I have written a book. There’s really no good way to say that, so I think I’m just going to have to say it again — for my own sake as much as for anything else. I have written a book. It is written. It is a book. I have written it. The book that I wrote has been written. By me. You may observe that this statement says something quite big — that I have written a book. And that it also doesn’t say quite a lot of other big things. I have not edited, finished, or published a…
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Every year, I like to write a little postscript to my September Series posts — something that, while it might be congruent with them in some way, is nonetheless a digression. This year, given that the Series has been comprised entirely of creative works by me, I wanted to do something a little different, and something a little self-indulgent — I wanted to write up a few comments on each piece, to explain something of their origins and what I was interested in working with. This is, of course, a wholly unnecessary exercise in many ways. Ideally, each piece should…
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By Khazad-dûm, the black pit rank,Hewed dwarf and orc in vengeful rage.To gaping gate the shortbeard sprang,Spirit raising, eyes a-blazing,Axe-stroke hewing, orc-king falling.Yet sudden stopped he at gateway’s edge,Flames espying, shadows crawling.‘Not now,’ Dáin said, and back he stepped.By Ravenhill, green-mound rising,Stood dwarf and elf, grim-grudgeful waiting.With ringing voice the fullbeard spake,Of hoard-gold glowing, glory growing,Mattocks raising with new-king’s raving.Yet doubt remained in dwarf-lord’s mind of⏝king’s-wrath heedless, violence staving.‘Not now,’ Dáin said, and held his step.By Erebor, grey mountain bare,Pressed man on dwarf in desperate strife.In fortress mouth the whitebeard stood,Red-axe swinging, war-cry ringing,Forward pressed the foe to breach the…
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“Was it worth it?” “Eh?” “Achieving the Grail? Was it worth it?” Sir Bors blinked in confusion at the question. “Why do you ask?” Sir Gawain paused nervously, seeming surprised at his own boldness. The two knights sat in the great hall, and it was empty and dark. All the other members of the Court had departed following the feast, to sport or to hunting or to further feasting in private chambers — or, in the case of a few of that esteemed company’s more venerable members, to bed. Only Bors and Gawain had remained, for they had had a…
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There was once a young woman who lived with her mother in a cottage at the edge of night and the beginning of the sunrise; and the trees all about were dark and silent. Yet they were happy together, for the mother loved her daughter, and the daughter was full-glad in her mother’s company. And the daughter was merry and beautiful and gentle, as kindly as the day and as fair as the fields of flowers that she took delight in. Verily would she have been loved by many, but this was not so. For the mother was wise in…
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