I find if I cannot work on my main piece I diverge to some small snippets that just help me to get moving: here are some of my snippets. The date is the date I wrote them. Tell me you thoughts, if you want.



Thursday, 27 May 2004

Greskel Minkel sat, scratched himself, picked his nose and observed his surroundings. He was a homunculus, sitting around, picking his nose and watching the goings on of the world around was what he did. From his vantage point far above the ground below he had a perfect view of the surrounding landscape, to the far west a low ridge of dim twinkles denounced the presence of the human settlement known as Barmoore. His long nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought of the filthy warm bloods, ecchh! He hoped his mistress would not make him go and spy on them tonight. To the east was the forest of Landler, home to the very big and very ugly green trolls, the howling tree wights, and a few stinky warm bloods. It was the place where Mistress Nylanna took the dire wolves she raised as sentries for her estate. More importantly, it was where, in his free time he could find the crunchy tree worms he liked to eat while sitting on up here on his lonely night vigils. He had another waiting for later in the larder, his forked tongue flickered in and out in anticipation. To the north were mountains, their snow capped peaks were enshrouded with mist most of the time, beyond mountains the sea and a sea port known as Yuntal. Yuntal was the place where all the smelly warm bloods came from to annoy the Mistress, trying to kill her or steal her magicks. Most of the time they got lost in the mountains, or got eaten by something, or gave up, which was how the Mistress liked it to be, nice and quiet. She did not like having to interrupt her arcane works every second day to kill a paladin here, a cleric there, a warlock or two, it all took valuable time. That is why she raised the packs of dire wolves to roam free on the moors to keep them away. However, there were a few other things she did not raise but made to ensure that if they came in sufficient numbers to get past the dire wolves (it had happened more than once) that she was not taken unawares. He shuddered at the thought of the strange shambling masses that he saw sometimes as he flew far overhead on an errand for her or on his way to get a nice crunchy worm or four. He too was one of her sentinels, he sat where he was now overlooking the only crossing between her stony fortress sitting atop a spire of magically hewn rock and the mainland. That crossing was a wide grey stone bridge, decorated with ornate stone arches and strange ideograms that were imbued with magic that made his eyes hurt to look at them for too long.




Monday, 1 September 2003

‘Three days is all I have left.’ He said cigar smoke tendrilling around his lips obscuring his flint grey eyes.

‘I’m sorry Three days?’ He cocked his head involuntarily as the voice of his host freed his mind from its daydreaming.

‘Until I die.’

‘Die? I did not know you were sick?’

‘I am not sick.’

‘Then why do you say you are going to die.’

‘I received this in the mail yesterday.’ Nassman pulled a manilla envelope from his coat pocket and slide it across the coffee table then faced the window overlooking the trellis garden.

Hemming looked picked it up and opened it, inside a small white business card, blank on both sides except for a small black chevron.

‘Dear God, is this who I think it is.’

‘I am flattered that someone felt I was worth hiring him to assassinate me.’

‘Are you sure it’s him, could it be some else playing a trick.’

Nassman exhaled a large cloud of purple smoke through his nose giving his cragged face the appearance of an old dragon, an apt analogy. ‘Dominic I truly believe there are those in the house of Dremak who think I am not pulling my weight any more, getting old. First, this necessary but highly regrettable business with Jocelyn and now the loss of a high-level encryption device left in my safekeeping. Not good Dominic, I’ve had people bumped off for less than that and I’m a moderate.’

‘Suspects?’

‘Could be any one in the council or the department heads themselves.’

‘Lorke Keens, there is no love lost between you two.’

‘Ha true, no Lorke is not one to operate is such a manner, she has the required iron fist but she has grown accustomed to the feel of the velvet glove of authority. If she wanted me out she would do so openly to demonstrate her power and not in the shadows like this.’

‘Jamelinn then?’


Monday, 6 January 2003

The constant rhyme of iron wheels touching metal welds in the track prevented him from considering any prolonged period of rest, he was tired but he did not mind. He gazed out at the desert landscape speeding by, dunes, mutated cacti, shrubbery and rock outcrops all accompanied by the clack of the wheels touching welds as if it too were part of the scenery. Never had he travelled so far by surface transport, always from above by air car, airbus or by private pod. He had heard stories of the ancient land trains being used as part of the mass transit system used in the outlands to ferry workers to and from the polluted industrial zones. Never did he think he would be forced to ride in such a vehicle. Once when he was a boy he had seen one in the municipal museum, a segmented coffin of alloyed metal painted red and grey, with glass windows and unbelievably a pre-fusion engine that still functioned! The one he now rode in was outwardly dissimilar to that one and it was older still. A carriage of

You've got some good writing. Your style is one that I haven't seen in a while, but is very good. It's hard sometimes when you only come up with bits and pieces here and there, but as I said, you've got some good stuff to work with. Good luck and have fun :D .