneuvered on her back so that she could carry the surprisingly light carvings.  They found quickly that the sleeping beast was not disturbed by their presence in the least when one of the wings had dropped off her back with an earsplitting clatter and it never even ceased its breathing pattern.

"So long, guardian," she hissed into the shadows as she left.  "I almost wish I could see your face when you wake up."

As she left, she could swear she heard a rumbling almost like a chuckle echo out from the cavern behind her.  She turned to regard it, as did Davie, but the beast's rising and falling breath betrayed its still sleeping state.

"Sweet dreams," Davie giggled.

Close call or action scene cop out? You decide.

Not in the mood to betray the secrets of his stories,

Cael Tyr.

Just a quick one while I'm not thinking of other things.

The only thing that keeps me from posting here is my actual story that I want to publish in the (hopefully) very near future.  Twinsoul has been garnering most of my attention lately outside the Indiana Jones movies, all four of them special features and all.  The other thing that is directly related to my writing here or anywhere else is my work schedule.  Not my day job, mind you, my internal clock that tells me "get more writing done, you lazy bastard."  This clock is more like a sundial.  I can't really set the damn thing and trying to adjust it makes the whole thing not work properly.  It wouldn't be so bad, but it only ever tells me to write when I'm trying to get to sleep.  So I only end up doing a page or so every night before I yell at my inner artist loud enough that I need to go to sleep before I risk passing out from exhaustion.  The combination of late nights and early mornings have made it incredibly difficult to work on more than one creative thing at a time, as slowly losing more and more sleep every night tends to be not so much a creative barrier as I can be very creative in a state of constant tiredness (I think that's why my writer clock is set so late in the first place), it's more along the lines that I don't have the energy to type a whole lot, much less move around all day like I am forced to.  I seem to be getting the timing down a bit better, so in the not too distant future I may actually put something on here that isn't a rant about not writing or a stupid riddle that no one has time for. 

By the way, the answer was cells.  It was a pretty bad idea actually, no one gets my riddles or word puzzles unless I dumb them down to simplicity or make them far too obvious to be challenging.  I like being witty though, so while I may not post more inane riddles, I might make a poetic ordeal out of it instead of bandying around with children's rhyme. 

Trying out new techniques on an unsuspecting audience,

Cael Tyr.

P.S. My inspiration for this post's pacing and tone was Yahtzee, the genius who writes Zero Punctuation for Escapist Magazine.  Look it up, be entertained, maybe even educated, and learn about games you might not want to play after reading/watching his reviews.

I have the power deep within

To make  myself my very own twin

I am not much but I can grow

My brothers and I, we form a whole.

There's others like me not quite the same,

Just other players in this game

The threads that bind us make us wise

To what we need so none may die

Great is life, though I am small

All is one and one is all

This is just a fun riddle poem, so as not to get rusty.  I've never really done anything like it before (not poetry, riddles) so I don't expect this to puzzle too many people.  For those that didn't figure it out, I will post the answer along with whatever I post next time.

Enigmatically yours,

Cael Tyr.

Sasha growled, baring her teeth in a vicious snarl.  "When did that happen?"

Jack put a hand on her back, crouching down beside her.  "I think you did it, my dear."

She glanced up at him, confused.

The bard pointed to the lowered arm of the statue.  "The arm you moved was a lever, and it opened a secret door."

"Good job!" Davie cheered and leaped back up on top of Sasha's back, burying his face in the back of her neck.  The wolf relaxed her stance, and sighed contentedly.

"Well, lets see what you've uncovered," Jack said, striding forward. 

"Oh no you don't," Sasha said, scrambling to get in front of him.  "You stay here with Davie and figure out the rest of the puzzle.  I'll do the exploring, I'll be fine by myself."

"Nuh-uh!" Davie said.  "I'm going too!  I know underground places better than you, and if we run into another puzzle, I don't think you want to solve it on your own."

Sasha sniffed again.  "Not really.  But what if there's a monster down that way?"

"I can run faster than you," Davie giggled.  "That's all that matters."

"Stinking ratkin," she snickered.  "You're lucky your so damn cute."

Jack crossed his arms, unsure of how to go about this situation.  He was certain that more information could be gathered in the room, but if Davie was right and the puzzle was continued down the new passageway he would rather lend his own expertise to it.  But if Sasha was right and there was a threat in that direction, he didn't want to be caught in tight quarters with the wolf and her enemy.  There was nothing that could fit down here that she could not handle, after all.

"Don't get carried away, you two," he warned them.  "If you find anything, bring it back if you can, or come get me if you can't.  Whatever wanted me here might not have the best of intentions, and it makes no sense for you two to get hurt."

"Only if it keeps you safe," Sasha responded, and she padded off down the tunnel, Davie nodding in agreement. 

As soon as they were out of range sight, Jack sighed and turned back to the fountain and its statue.  "Just you and me now, Wren," he said, placing his hands on the rim of the basin.  "I saw you in my vision, felt you calling me.  I doubt you could still be alive, but you obviously wanted me here for some reason.  You even called me by name.  Why me?"

No action yet I guess.  Maybe next time.  I want to make this interesting, so I'll give it more time to develop.  Maybe tomorrow I'll get back to something else so this scene can develop in my mind more.

Reaching for new ideas,

Cael Tyr.

"A puzzle?" Sasha whined.  "You can't be serious.  What down here could be so important that someone would make such a thing?"

"That sounds fun!" Davie squeaked, the rabbit jumping down from the exasperated wolf's back and hopping over to Jack.  "We just need to figure out what goes in those spots, right?"

Jack stepped over to the edge of the fountain, peering into the water.  He dipped a hand in, feeling the ice cold take the heat from his skin.  He rolled back his sleeve and dunked his arm in, searching the bottom and sides for any kind of triggers or objects.  Davie slipped off around the other side, checking the outside of the basin for clues.

Sasha simply sighed.  She laid down and put her head on her paws, unable to bring herself to care about nonsense like riddles.  All it meant to her was that her talents were wasted.  When the Savage had attacked Jack's home, she had protected him and his mother single-handedly.  She was a hunter and warrior first, and though loved Jack she never understood his love of mental challenges.  All she had to know was how to find the prey and where to bite to take it down quick.  Why could Jack not content himself to that level of knowledge and wisdom?

She much preferred his father's wisdom and contentment of simple pleasures.  The old man seemed to always have the answers, as though knowledge was his birthright.  He always had that book with him, and a long wooden pipe and the sweet leaves he smoked.  And she always knew when he was around, his rosary was always scented with that yule spice, the cloves.  She loved that scent.  It made her feel peaceful.  When his mother cooked with it, she always set some aside to season Sasha's meal. 

She looked up to the statue, staring at the face of the man Davie had named Saint Wren.  Whoever had made this statue had done a good job, the stone looked practically alive.  He had a kind look in his eye, and she imagined that he wasn't all that different from Jack's father.  She could almost smell the cloves, and imagined his hand coming down to pet her head as he smoked his pipe.

Her eyes lazily fell upon her hand, and she stared at it until her eyelids started to slide down. 

For a second, she could almost see his hand move.  She blinked, thinking it a trick of the dim light.  But when she cleared her eyes, she noticed that the hand closest to her was ever so slightly lower to the ground.  She stood up and walked over to the edge of the fountain, putting her paws up on the rim of the basin and sniffing the suspect hand.  She nudged the bottom of it with her nose, and felt it move slightly, as though it was on a hinge.  At first, she pushed up on it, but it made no more movement in that direction.  Her jaws could not reach it, so she reached up with a paw and batted it down.

Just as she was landing her paw on it, Jack saw her moving.  "Sasha?" he said, watching her curiously.  She turned to regard him and lost her balance when the arm she pushed down on suddenly came down under the pressure.  Her other front paw slipped and she slipped into the water.

"COLD!" she yelped, thrashing about as she struggled to pull herself out.  She felt Jack's arm slip around her chest, and he lifted her out of the cold wetness.

"You okay?" he asked, his gold eyes surprised and amused.  He looked like he was trying to hold back a smile.

"I didn't need your help, I could have done it," she growled, backing away from his touch. 

Jack just shook his head and smiled anyway.  "I'm sure you didn't, Sash.  I just wanted to help."

"Yeah, he was just being nice," Davie said, leaping to Jack's side.  "Don't be so grumpy."

She sniffed, turning away.  She paused, and sniffed again.  She spun around quickly, looking at the other side of the cave.  "That wasn't there before!"

Jack followed her gaze, and a grin jumped to his face.  "Looks like you solved part of the puzzle Sasha."

A long, fungus illuminated passage stretched out from where a rock wall once was.

Just wait until I figure out what's down there.  If not in the next post, there will be action in the post after.

Not much new to say except that things are changing again, so if I cannot keep up with this level of commitment understand that it is because I have to rearrange my life in order to help someone move out, help someone move in, or have to move myself.  One of those will be happening in the next three weeks.  If I move out, I'll probably be posting more often, simply because there won't really be anything left to distract me from writing.

Of course, that means I'll be all alone, but whatever.  I'm never really alone.

Di: He's right about that...

Not looking forward to the next couple of days, never mind the following weeks.  I will make this more of a priority, so that I will have something to anchor around so I have some kind of stability.

Trying not to think too much,

Cael Tyr.

Jack frowned as he continued to observe the statue in the middle of the room, almost oblivious to the questions of his friends.

"Wake up, Jack," Sasha barked.  "You know what this place is?"

"No," Jack said, crossing his arms.

Sasha glanced up at the stone figure, then back at the flustered bard.  "Who is this supposed to be?  He looks like some kind of holy man."

"I think that's supposed to be Saint Wren," Davie spoke up from her back.  "He was  one of the Seven Silver Celestials, the alliance that drove back the Winds of Sahgan that threatened Ballade.  Legend says the winds were actually an army of devils, led by a human that was infected by their evil."

"That's fascinating," Sasha said dryly.  "What is he doing down here?"

"That's not him, it's just a statue," Davie said.

The wolf growled and Davie could feel it through her back.  "I know that, Ratkin.  I'm not stupid."  Davie giggled and nuzzled the back of her neck.  "You're a terrible tease, little brat."

"I don't know.  People make statues of others to pay them tribute, right?" Davie said.  "Not much good in putting it down here where no one can see."

"Maybe it's a shrine," Sasha mused, circling the statue and sniffing around the area.  "This spot might be special to the people who made the temple."

"Do you think ... it could be a grave?" Davie said, and Sasha could almost feel him shiver.

"I'd smell it if it was a grave," she reassured him.  "Jack said this place isn't that old."

Davie turned around on her back to face Jack as the bard stared intently at the statue, as though he was searching it for clues.  "Jack, what do you think?" the rabbit asked.

Jack's frown disappeared and his eyes lit up.  "I get it, the wings are missing!" he said excitedly.  He hurried past Davie and Sasha to behind the statue, and snapped his fingers.  Sasha padded up behind him to look at the statue's back alongside him.

"What do you mean?  Human's don't have wings," Davie said.

"I know, but Saint Wren was always depicted not only as a saint but as a messenger of heaven, an actual angel," Jack said, and pointed up to the back, where two large sockets were prominent on the saint's shoulders as though something could be fitted there.  "This is a puzzle lock, this room is definitely hiding something."

I can't believe it took me three days to get this much done.  I wanted to post this on Tuesday but it wasn't nearly as long.  Things kept stealing time from my writing sessions and now we're here, three days later with a sort of cliff hanger (more of a ledge dangler, to be honest).  Getting back into the characters was easy, but I sort of wrote myself into a corner, because this Saint Wren kind of came out of nowhere and I wanted to give him some definitive significance to the back story and to the future of the tale.  I came up with something, but I'm still working on the details, which means I need to write here more.

Blah.

Growing Exasperated,

Cael Tyr.

Yeah, like I said, I'm trying to work on my big story, so my progress here will be a little sporadic, as I can work on it only when I take a break from everything else.

Di: yeah, and as much as he loves you guys, I need him too!

Yeah there's that too. 

Kay: Don't forget about me!

Fire: Me too!

... that's sweet girls, thanks.  Anyway, I have had the urge to make progress on the ever cryptic Jack's Story, and the all important and overly dramatic Escape.

Rose: Hey, why don't you shove it up your ...

Blitzwing: As he was saying, He has plenty of work to occupy him.  I think its only fair that he gives his all to those who need him, but this is a project like this carries a sort of unwritten promise of updates, something every day as long as it's something.  It might be a dutiful responsibility, but if used properly, this venue is certainly a wonderful place to practice.

...

...

...THANKS GUYS. 

Now you see what I have to deal with?  All these dragons have stories, after all.

Blitzwing: We do tend to take over, I guess.

Kay: Serves him right!  He won't get anything done without us!

Rose: Yeah, get back to work slacker!

...Don't you just feel the love.

Wishing he had a big cartoony eraser,

Cael Tyr.

So I didn't manage to get a good post together for tonight.  But!  Before you throw hammers and vegetables at me, I will say that I gave some thought to the name I gave this journal.  It isn't fair to call this place "Thoughts of Dragons" without letting some of them get a word in once and a while.  So without further stalling, let me introduce you to some of my closest winged beasts of legend.  Or maybe I'll let them introduce themselves...

Diamond: Hi, my name is Diamond.  I'm kind of always around, looking over Cael's shoulder.  I'm a silverstar dragon, which is kind of a silver dragon with ties to dreams and imagination.  I guess you could say I'm his muse. We have very close minds, so for the most part, If you see something here from him, there's a good chance I'm in on it, so I probably won't be seen too much on here by myself, but hi anyway!

Kay: Hey, I'm Kay, one of Cael's girls!  He sort of has a harem of female dragons I guess.  We're very close to him.  Anyway, I'm a furry white dragon who loves her food and is very proud of her size.  I like some of his games and stories, but I'm usually off in my own world.  I hope I provide you some entertaining insights with my posts!  Bye!

Ruby: My name's Ruby, I'm one of Cael's sworn brothers.  I'm a red dragon, and I'm dating Kay when she isn't draped around Cael.  I'm more of a warrior at heart, but every now and then I start thinking.  Sometimes I actually have significant thoughts that I share with Cael, and I guess now the bastard's gonna share my thoughts with everyone.  I should be getting paid for this.  Hell, HE should be getting paid for this.  He really needs a donate button on this page. . . well, that's all from me  right now.

Tanas: This is Tanas, also known as Myrcanth Shadowheart.  That's right, this is Tanas, from the "Another Story" arc he's been writing.  It's kind of complicated, but that part of my story hasn't actually happened to me yet, though it's actually happened about a thousand years ago from your perspective.  It's confusing, I know.  I'm pretty quiet, even for a dragon, but I like to tell stories and things, so I'll pop up here from time to time.  Oh, its sort of a spoiler for my story, but I'm a black dragon.  I'm in a relationship too, but she probably won't be making a presence in this journal for right now.  That's all from me!

Rose:  Hello bitches.  I'm the queen of shadow dragons, but you can just call me Rose for now, until my domain covers existence.  Then you won't say anything until I let you.  Yeah, my story here is being told as well.  It's not the happiest period in my lifetime, and my portrayal is a little more emo than in actuality, but Cael can only do so much, even if he is an immortal bard.  But ego aside, I find it necessary to spout my self-centered and highly opinionated thoughts once in a while, so I'll be here more often probably.

Arithar: Don't mind Rose, she's just very insecure, and it makes her feel better to boast and she loves the attention it gets her.

Rose: I resent that, buddy boy.

Arithar:  I'm Arithar.  Besides Di, I've been here with Cael longer than any of the dragons.  And there's more here, too, He's just working with the ones who are present for tonight.  I'm a silver, and I'm in a relationship with Rose.  Sort of yin to her yang.  Or is that the other way around?  Doesn't matter, I guess.  You get it, right?  Anyway, I'm good at just making outside observations, so you might get me if I want to present a point against or alongside something Cael is writing.  I'm also just a good natured friendly lazy beast.  I love Cael and Di right to death, so I'm probably gonna post here a lot.  Oh, Rose and I have an adopted daughter, Jaylei,  who might make herself known here. 

Diamond: Just thought I'd add that Cael and I are in a loving relationship, hoping you understand just what that means.  We also have an adopted child, a baby red dragon named Annadahl, but we call her Fire.  Bye Again!

Me: So that's most of the crew.  I loves them all like my family, even Rose.  I'd like for this to become their space as much as mine, so welcome them with open hearts and open minds.

Settling down for the night,

Cael Tyr.

Okay, almost five months since my last post.  Let me get you up to date.

I have been focusing very heavily on real life things, but also I have been justifying my writing.  I was having a hard time committing myself to work on my book, and to indulgence in art in general.  I was not writing, reading, singing, or anything creative.  Every now and then I got some scribbling down on my book, but nothing really fulfilling (except a giant change of plot and character, but that ended up slowing down my work more than anything). 

So today I got to thinking about my work, and how I think of it as work.  It is true that writing is hard, and it takes a lot of time and effort, but - perhaps much more importantly- I really love it.  I cannot express just how much it means to me to have my writing.  My stories flow through me like pure elements, burning through the stagnant cobwebs, purifying the unwashed emotions, sweeping out the spiritual chaff, and nurturing the seeds of creativity and philosophy.  It is an effort, but I am rewarded by it in ways that an actual job will never replicate.  So it isn't work, per se.  I prefer to think of it as an incredibly important hobby.

Now, I feel invigorated.  All I want now is to write, finalize my current projects in a way that does them justice (for Kayledon that includes attempts at publishing), bring old stories back to life, and visit upon new ideas, characters, and worlds in new works.

Actual real life things made it very difficult to get things written as well, with the ridiculous amounts of drama that was going on around here that I will not bother you with.  However, more important things that have changed are significant enough to include them here.  People familiar with this blog and with my eccentric real life existence know that at the time of my last post I was still McEmployed.  For about two and a half months now, since February 9th, I have been an employee of Rite Aid, a fairly widespread chain of pharmacies.  I'm actually treated with respect by my customers now, if not also my employer and fellow employees.  It's rather refreshing.

However, the most important thing that's been preventing my art from flowing is that up until about a few weeks ago, I was going to have to drop everything in my life, perhaps even losing my newly earned job, because of an issue with my roommate and our landlord, causing us both to have to move.  No one was at fault, but it was incredibly stressful.  The situation now is that he will still be moving, though we still don't know when exactly, but I may not have to, and if I do, I'm not half as screwed as was going to be.

So change is inevitable, but things are going to be alright.  I'm in the mood to get writing again, and I'm going to keep this updated more often, just to keep all my ideas fresh.  I'm sorry to keep all of my projects here in suspense for so long, for you who have actually been keeping up with this blog, and for myself since the variety of writing made it easier to keep up my big projects.  Next time I update, I will most likely be continuing Jack's Story or Escape, but I might just do something random.  No schedule for this, but I will be trying to do this every day if I can.

Done for now,

Cael Tyr

I used to have a story that I wrote all the time.  It was the highlight of my spare time, and all my concentration circled around this one piece.  I essentially stopped physically writing it because of my college workload and other new projects that wanted my time.  I was fine leaving the actual writing on the back burner, but I could not stop myself from continuing this story in my mind.  I am very strongly influenced by music, which presents scenes in my head tied to the type of music, if not the theme of the lyrics (if the music has lyrics).  Sometimes I work with the music in my mind to create such scenarios, but other times it comes in flashes that I have no way to prevent.

About five years ago, I was looking for an ending, or at least a culmination of my story, where the characters would have something to at least tie up a part of my stories.  I didn't intend for it to stop the story in any way, but I didn't want this particular plot line to become any longer than it already was (I have enough material for about 8 books or so.  That would be low balling it).   It was also around this time that I became interested in a broader appeal of music, where before I had been very picky about my choices in listening.  For a brief time, I entertained System of a Down, for their famous piece Chop Suey.

This is the part where it gets a little demented.  I strongly advise caution in reading this if you aren't into philosophy.

The strong juxtaposition of the sweeping music and the harsh, almost blasphemous lyrics and my creative needs created what is surely my most emotional scenes for that story.  In a very simple explanation, the hero dies because he thinks it's the best way to save the people he loves, not to mention the whole rest of the world.  It would be better to say that he had a plan to fix the situation that should not have put him in jeopardy, but when it did, he did the only thing he could.  The thing is, I didn't want it to happen.  I could have stopped it, and I didn't.  The scene just kept on going, and the more I saw of it, the more I tried to fight it.  By the end of the whole thing, I was screaming to an empty room, pleading with him not to do this, tears streaming down my cheeks. 

The hero in my story was dead, and I was the one who killed him.  Sure, he saved the world, but it should have been me who fixed it so he didn't have to die.  Why did I let this happen?  Especially seeing that I didn't want it to?  Isn't it my story?

I haven't written anything for that story since, and if I listen to Chop Suey, I have a chance of relapsing.  I'll see him die again and either have a screaming fit or start shaking with anger and sorrow trying not to scream. 

It gave me a lot to think about in terms of the philosophy of writing.  I could very well write a different ending to the story, but why change what I saw or try to force it to work out differently.  It would read very badly and this work deserves to end the way it should.  But shouldn't I, as the writer and creator of this whole mess, have a say in how it ends if I don't like it?  Am I really the one telling this story, or is it being told through me?  Writers sometimes like to fashion themselves as the gods of their work.  However, David Anez has shown me very clearly that omniscience is not a trait humans should try to fake.  Even if it's our own work, we can't know everything about it.  It is impossible for us to be gods, even if we made the world. 

Why do fiction writers write then, if all we do is make a world we ultimately have no control over?  There is no empowerment in it if we are just writing what happens, our only control being over little details and the way it is conveyed.  Is it simply vicarious living?  Or is it something deeper and more spiritual than that? 

I was advised impersonally long ago that the business of writing is difficult and competitive, and that the most of it is not worth the money.  It is only really worth writing if you have a story to tell that you cannot live without telling.  Life for you would be a lie, your passion and endeavors fruitless in the face of it's unheard power.  That is why you become a writer.

I am that writer.  I know this.  My passion may very well be the cold and starving death of me, I've already come to terms with this.  But I don't care.  My stories are my purpose, my passion, my power.  But know that I have lost a part of my soul to tell my tales; I now know that I can kill if I have too, and that is a scary thing to live with.

Trying to Move On,

Cael Plyrpt.

"Well this is certainly a fine mess you've gotten us into," Tersible said, shaking his bald head in dismay, his large beard wagging back and forth.  "Definitely some quality droppings we're dragging our feet through."

"Ye talk as though it's all me own self!" Todric shot back, brandishing his heavy hammer in the gnome's direction, his gold eyes dimmed in the all encompasing glare of the snowfield that surrounded them.  "I told ye to pack a compass, aye?  I told ye we needed the blasted maps!"

"You said you knew where it was!" Tersible reprimanded the dwarf, his warm brown eyes scrunched up in cold and anger. 

"Aye, but I've never BEEN there, have I?"  Todric almost yelled.  "Tha's the whole point of it, innit?"

"We cannot lug a case full of detailed maps around with us on a week long hike," Tersible argued.  "And YOU ruined the compass!"

"I needed something to put in the rifle, or that Yeti would've stomped ye flat!" Todric said defensively.  "What a bloody waste that guarantee was.  Dent resistant casing my arse!"

"I'm fairly positive the warranty does not extend over incidents including gunpowder." Tersible muttered irately.

Todric turned and faced his diminutive friend.  "What are ye trying to say, ye wee fingerwaver?"

Tersible planted his hands on his hips.  "You, master treasure hunter, took me out from my warm lab, away from my potions and books, on this mad expedition to the highest, coldest, most desolate mountains that no gnome in his right mind would ever hike to.  You said that you had discovered evidence of a night elf temple in the heart of Dun Morogh, something never before heard of.  You explained that we would need to reach the Frozen Plateau, and from there it would be easy."

"Aye," Todric said, not finding a fault in the gnome's argument.

"Well, it has been not one, but two weeks since we left.  We had to literally fight our way through these shattered ranges where all manner of troggs, yetis, and for some odd reason, giant rabbits made their home.  Granted we are finally here, but guess what?" the gnome threw his hands out wide.  "There's absolutely nothing here!"

"It's not my fault there's nothing here!" Todric said.

Tersible looked about to explode with arcane power or outright exasperation.  Finally he sighed, and started walking away.

"Where are ye going, ye pint sized git?" the dwarf asked to the mage's receding back.

"HOME!" the mage shouted, his voice echoing loudly in the frozen air. 

Todric turned and started forward again stubbornly.  He was about to turn back to catch up with his old friend when he felt a slight tremor in the ground.  He turned to see if Tersible had noticed, and watched as his friend got swallowed up by the snow.  He ran over to the gnome's aid, to find a deep hole in the ground where Tersible had been.

Up from the depths of the hole, he heard a tiny voice reach up through the darkness.  "I take it back, there is definitely something here."

So begins my World of Warcraft fan fiction, and the ultimate damnation of my immortal soul.

I figure if I'm going to play the damn game, I'd better get some writing out of it. 

Tersible is based on one of my actual toons, a gnome mage on the Area 52 server.  Todric is the dwarf warrior I plan on making when I have the time.  Other characters in this tale will be Karuil, the night elf hunter, Demistra, the night elf druid, Drakani the draenei paladin, and Shaderic, the death knight. 

I might also write a horde side to the story, or maybe just a different tale written for the horde.  It will happen when it happens, I'm leaving this tale open so It can grow on its own.

Logging out to log back in,

Cael Plyrpt.

Been a while.  I'll cut right to the chase.

My block is still gone.  Time is still an issue, and distracting things like money and work are detracting from my creative spirit.  In short, I am working, but not a whole lot. 

I've also been having a hard time making this site fill that creative hole for me.  At this time, my book is paramount in importance, so that will have to be my main focus.  I want to try and get a twice a week schedule going for this space, and am going to try and do so. 

What I cannot promise is more of the same.  I still want to work on Jack's Story, Escape, and even those little ones like Shattered Sky and Another Story (Which has yet to receive a proper title).  But in the end, this is a place for short stuff, a catharsis as opposed to a story project.  Every now and then a piece will show up from one of my stories, when it flows right.  But otherwise, this is going to be a place for idea expulsion and experimentation. 

That being said, Escape still wants to be written first, as opposed to Jack's Story.  I'll finish the first part of it soon, and worry about the rest later. 

Until then, expect short, contained work, or more contemplative stuff in the future, on Wednesdays and Saturdays most likely.

Leaving without time left,

Cael Plyrpt

Rose entered the Hall of Dusk, ready to give her reports of business that evening to Anatair.  She did not intend on seeing the blonde haired, white robed Halvek and his retainer standing at the dais, apparently in another argument with the High Shadowmage.  She could see from across the hall Anatair's wrinkled face crumpled in a disapproving glower. 

"You cannot be blind to progress, my lord," Halvek said, his back still turned to the shadow dragon standing at the doorway.  "Nihilus is the path to power now, and will open doors for the Trust that we never thought possible."

Rose backed up out of the hall and left the door ajar so as not to interrupt.  She thought she saw Halvek's retainer, an ashen skinned man Rose had always suspected had fiendish blood, glance toward her, but if he did he made no move.

"It is dangerous and has never been thoroughly tested," Anatair protested, his voice rumbling through the hall.  "I know this has not stopped you from practicing it yourself, First Shadowmage, but I have only allowed it as long as your trust in the shadows has not wavered.  Now that you have been corrupted, it may be beyond my power to stop the council from casting you out."

Halvek hung his head, seeming to be disappointed.  "You know, that is too bad," he said, striding forward up the dais.  "You were always so good with me, I hoped that you would see the truth."

Anatair's expression scrunched further.  "Are you threatening me?"

"That would be rude," Halvek said, opening a palm forward.  "I'm simply going to kill you."

Before Anatair or Rose could do anything, the mage unleashed a bolt of utter blackness at the High Shadowmage.  The spell was unlike anything rose had ever seen before, emanating no kind of power at all, like a void of energy.  The shadow dragon almost jumped out of her hiding spot to save her lord, but Anatair was not unprepared.  His scepter glowed with silvery light, and the projectile halted, stopped by a shimmering shield.  The spell wavered as the bolt seemed to feed on its energy, and eventually both were consumed.

"Insolence!" Anatair cried, preparing a spell to strike down the First Shadowmage.  However, when the words of magic were spoken, Halvek simply appeared behind the old man, grasping his shoulder.

"This is what happens to the ones left behind by progress," he said.  Rose could only watch helplessly and her mentor was drawn into what looked like a black gap in Halvek's hand, his scepter clattering to the floor and down the stairs of the dais as the only proof he ever existed. 

Rose wanted to vomit.  She wanted to throttle the bastard with her bare hands.  she wanted to tear him to shreds with her claws.  She wanted to invite upon him horrors born of his darkest nightmares.  Instead all she could do was stare and shake uncontrollably.

"What should we do with our audience," the ashen man said, glancing at the door.

Her heart leaped.

"She's much too powerful to tame," Halvek said.  "Bring her in so I can kill her myself.

Oh noez!  So scary!  Things are getting a little out of hand, to say the least.

This is late because of my unpredictable schedule at work.  I've gone from working all night to working all day.  My writing groove has been off beat, but the drive still has plenty of gas.  expect at least one more update  this week as a more stable schedule of writing is hashed out.

Always leaving you wanting,

Cael Plyrpt.

Let me tell you what my past five days have been like for my main project.

Day 1: Wrote 5 pages.

Day 2: Wrote 5 pages.

Day 3: Wrote 3 pages.

Day 4: Wrote 5 pages.

Day 5: Wrote 8 pages.

In five days I've added nearly thirty pages to my book.  I'm on a roll, and there's no stopping me. 

I do believe my block is gone.

Requests are still open, but I'm hard at work on my novel, so updates here will be difficult.  I will try to update at least two days a week, on Escape more than likely. 

What's sad is that my trip home will mean less writing for two days (sadness!), but I'm going to get back in the saddle right after. 

Oh, two things to mention.  The Best way to get me a request is to email me.  The address, once again, is sylvir_dragon_hero@hotmail.com.  The other is that I will be updating tonight after work, just a little bit on Escape to give you something for waiting so long.

Well, I tried tonight to get more of Jack's Story out, to no avail.  Just too tired, too mentally dry.  Tomorrow might be better.

I plan to write more of Escape soon, it's Rose's story and she loves October.  Therefore, I would love to finish her tale here next month. 

I admit that I've become much better at updating more frequently than once a month, but I feel that's not enough.  This needs to be taken much more seriously.  I think I'm letting my hobbies get in the way of things lately, so I think a certain degree of added effort is required here.  Like, a whole new push.

To tell the truth, I've been avoiding my computers as of late because they keep breaking down.  My tactic here is that if I leave them alone, they'll stop disappointing me. 

But yes.  I have made progress.  This is a much longer road than I could see, but I am not discouraged.  I at least think about my stories every day now, so I think it won't be too hard to just sit and write for a few hours every day.

-Unable to Remain Conscious,

Cael Plyrpt.

P.S. Sorry for the terseness and the complaining, but this IS a journal.  Any writing is good writing.

My fortune cookie told me that now is the time to try something new. 

I can't think of anything, so here's the deal.

I don't know if I have much of an audience yet.  This might not have been the best way to get one, but there is the possibility that anyone could be reading this.  Regardless, I think it's time I've found out if anyone's watching.

I would like to know if anyone reading my posts here would like to see some other kind of story, or has an idea for any of the others I've posted (aside from Rose's story, Escape.  That one has personal meaning to me and has mostly been planned out).  These requests can be specific scenes with characters, settings, and backstory already in place, only needing content; or they may be very nebulous in nature, like a sci-fi story, a tale about cats, or a prompt like "write about a terrible accident that changes someone's life for the better." 

But wait!  There's more!

If I GET such a request, and it gets good feedback, I will leave the end of every post open to further request.  In other words, the story that one person starts can be influenced by anyone else that likes it.  Think of it like round robin storytelling, one person starts it, and it is continued by the next, and the one after that, and so on.  The only difference here is that I'll be doing all the writing, so things like style and pacing will remain consistent, only the path it takes will change.

Now the part you were hoping I'd forget.  The RULES. 

1. I will NOT write anything erotic or disgusting.  You want your nasty stories, find a willing hack writer with the same fetish.  I'll have no part of it.  I do not do detailed descriptions of gory scenes or anything like that either. 

2. Keep it simple.  Keep it concise.  If I have to wade through pages and pages of descriptions and intricacy, I'll likely not have the time to create what you're asking, much less keep it going.

3.  If you want fan fiction, you're going to have to deal with my experiences.  If I've never seen or read the material for what you want to base it on, I can't do anything about it.  This will not exclude fan fiction entirely, but there's a lot of things I've never seen.  Bear this in mind.

4. Plagiarists will become dragon food.  You catch that? ZERO TOLERANCE.  Anyone who can't come up with something original is wasting their time, and trying to waste mine.  I have precious little spare time, so you'll understand if I can't spend it on losers trying to profit from someone else's hard work.

Ways to get your ideas to me:

My email is sylvir_dragon_hero@hotmail.com.  You can leave a comment on any post, they will be read, even if it doesn't have anything to do with what that post was about.  I have two messengers, but I'm rarely on them.  Nonetheless, my yahoo is cael_plyrpt, and that's the only one I really use.  I have a myspace page, www.myspace.com/caeldragon.  I will try to check all of these at least once a week.

As long as my 4 laws are adhered to, I am open to doing just about anything else.  If you have an idea I like, I will do my best to do it justice.

Bwar until next time,

Cael Plyrpt