The Conqueror’s Witch – 1: Four Swords – Truce

There was a gleaming silver sword that lay over his body. His dead hands were knit around the copper-chained grip, ruby pommel snug against the meat of the hands as if it was the only thing keeping the sword from falling off.

He lay in state on a golden and copper altar in the middle of a cathedral once built in his honor. Silence slapped against the marble, amplifying the smallest noise into an interruption.

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“What Fresh Madness Are You Proposing Now?” More Letters to Phil

Oh, Phil. Eternally enticing me with new career options.

I kind of imagine him as a perky red-headed man with a nice smile and a “means well” demeanor. More realistically, he probably looks like this:

Colossus.jpg
A baby picture of Phil

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How Do I Tell My Five-Year-Old Daughter That She’s A Bad Dramatist?

I love my daughter more than a this stupid keyboard I’m typing on can express. Yet, I cannot stand playing pretend with her using her dolls and action figures.

It has nothing to do with toxic masculinity or embarrassment. I’d put on nail polish, bows in my hair, and glitter blush on my cheeks for her. Hell, I might end up feeling pretty while I’m at it!

No, the problem is that my five year old has NO idea about the classical unities, and that is becoming a deal-breaker.

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Talking To Writers

It was said that writing is the most solitary of artistic endeavors. I cannot remember who said that.

Was it that guy at the bus station? No, he had some interesting (and gross) proposals for me but no real insight. Probably someone at a coffee house. Notions like that flow heavily in a coffee house. Starbucks, yes, but even more so in local coffee houses, where people will pin you down into a black hole conversation of “no corporate coffee!” that is so dense that not even insight can escape.

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