Whispy drafts of her forlorn cares,
by a roiling beckoning
of fractured heart and vacant dreams.

Having streamed her anger
like a bitter sap,
I recoil at the vapid sting
which dresses my mouth
like a ruby curse.

An alabaster prison.
A darkened glimpse.
A broken longing.
A slender curve torn by
a passing glance.



Visage of a gristled slab,
directed flesh caught
within polished stone.

Muted scrawls vanquish
a broken desire.
Feet scrape across raspy planks
towards a speckled dawn.

I long for a torpid desire,
a creaking, throaty moan,
the quivering trees my only witness.

Bless the upward gaze,
the furtive longing,
the silent destiny.

The Adventure of Igdryll the Drunken Gnome (Intermission and uncogent diatribe sprinkled with lack of focus)


I am taking a break from posting more of Igdryll’s drunken shenanigans for a while as I’ve run out of copy and must trudge, once more, into the great unknown. I’ve revamped much of what was posted on this blog (it was barely a second draft) and added several more chapters. I think the wordcount is a little over 11,000 now with a target of around the typical 40k to 50k novel range.

Why am I telling you all of this? No idea. Probably I’m tired of working and reworking the story and need a diversion.

Continuing, I am intrigued by reading about the writing process but lousy when it comes to writing about the writing process. I read a lot about the writing process which may or may not be evidenced in any of my work. I’m intrigued especially by all of those tips floating around about how to get motivated as a writer. Tips for managing time, eliminating distractions, how to defeat writer’s block, and so forth and so on. I read or heard once, I can’t remember, about a writer who would set an alarm clock for “X” number of hours and when the alarm went off, BAM, he was done, oftentimes walking away mid-sentence. That’s some serious discipline. Other writers hole up in an office, isolated from the world, and hammer out whatever number of chapters they set as a goal for themselves for that day. Others can’t turn it off and work in a feverish, meal-missing, no-sleep-getting orgy of word vomit as if some great muse came down from the heavens and threatened to shove a sharp stick up the author’s bum if they dare stop. Regardless, it boils down to plain old work, I suppose. Writing, re-writing, putting the work away and letting it simmer, then coming back and re-writing again. No magic formula, I guess, which I find depressing because I want the magic experience, the sit-bolt-upright-in-the-middle-of-the-night-magic that changes paradigms. Instead, it’s often a tedious sludge, cold-soup eating, full steam ahead.

Signing off. Good night.

The Adventure if Igdryll the Drunken Gnome (Part 11)

          “I’ve never seen that level of control, Igdryll,” the Elder said. “It was remarkable.”
          “I don’t know. Something about using the creatures that way didn’t feel quite right.”
          “You may want to work on your speech, Igdryll. If the townsfolk hear you speaking in such a cultured fashion, it’s going to rouse suspicion. Anyway, I think you really scared them off this time.”
          “What is it?”
          “I don’t know. All of my years, I’ve heard nothing but talk of how much of a threat the Talls are, how they destroyed our old home and forced us to leave the sacred grounds.”
          “Do you doubt the old stories?” The Elder paused. “Look, Igdryll, I know the going under changes you. It certainly changed me when I was your age. We now share a frightful burden. One that we of our calling always carry and, with good fortune, always shall. A part of your soul that was dormant has been activated but you mustn’t lose focus, particularly when victory is close.”
          Igdryll continued walking without saying anything.
          “Give it time,” the Elder continued, “you’ll see. When we return, we shall meet with the Council. They will put your mind at ease.”
          The two of them came to the river bank. Igdryll raised his arms and whispered. He and the Elder floated across, let down and walked back home through the forest in silence.

The Adventure of Igdryll the Drunken Gnome (Part 10)

          “I still had the sparkplug in my hand,” Roger said.
          “What?” Dave asked.
          Roger was driving down the highway towards the entrance to the construction site. They just got the truck out of the shop after having the rotor and the windows fixed. It still smelled like burnt leather in the cab.
          “The other day, before the track broke, when the dozer just quit running. When I turned the motor over, I still had the plug in my hand.”
          The truck rumbled down the two-lane blacktop. Dave reached down and pushed the cigarette lighter in while he reached for a Marlboro pack in his shirt pocket.
          “Ya mind?” Dave asked.
          “Nah. Truck still smells like shit anyway.”
          The lighter popped out and Dave held it to his cigarette. He inhaled deeply. He returned the lighter with a metallic chucking sound.
          “Well,” Roger said, “I had a VW Bug once. It ran on three cylinders with a plug out. Just a fluke. Engine was still hot on the dozer, it just turned over is all.”
          “This ain’t no VW. It just isn’t possible. On a motor that size?”
          “Okay. Are you tryin’ to say it was goblins or somethin’? Maybe the freakin’ Easter bunny slapped the motor around a bit to get it runnin’?”
          “Shut up. I’m just sayin’ it don’t make any sense, is all. That dozer ran for the rest of the afternoon just fine.” Roger stared ahead at the road for a moment. “Anyway. You talk to, Mike?”
          “Yeah. He’ll meet us there with another dozer in ’bout an hour or so.”
          Dave took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled sideways out of the window. He flicked the butt out, sparks shattered behind them on the pavement. Roger slowed and turned into the dirt road that led to the work site. The truck fishtailed a bit in the wet clay. Rounding a curve, Roger slowed.
          “Look at that,” Dave said. In the clearing near the excavation spot, a gathering of deer stood. “There must be fifty of ’em. Maybe more.”
          A large buck, its head crowned with a snarl of antlers, looked up at them. It snorted, its breath a cloud of fog in the cool morning air. The rest of the herd looked up and turned towards the truck.
          “What are they doing?” Roger asked.
          “Never seen such a thing. Huh, I think they’re comin’ this way.”
          The buck walked towards the truck, the herd following. The buck snorted and let out a loud bleat. It echoed through the damp air. The herd charged.
          “Uh, Roger…”
          Roger ground the truck into reverse and smashed the gas pedal. The tires spun, throwing mud, but found solid ground. It slowly moved backwards. Roger rocked the wheel back and forth and managed to get the truck sideways on the narrow clay road. The buck lowered its head and smashed into the passenger door, shattering the side window.
          “You all right?” Roger shouted.
          “Yeah, yeah. Fine. Get us out of here, god dammit!”
          The buck twisted its antlers loose and reared up to ram again. The smaller bucks and does surrounded the truck, butting and kicking the truck. Roger got the truck facing back out towards the highway and he stomped on the gas just as the large buck managed to send half of his rack through the right front quarter panel. Air hissed from a punctured tire. The truck lurched forward and they sped off back down the driveway. Dave turned around to look. The herd was watching as they drove off. Roger nursed the truck onto the blacktop and pulled over onto the shoulder. Neither of them spoke for several minutes.
          “Gimme a cigarette, Dave.”

The Adventure of Igdryll the Drunken Gnome (Part 9)

          Igdryll had woken up at some point in time after drinking the elixir from the stone basin. He looked down to see his body lying in the brown, crispy cedar boughs. It was still. A corpse. The sight of this normally would have struck him in the heart except that he had no body now. He looked down at where he felt his hands should have been and there was nothing. He knelt down to touch his old body but felt nothing and nothing responded to his touch.
          “Where be you, Bornless Ones?” Igdryll waited. “Nameless Ones, you come to me now!”
          He collapsed on the ground. Nothing stirred. He cried. Howled. He resigned himself to the fact that he was dead and no longer had a place in the world. He waited some more. The Nameless Ones did not come back.
          Dawn broke. The sun slowly arced across the sky, set, and the moon returned. The cycle continued. Many times Igdryll tried to walk away from his body but it was as if he was attached to it by an invisible cord. The body began to rot. The eyes collapsed and sang into the sockets. The tongue became swollen. The body, likewise. White skin became grayish green, then dark and black. Bugs and worms came to call his body home. He attempted to shoo them away from time to time with no effect. It didn’t matter. He kept trying as there was nothing else to do with his time. The skin became oily and putrid, eventually sliding completely off the bones. A day came when nothing was left but a white, sinewy skeleton. Eventually, this disappeared into the roots and undergrowth.
          Igdryll lost track of how long he had wandered about the cluster of cedars. He had no way to make marks or keep track of anything so he gave up. From time to time, he would call out to the Nameless Ones but they never answered. Deer and other animals would pass by him but they didn’t see him.
          A day came when Igdryll sat, took a deep breath and tried to push out all of the disparate thoughts wandering within his head. He remembered that he had seen the Elder do this once, how long ago? Igdryll had asked him what he was doing but thought the answer ridiculous. He dismissed it until now when the chain of days threatened to drive him into madness. Now, Igdryll was willing to try anything to take his mind off of existing. He breathed and listened. The sun and moon crossed overhead several times, but Igdryll continued to sit and breath. Ages passed.
          “Igdryll,” a woman’s voice said.
          “Bornless One.”
          “It’s time.”
          “Yes. It is.”
          Idgryll opened his eyes. The sun hung hot and still overhead. The cedars swayed, their boughs whispering in the breeze. Igdryll looked at the spot where his body melted into the ground. A circle of red-capped toadstools marked the spot where his body once was. Igdryll closed his eyes again and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in his own bed.

The Adventure of Igdryll the Drunken Gnome (Part 8)

          Igdryll opened the door to his house and let his hammer drop on the floor beside the entryway. Whatever magic it once held was spent. Hanging his hat on a peg by the entrance, he closed the round, oaken door and sat on his unmade bed. Puffs of dust skittered into the pale light of the room. Evening approached. His walk back with the Elder was silent and he thought about the implications of what was said, or rather, what wasn’t said. Igdryll never gave much thought to notions beyond the day-to-day events that primarily occupied his time. A job done half-well and a mug twice filled had been contentment enough.
          Igdryll looked out the window. A few folks meandered about but as the glow of evening dwindled, the street was largely absent of the usual bustle. He took his boots off, letting them clunk to the floor and rolled into bed. He stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks and the cobwebs over and over until sleep finally came.

          “Igdryll,” an unfamiliar voice said, “Igdryll.”
          Igdryll was awake now but couldn’t open his eyes. He tried to get up but his body was paralyzed.
          “Igdryll,” the voice repeated.
          “Open your eyes now.”
          “Can’t open…” Igdryll’s eyes flew open and he looked around. He was in a lush garden. It was dark and a sliver of moon hung in the indigo colored sky. Stars were strewn above like flecks of glittery powder. The Milky Way, brighter than Igdryll remembered, arched above him. A heavy perfume from what he guessed was a flower clung to the warm night air, it’s cloying scent broken only by an occasional light breeze.
          “Where this,” Igdryll asked.
          “You’ve been here before. This is the chamber inside the council.”
          “Who speaking to me?”
          “We are the Nameless Ones, the Bornless Ones. We have been with your people since the beginning. We help ensure your legacy remains unbroken.”
          Igdryll touched a leaf on a low hanging limb. It felt real enough but it shimmered in a strange manner. Birds chattered back and forth in the distance but he couldn’t see them. Their calls sounded shrill and ethereal.
          “Walk with us, Igdryll.”
          Igdryll couldn’t see anyone but felt compelled by something to move forward. An invisible but tangible presence guided him down a cobble path into a copse of hoary cedar trees, their ancient trunks twisted and braided. Within the center of the stand of cedars stood a large stone with a water filled hollow. Tendrils of moonlight danced across the surface of the basin.
          “Drink of this,” a woman’s voice said.
          Igdryll was not generally keen on drinking water from old stones but felt compelled by some unnamed sense of responsibility to do as he was told. Cupping his hand, he scooped the cool water and brought it to his lips. As he drank, he felt the cool moisture crawl throughout his body seeking out every hidden recess of his veins. He felt a crushing feeling in his chest and he fell to the ground, the scent of rotten cedar filling his nostrils. ‘What’s happening,.’ he thought. The icy feeling slithered from his chest to his neck and up into his head. His eyesight went dim then danced with sparkly dots of light. His blood flowed feverishly, thumping and occluding his hearing. Paralysis slowly crept from his toes to his legs and then to his arms.
          “I’m dying,” he whispered. There was no response.
          He tried to cry out but his voice was nothing but a hoarse rasp. His body stopped responding. The whooshing of blood hammered his skull, slowed, then stopped entirely. A still, velvet blackness encompassed his being and Igdryll remembered nothing else.

          The next morning, Igdryll woke up, took his hat off the peg and placed it on his head as he had done innumerable mornings before. He went to Dallver’s to drink his breakfast as per his custom. The streets were empty. The door to the pub creaked and chattered as he opened it.
          “Mornin’, Igdryll,” Mr. Dallver said.
          “G’morning, Mr. Dallver.” Igdryll took the pint Mr. Dallver extended to him and sat down at a corner table. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and anyone who would have taken notice of Igdryll would not have suspected that he had lain dead last night for nearly two hundred years.

The Adventure of Igdryll the Drunken Gnome (Part 7)

          “What the hell happened?” Dave asked.
          The two of them stared at the pickup truck, a few whorls of smoke escaped from underneath the raised hood. The truck wasn’t a total loss. It looked like just the distributor caught fire. The two of them had managed to quickly extinguish it but whatever had caused the explosion had also blown out all of the windows in the cab.
          “I dunno,” Roger said, “lemme call Donna.” Roger walked up to the top of a nearby dirt mound to get a better signal. “Hey, honey. All right, I guess. Yeah sure. Hey listen, can you give me and Dave a ride back to town? It won’t start. Uh huh. Not sure. Yeah, an hour’s fine. Kay. Love you, too. Bye.”
          Roger walked back to the truck. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and banged one out. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply and exhaled.
          “Thought you quit,” Dave said.
          “Gimme one, would ya?”
          Dave pulled a cigarette from the pack that Roger extended. He lit it off of the other lit cigarette. They stood for a moment in the crisp air, their fogged breath mingling with the smoke.
          “You know, I’m beginning to think this place is cursed or haunted or somethin’,” Dave said. “That thing yesterday and now this. My luck ain’t great but it’s never been this bad.”
          “Donna be here in about an hour. Let’s see if we can get the dozer started again and finish that back cut. The ground’s s’posed to freeze later this week.”
          “All right.”
          They walked across the clearing to the bulldozer. Dave climbed up into the cab, turned the key and it started. The machine rumbled and as he put it into gear and tried to move the machine forward, the sound of twisting metal shrieked through the valley. The bulldozer lurched and stalled.
          “Shit,” Roger exclaimed. He walked around to the other side of the bulldozer. “The track’s completely off.”
          “It’s not a complete showstopper,” Dave said as he climbed down, “but it will take us some time to get another one out here. I’ll call and see about gettin’ some parts. Take at least a week, I figure.”
          “Eleven, twelve hundred.”
          “Yeah. At least.”
          Dave sucked on his cigarette and threw it into the dirt. Exhaling, he shook his head and squatted down next to the track. He ran his fingers across the broken metal, clean and bright against the other muddy parts. He noticed something. Among the tangled metal shavings, he noticed what appeared to be small footprints. His eyes followed the trail of steps to the field. ‘Rabbit or squirrel,’ he thought. But part of him wasn’t entirely convinced.

The Adventure of Igdryll the Drunken Gnome (Part 6)

          “For this to work,” the Elder said, “I will need to cross us through the Vale. That means they could see us easier so you must be very careful. Crossing the Vale also means…well, you’ll see.”
          The Elder raised his staff and chanted words similar to what Igdryll heard earlier at the council door. This time he did not lose consciousness but, instead, suddenly felt very ill. As the Elder’s chant reached a crescendo, Igdryll felt something wash over his body, like a cold breeze, and his senses dulled as if he had drunk too much cider. Darkness enveloped him for a moment and then he could see again, it was as if all of the world’s colors had been muted. He vomited.
          “That sometimes happens, Igdryll. It’s nothing to worry about.”
          “Why no warning?” Igdryll asked while wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
          “Not everyone has that reaction. Listen, we are in the mortal sphere now. Things are different here. You probably noticed the colors are dull. Sound is heavier, uglier. Also, we can’t speak with other creatures so easily.”
          “I don’t like it here.”
          “Fear poisons this world. That is what you are feeling.”
          “What a darkish place.”
          The Elder walked through the field with Igdryll. They used the tufts of grass stalks as cover. A rabbit darted and all three of them were startled. They continued, making their way to the edge of the field. They were now less than twenty feet away from the two Tall Men and their moving house. The noise from the machine sounded like the growl from some beast and shook the ground.
          The Elder held up his staff, it flashed and the house shuddered and stopped. A close silence fell over the valley. The two Tall Men could be heard talking back and forth. They walked around the machine, occasionally climbing up and down parts of it and scratching their heads while they conversed.
          “Now, do you see those wheels, Igdryll, and the metal band that goes around them?”
          “Okay, I will send the two Talls away and I need for you to smash those pieces apart. Got it?”
          “Got it? That’s forging stupid talk. How my wooden hammer break up that metal craft?”
          The Elder took Igdryll’s hammer from his belt and gently blew on it. The implement glowed softly. He handed it back to him.
          “It’s heavyish now,” Igdrll said.
          “It will work now.”
          The Elder raised his staff again and chanted. Nothing seemed to happen but then in a far off corner of the work site, a loud whump reverberated through the air followed by a rising tendril of black smoke. The two men ducked, then turned towards the source of the explosion. They both ran off towards it.
          “Okay, Igdryll.”
          Igdryll ran across the clearing. His hat fell off, he stooped to pick it up and continued running. He stopped at the base of the machine. ‘It’s farking huge,” he thought. He raised his hammer and brought it down on the track. A hollow thud traveled from the hammer, up his arm and into his skull.
          “Fark,” he shouted, “it no working!”
          “Keep going!”
          Igdryll raised the hammer again and brought it down, more gingerly this time. The metal gave way slightly as if it were ice cracking. Encouraged, he struck again and the track shattered.
          He continued, smashing more of the track, the guides and even several items that the Elder hadn’t pointed out. He was making good progress on the house’s scooper thing when he heard the Elder shouting. He turned to look. The Elder was waving frantically and pointing towards something in the distance. The bigger Tall Man was walking towards the machine.
          “Shayt,” Igdryll said as he turned and ran back across the field. He slid to a stop next to the Elder and turned to look. The Tall Man was climbing onto the top of the house. He grabbed something and walked back towards the direction from where he came.
          “That was close, Igdryll.”
          “Should I go back?”
          “Nay. That’s enough. They are crippled for now.”
          “But what about sendin’ ’em to the Spirit?”
          “Not today, Igdryll. We need to get back now.”
          Igdryll thought that the Elder looked very tired. The two of them retreated into the underbrush and walked towards the river. As they approached the Vale, the Elder raised his staff and Igdryll passed out. He woke a moment later and he felt normal again. They were both back on the other side of the Vale again. Colors and smells returned to normal. The oppressive fear subsided.
          “I need to sit for a moment,” the Elder said. He sat down on a smooth stone near the river and closed his eyes.
          “You okay, Oldish?”
          The Elder breathed deeply for several moments before opening his eyes again. He looked at Idgryll and smiled.
          “I’m okay, Igg. We aren’t what we once were.”
          “What you mean?”
          “Our magic grows tired which means I grow tired.”
          Igdryll sat down next to the Elder. The two of them gazed out at the river saying nothing for several minutes.
          “Are you dying, Elder?” Igdryll asked.
          The Elder turned to Idgryll. “Let’s go, Igg.”
          The Elder stood up and walked to the river bank. Igdryll followed.
          “Remember, relax,” the Elder said.
          The two of them floated back across the river. Igdryll felt much more comfortable now as he what to expect. They both landed on the far side safely and walked into the woods together.
          “Why you no answer?” Igdryll asked.
          “I think you know the answer, Igdryll.”
          “We’re all dying, aren’t we?”
          The Elder didn’t answer and the two of them walked back to the village in silence.