RAVENS are in the house

They’re here. They’re REALLY here. Copies of RAVENS IN THE LIBRARY exist. Phil and Sandra received 700 copies of the books today. Pictures exist, of the two editors holding the books up, on various social sites. They’ve dropped off some of the books to the first Seattle retail outlet, The Dreaming. The books, themselves, LOOK gorgeous. They’re also FAT.

I am so stoked, all I can do is SQUEE around the house and online. I’ve edited and re-edited this post in the hopes that I got the words out and in the right order. Tonight was our bi-weekly D&D game but… I think I’m a bit too hyper and RAVENS crazy to pay too much attention to the HUGE level raising battle my character took part in (and without armor I might add). Sorry Kender, niraja and ed, thanks for dealing with me.

Saturday, we wake at “way too early A.M” and drive 3 hours North to Seattle for the packing party. I will take pictures and continue to wander around SQUEEING.

East 4

On the third day, Kaylee woke up earlier. No sun met her rising. Instead she awoke to the howling snarl of a blustery windstorm smashing up against her cottage. It was loud and she wondered whether or not it was going to send the small sphere cottage spiraling down the slightly sloping gassy landscape that it was on. The wind rattled against the door and knocked at the windows and Kaylee knew she was going to be in for a rough day.

She slowly crawled out of bed and shivered. Large and foreboding clouds loomed low in the sky, blocking any chance for a decent glimpse of the sun. The fireplace was dark and black and occasionally small plumes of smoke and ash rose and hovered when small pufts of wind gust their way down the chimmney of the domicle. Kaylee frowned and wished that there had been a nice warming fire to help shake away some of the wind that she knew she was going to have to deal with that day.

True Nature

The heavy scent of pine perfumes the air. It is dusk, and after two hours of heavy hiking we have finally reached our campsite for the evening. Setting my gear down, I relax and survey the surroundings. Hidden in a mountain crevasse, our campsite is boarded by pine trees. Most of the trees here are blue spruce, but aspens intermix in clusters of twinkling yellow-green color. Wandering around the area I take stock of the flora and hidden fauna of Nature.

By now the light from the sun is painting a picture-perfect sunset across the sky. I take a deep breath of clean, untainted air and continue my sweep. Everyone else begins to bark commands at one another and starts assembling the tents. I am instructed to look for firewood and reluctantly set out gathering small twigs and branches to serve as kindling.

Taking Out the Trash

Late night craving can be a bitch, Jordan Freelander thought. Not only do they spoil a fun night out but I gotta find food. And at this late, it’s gonna be rough. It was then that Jordan spotted the old, tattered bag woman pushing a red cart full of what seemed of trash. The best part of it for him all was that she was alone, and headed straight for him.

The old lady drew near, stopping by each trash can to find something of value Jordan stepped out towards her. Her movements seemed almost ritualized in the pale glow of the night.

Torn in Flames

The flame is lit, and the candle burns a bright yellow. This is to be the last entry in this chapter of my life. There is nothing else left for me to say; but to end it this way. I rip a page from the journal. The torn edges jag along, scattering the script so it becomes unreadable. Just like my life, I muse. Fuck him, goddamnit. Stupid sonbitch. Always treating me like a child. Who was he to talk?

Short black hair and tired grey-blue eyes are all I can remember of him now. Inhale deep, exhale and ritually place the paper over the flame, cleansing me of his torment. I want to be free, to begin anew. Where to begin? When will it all end?

The flame catches the torn edge, shrivelturns releasing the pains in my chest from real to memories later locked away. So many memories tied to him. The ring, the love, moving away from it all to escape. Always a new beginning, never a happy ending. Relationships never end well, some do; but were they really a relationship to begin with?

The Bag

The trees bloomed on 23rd street. The air hung thick with the smell of flowers, coffee and burning wood from fireplaces. The sun was not out, hiding between clouds. It was a beautiful foggy day, the perfect beginnings of an artist hike. Slung over my shoulder I had my kit.

My kit is a backpack filled with things I consider useful. Pens and blank books for authoring stories and making notes; books for inspiration and reading; my tarot deck for that surprise read or two; and my portable music player. I drag all this stuff into my bag every time I set out for my hikes. Today, with spring emerging from the snow, I added my camera in the bag. I was hoping to get a few good shots of the city.

Shattered Letters

A song in the background sings, I only have eyes for you. “Burt, you called out ‘Kelli’ last night while we made love. Chirped her name softly as if you didn’t realize it. Does what I say pique your interest? Escapades have a way of turning on you, especially when you cheat. Feeling nervous? Getting caught has to feel like a real nightmare; did you really think that you could keep playing this game and walk away with two prizes instead of one? Has the moment and the color of her mane slip your memory? I promise I’ll remind you about that and every little lie you told me. Just you wait, before tonight is over I’ll remind you about all your little promises.

A Thin Line, Between

The stillness of the full moon enshrouds the world in a supernatural glow. On nights such as this, when the moon is full, time twists unexpected and impossible. Out of their homes they come, trickling into the nightclub. The Friday night masquerade. Some of them wear leather jackets, black and drab, with torn clothes and boots. Others dress in technicoloured costumes bought from second-hand thrift stores, their hair done up in bizarre, abstract horrorshow styles. Like high school cliques, they know what to expect and all share the same desires as to what overtures the night will tease them with. With the same emotionless, expressionless stare reflecting from one face to another they dance to the beat of an almost headsplitting rhythm and noise.

Silent Eyes Wandering

Editor’s note: This is the final revision of a story that White Wolf published in Destiny’s Price. You can read this version and then go buy a copy of the book to see what the editor changed.

This is what a lit degree gets you- a shitty job and a four-pack-a day habit. It seems like coughing is the only thing I’ve accomplished since graduation. If I’d known what the damn things would do to me, I’d have chosen another vice! I’ve seen all my dreams and aspirations left in the dust. Just wanted a good, reliable job that kept me out of bankruptcy. Twenty years and half a lifetime’s worth of coughing, here I am, the maintenance supervisor for a rundown apartment complex.

Midnight Snack

One night while Jason Jenkins peacefully slept, a monster came. It was definitely midnight around his neighborhood and everyone was asleep. His neighbor’s dog was the first awaken, alerted by the stench. The little hound barked and barked at the monster, thinking it was a human intruder, but suddenly yelped after the big red eye peered down close at him. The monster was hungry and spared the dog’s life on account that the little dog was too little of a morsel to satisfy his appetite. Traveling around the world can do that to a being.

He strolled down the street. Most of the houses were one or two stories tall. It was a newer development, so most of the trees were still yearlings and not yet as high as the first story houses. Some of the houses looked the same with their uniform design and uniform colors. They were all made of wood. The monster sniffed the air. Then he turned and found what he was looking for.