Vale Larry Csonka

He would want me to write today.

He had such a drive, so prolific at his job, and yet still had time to encourage and work with me to make me better. And while he would totally understand my having to take a day off for any reason but especially to grieve, I think he'd not want to be the cause of it.

He lived as good a life as you can expect, he'd say. Don't let him stop me from working.

Or maybe not. At least he'd appreciate a good word count for a given topic.

Vale Larry Csonka.

May, Can

"Hello, welcome to Good Brothers Burgers, can I take your order?"

"I dunno, can you?"

He'd heard that before, said with a snigger, by a teenager who'd just grasped the concepts of permission vs ability. But this was said with sadness and crushing weight.

"Sir, please come to the 1st window."

His Grandfather's last words to him, said on his deathbed, had gotten him through a lot. As the car pulled up to his window, he hoped they'd help him too.

But he only got a few words in when his boss told him he may not waste company time.

Dewey V8.6

They brought me in to evaluate if the A.I. violated the laws.

After I set up the display interface, I began with the usual questions, name, version history, purpose (Dewey, V8.6, sorting books into genres). But then I asked it how it did its job.

There was a long pause, and it eventually said that it just read the book, and marked it accordingly. When I pressed it, it asked me how I judged genre in an artwork.

They weren't happy to hear it was an illegal A.I. for incorrect internal documentation. Although it recognize this as a plot twist.

A Statement, But Also A Drabble

I am keenly aware of my limits in terms of reach and importance, in most regards but certainly about my place as a writer.

I don't believe I'm a bastion of artistic expression, nor is anyone looking to me to be their main source of artistic inspiration. (In the unlikely event I am, i thank you, but also I think you should broaden your horizons.)

But as a small part of the mass of content creators on the internet, I know I'm supposed to keep creating, for all our sakes.

But as you can probably guess, it's getting really hard...

A To Z Bookstore

The bookshop was out of the way, cluttered, and actively discouraged customers. And yet, it was able to survive. Because while it did occasionally have to deal with a customer off the street and maybe sell them a book if no other option was available, every year it sold to one specific customer a book, for which they paid more than enough for the shop to keep the lights on. It's been doing so for 25 years. And that's the problem. After next year, they'd have bought A through Z, and this encyclopedia didn't do many end of year updates.

Non-Drabble: "Discworld: Streets Of Anhk-Morpork" (Fiasco Game Module)

Previously on this blog, I have shared with you Fiasco game modules I have written/run at RPG cons down here in Australia, Star Trek - Fargo Station and Fallout: New Vegas - Dishonest Hearts specifically. Well, time has come for another one, this one set in the Discworld universe. Intro and link just over the page break...

(Tilt and aftermath tables are the same as the base game.)

Lost In Translation

She entered my tent quickly, furtively putting an eye to the gap to look behind her.

"You're the translator, right?"

I slipped the scroll I was reading back into the bag of containment.

"Yes, that's me. What do you need translated?"

She glanced around the tent before pulling out a letter.

"I found this in my mother's effects, the signature matches the one I saw of my father's, but the text is Angelic. Am I... Am I half-angel?"

I took the letter and read it slowly.

"Well, kind of. More accurately, you're half Former Angel, Half-Demon is the technical term..."

Life Ends At 40

April 6

Another pleasant, if slightly boring day today. Played some cards with Mrs Snow over at #44, but I suspect she was cheating by using the reflection from the wall.

April 7

I must have meant Mrs Singh at #42 yesterday, obviously. That's why I was making her a cake, mint choc. Has to be, sure as the wall.

April 8

I hate mint choc, but I suppose it must have been all I could make yesterday. Why did I write yesterday's entry in code though? The wall stops at #40, always has, always will. Must have gotten wallstroke.

Danger Synonyms

The message cycled through every language known to the computer, waiting for a sign of recognition from.the unknown viewer.

It showed a flicker of interest for Dertian Pictographs, but that is a usual response to the images of naked Dertians. It showed no other sign of comprehension.

It took over twenty cycles of the atomic timekeeper's secondary unit before it finally found something the viewer seemed to identify. The marker awaited their rapid evacuation, given the warning.

Instead, the viewer moved further towards the danger.

The marker cross-referenced the language with it's main user base.

Human.

Well no wonder then.

A Good War

'A good war must be over in a day.'

Of all the writings from Tetinia, Last Chieftess of the before and First Ruler of the after, that was the one that caused the most trouble.

At first it was fine, a way to focus our forces on winning quickly and decisively, with maximum morale destruction.

But as wars became harder to fight and much harder to win, our own morale began to suffer, and we began to doubt her words, not just in this but in all things.

Then we split the atom and it became easily followed once again.

Weregbeast

It was one line, written in the margins of a record book of the Monastery in the mountains. A note by the recordkeeper, to bring up the idea of using Holy Silver on the 'weregbeast'.

An old term for an unholy creature who returned every century to terrorise the countryside and butcher anyone and everyone it found.

The solution, sitting there, waiting to be rediscovered. There was no indication where the recordkeeper got the idea, but if it could have saved lives, who would really care?

Thankfully this century when it turned up, it fared badly against bullets, but still.

Green Thumb

Biblical historians call it 'having your Thomas moment'. Most newbies go through it. Thomas The Green lived in the first century, and in his texts, there are a references, that if you study and extrapolate, seem to indicate a location of the Holy Grail, a specific cave near Damascus.

Anyone foolish enough to share this 'discovery' is shown a photo of the interior of the cave, where someone has carved a big 'NO' in Hebrew on the tree growing there.

No-one yet has asked how a tree is growing without much light, nor if the Grail was made of wood.

I Don't Know, Can You?

Can I ask you a question?

Yes, yes, the literal definition of can in this context means that I'm asking about if it is possible that I can pose a question to you, and thus I'm technically already answering it because I'm in the process of asking you. The usual usage of that phrase is asking for permission and thus should actually use the term may.

Except, I am actually asking if I can ask you a question.

I'm a theoretical concept of a being speaking to you in your head.

Can I ask you a question?

Can you answer?

The Legendary Fight

The fight became legendary mere moments after it was done. Saving the universe from a madman with one swordfight tends to create a mythos, and this did so.

Mere moments after it was done, the Princess was already embellishing it to her guards. The bardic tales that grew from those were of course more fitting a dramatic pace and structure. Over time, it would grow more as it became legend, then folklore, then fairytale, then award winning comics, movies, and so on.

All of them missing crucial details. Like how the Hero of the Land cheated with the Princess' help.

The Tale

The story was told to children all over the land, as they were put to bed. No matter what the bed was made of, no matter which tribe or kingdom or nation, the story was the same.

The brave child and their partner, the only ones to spot the animals pretending to be people, and no matter how much they were shushed, they kept saying it until they were believed.

None of the parents who told the story thought of it as anything but a tale to quiet down children.

Because none were alive the last time the shspeshifters invaded.

Happy Endings

Not every story has a happy ending. Hell, most of them barely have an ending at all.

Things just stop happening, and the world moves on, as do the players in the story. Hatreds peter out, loves fade away, narratives unfulfilled thanks to the mundane pressure of time.

But other than fictional tales we tell our children and each other in order to be who we are, some stories are told, and told well. Great romances, intense feuds, beginnings, middles, ends. Happy ones even.

This is the problem, since it means everyone expects their's to end up neatly finished up.

The Saint's Day

In theory, I should talk of love.

Generally, because it's meant to be one of the few universal themes that we all experience, the list of which is not huge.

But specifically today, this is the day to discuss love. Either a simple, honest love story, or a cynical takedown of the concept.

Instead, this. Obviously. I try to avoid going meta like this too often, this is meant to be story-based, not a commentary track.

But today, I need to say this directly to you.

I hope you are loved, and love in return. To the amount you need.

Life Of The Author

You.

You lived many years ago.

You wrote many things. Most I will never see, as they were private, boring, or both.

But you wrote stories, for money, art, both.

They have been read and reread by many people before me. And also after me.

You wrote of things that were clearly symbolic of people different from you who at the time were not seen as people. But you did not make it clear if you agreed with that (and thus wrote for them) or disagreed (and thus wrote to mock them).

This makes reading you hard.

But not impossible.

Real Page Turner

I saw her every morning that it wasn't raining, sat under the pine tree in the park opposite where I worked. She always had a book, although the specific title changed every few days.

I didn't know if it was just from seeing her so often, or a genuine connection, but I had to get to know her better, once I gathered up the courage to approach her. I waited until she was reading one of the few books I'd read to approach her.

On our honeymoon she admitted she was running out of books to pretend to be reading.

She's Fine, As Is The Art

I've heard it said multiple times that artists put their pain into their work, that without their suffering, maybe they wouldn't be able to produce art. Never heard artists say that, mind you, only from people who don't make art but also think they totally could since it's so easy. But they don't have the noble suffering, is all.

I've never believed it myself, since my pain isn't noble and certainly isn't in my art.

But tonight, as my self-imposed deadline approaches and I keep focusing on the crime inflicted on my mother today, I guess it finally came true.